Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chip leaned over the edge of the ship, hanging from the riggins, and reached out an arm to embrace the air. A grin spread across his face as the wind swept back his shaggy hair; the sun shone warm upon his face; the water splashed playfully below. He sucked in a breath of salty bitter air. The cry of distant gulls drifted in the breeze.

This is the life, he thought to himself, basking in it all. No responsibilities, no care in the world. Here, he was free from all his chains. He never wanted to leave.

“Your highness?”

Chip closed his eyes, allowing himself one more moment of peace. One final second of this fantasy.

“Your highness," the voice repeated, this time with force. “I must insist you get down from there.”

His daydream shattered.

He would never be alone and certainly would never be free. Not in this lifetime.

Sighing, Chip returned to the real world. As he hopped down onto the deck, he found himself staring up at the towering figure of Marshal John, who stared back with repressed amusement.

“I’m only doing my job, your highness,” John said, placing his hands on his hips. Then, with a sly grin, he added, “We wouldn’t want you to fall in again.”

Chip screwed up his face in exaggerated anger. “Like I said. I didn't fall. I was…conducting important princely business.”

In truth, John watched Chip nearly jump out of his skin in reaction to a few sea-lemurs, releasing his grip on the ropes he hung from. He fell, quite dramatically, into the sea. The marshal had been teasing him for it ever since.

“Speaking of ‘princely business’,” John said with a chuckle, “I believe the crew have requested a verdict.”

“A verdict on what?” Chip asked, adjusting his clothes to be suitably smart-looking.

The marshal faltered, briefly. When he spoke, his face wrinkled in clear discomfort. “They want to know when we’re headed home.”

Chip froze and the smile vanished from his face. “Home?” The word burned like poison on his tongue. “We’ve barely been out for two weeks. Do they truly have this little patience?”

“With all due respect, your highness, we search these seas once every year and have never found any clue as to the whereabouts of the Midnight Rose.”

Not yet, Chip wanted to say. Because anything less seemed a betrayal. He would never betray Arlin.

John continued, “The crew are losing their interest and morale. They say we should have moved on years ago.”

“And you?” Chip asked, taking slow breaths to keep from saying something he'd regret. “What do you say?”

“I say,” John began, "losing the king—losing your father was incredibly difficult for you, and I understand why you need to keep searching.” He sighed, rubbed his temples. This, Chip could tell, would be the killing blow. “But it’s been ten years.”

The sea fell silent. No gull dared cry. Chip's fists clenched at his sides.

Ten years. Ten years of this farce. He behaved through the seasons—autumn, winter, spring, that dreadful cycle—till summer cleared the sky of clouds and whispered promises in his ear. This time you'll find him. You'll sail farther than before, cross into enemy territory if you have to, and just when you think this was all for naught, there he'll be. Smiling up at you, like nothing ever changed.

But each summer, the crew and waves grew restless and they returned home empty-handed.

Chip swallowed his burning rage, gave a sharp nod.

“I see.”

“If we haven’t found him by now," John continued, "it’s unlikely we ever will. Perhaps if you weren’t the heir, if there wasn’t a kingdom back home in need of ruling, this might be able to last a little longer, but—” he stopped himself. Stood to full height, with his arms at his sides. He remembered he was a soldier, not a friend. “At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what I think. You are my prince, and I will follow any command you give. I simply await your orders.”

Uncurling his fists, Chip took a shaky breath. The voice in his head told him to keep going, to demand that they continue searching, but since when had listening to that voice gotten him anywhere good?

His posture slumped with realisation. He thought he could put off the decision for a little longer, but that now seemed impossible.

King or kingdom? Father or legacy? Arlin or…everyone else? Chip was selfish—he knew that—but he had to draw the line somewhere. If he continued down this path, who knew what damage he would cause, what lives he would ruin. All for the possibility of still finding nothing?

It was an easy choice, really. But that didn’t make it any less painful.

“Tell the crew,” he all but whispered, “to set a course for home.”

John opened his mouth to respond, but Chip held up a hand, silencing him.

“I’ll be in my quarters. Leave me be, unless it's an emergency.”

And, despite John’s attempts to speak, Chip did just that. He left the main deck and descended below, not willing to watch the change in direction.

When he reached his quarters, Chip locked the door and, needing somewhere to channel his anger, kicked it. Hard. He yelped, rather pathetically, hopping about like a fool. And, because the world was cruel, it was when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, clutching his foot and jumping around, that his eyes burned with tears.

They fell with the haste of spring rain, and he slid down the door until he thudded onto the ground.

This was his last search mission, his last chance to find Arlin before his coronation. And he was forced to cut it short because he was the last person who cared. The rest of the world had moved on long ago, and there he was still clinging desperately to the past. Even Lizzie, who once loved their father as much as Chip, carried on living her life, and made him promise to try moving on with his.

But how could he?

His trembling hand reached into his pocket and pulled out Arlin’s coin. He clutched it like a lifeline, rubbing its surface with his thumb. The metal used to glint when in the light, but now it was rusted and dull. What did it mean when your symbol of hope faded?

Chip pressed his lips against the cold circle, before tucking it back into his pocket.

From above, the shouts of orders turned to gleeful cheers and bellowing laughs. An upbeat tune floated through the air and, from the thuds against the ceiling, Chip guessed the crew were dancing.

On a good day, he might run up and join them. Might laugh and sing and act as if he faced no troubles. But today he was in no mood for merrymaking.

He rose to his feet, and strode across the large room: past the desk, the bed, the countless papers he hadn’t gotten round to reading, and towards the sizable stained-glass window.

It depicted a rose—half-white, half-black—with a scattering of its outer petals falling away. A wilting symbol of his wilting kingdom.

Peering out, he was met with an endless expanse of blue and the frothing water left in the ship’s wake. From here, the change of course was hardly visible. There was no clear difference between forward and back. But he knew. And it stung.

He sucked in a shaky breath, squeezed shut his eyes, then exhaled deeply, releasing both air and sorrow. If he was going to move on, he needed to do it properly.

When he reopened his eyes, Chip forced a smile. He watched the faint reflection of himself in the glass follow suit and quickly dropped the facade. He couldn't even fool himself.

A flash of movement from the water caught his attention, and an oddly humanoid shape darted away. He looked past his reflection, stepping closer to the window for a better look. But, other than the vast sea, which seemed choppier than before, nothing was there.

He sighed. “Great, now I’m seeing things.”

Above deck, the music swelled and soared, now joined by the rough voices of the sailors, singing along to the shanty. The tapping of feet grew louder against the deck and, despite everything, a small smile snuck its way onto Chip’s face.

A gentle rapping of knuckles sounded against his door, followed by a call from John, “Your highness. I know it's not an emergency, but the crew were asking if you’d like to join us.”

You know what, he thought. Fuck it.

John grinned when he opened the door. “Atta boy, let’s go enjoy one last night of freedom!”

The marshal ruffled Chip’s hair and dragged him above deck, where he was met with a roaring cheer.

They joined the fray of drunken dancers, swinging each other about and downing drinks. Chip’s dark mood all but dissipated. As he laughed and sang, he was reminded of the nights he spent upon the Midnight Rose. Nights of revelry. Nights of joy.

Perhaps he could focus on the good instead. Look back on that period of his life with grateful nostalgia. Perhaps he could move on.

The festivities lasted long into the night and ended, as always, with the late king’s favourite shanty. A mournful ballad comparing the sea to a lover left behind.

Once the sliver of moon rose in the sky and the stars shone brighter than any royal jewels, the crew retired for the night.

“Your highness—” John’s bellowing voice faded into a loud yawn. “I’ll be below if you need me. Alphonse is keeping watch.” He squeezed Chip’s shoulder. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Chip didn't chide him for his overfamiliarity. It was nicer to have a friend than a guard.

“Night, John,” he called out as the marshal disappeared below deck.

He stayed by the ship’s edge, leaning against the railing and gazing out at the sea. A soft stream of moonlight reflected over the waves, a path to some far off world. Chip reached a hand to his mouth and let out a yawn, blinking away the sleepy tears. His eyes grew heavy, but he kept them open, simply staring into the waters. A cool breeze swept past. It was almost serene.

Mind clouded with exhaustion, he didn’t question the restless waves, the greying sky full of dark clouds, nor the electric energy flowing around him. He did, however, notice the humanoid shape floating just below the water.

First, he put it down to the drink. He'd indulged in a few rounds of rum, and it never sat with him quite right.

But when he blinked, the figure remained.

Chip's eyes widened.

“Hey!” he called out. “Are you alright? Do you need help?”

A pair of glowing eyes appeared in the water, unblinking. Around them, waves crashed with worrying height. The Big Chipper swayed.

“Hey!” Chip repeated. “I know you can hear me! I can help.”

The shape didn’t move, unbothered by the sea’s anger. The waves grew taller, stronger, until they splashed above the ship’s railings and Chip was soaked with spray.

“Your highness! Get back from there!” Marshal John cried out, running over and pulling Chip back by the shirt.

A flash of lightning cracked before them, inches from where the prince had stood.

“All hands on deck! Get us out of this storm!” John yelled over the booming thunder.

Chip stood, frozen, as the sudden rain poured down upon them. His heart raced, mind drifted like an untethered dinghy.

It was happening again.

“Get inside, your highness!”

John grabbed Chip by the arm and practically threw him in toward the hatch to the lower deck.

“But there’s someone in the water,” he protested, the shove snapping him from his paralysis.

“I don’t give a damn! They can save their own arse; I'm busy saving yours!” John's focus snapped to the helm as the ship swerved. "Alphonse! Steady, man!" He looked back at Chip, glaring. “Won’t you just get inside?”

“Not when I can help.”

John groaned, barked out another order, then handed Chip a rope. “Hang on to this, and don’t let go no matter what. Hear me?”

“Got it.” Chip gripped the rope tightly. “But wait, this is just-” He was cut off by an abrupt bolt of lightning striking the ship, followed by a boom of thunder.

Marshal John swore loudly, before rushing off into the chaos of sailors.

Well aware the rope he held was useless, Chip did exactly the opposite of what John instructed, releasing it and running into the frenzy. He wouldn’t stand around and do nothing while the people he loved got hurt, not again.

The ship lurched, knocking him against the railings as lightning struck once more. He could only watch, heart pounding, as the sails set ablaze. In a rush of raised voices, gushing rain and tossing waves, a familiar howling cry caught his ear. He turned his head just as Roofus’s canine fingers slipped from the ship’s balustrade.

Chip sprinted towards his discarded rope, clutching it tightly.

"This is stupid," he said to no one in particular. He puffed the air from his cheeks. "This is so fucking stupid."

Because he was an idiot, he pulled himself up onto the railing and jumped.

John's shouts were lost in the wind as Chip discovered the useless rope wasn't so useless after all. He swung faster than he'd intended, and pulled Roofus from where he struggled to swim. The current was strong, deadly.

"No time to thank me," Chip said, like he was a swashbuckling hero.

Maybe in his dreams.

The rope's momentum carried them back over the deck. On Chip's command, Roofus let go early and was flung onto the deck, landing in an uncomfortable looking pile.

Just as Chip was about to do the same, the rope jerked forward.

And he was free-falling. Past the deck. Into the ocean's gnashing maw.

He hit the water and the falling didn't stop. It only slowed. It was as if he crossed that bridge of moonlight across the waves. The silence overwhelmed him: a new variety of drowning. This, he decided, was not the world he lived in. He was somewhere far away, apart from reality.

His ears filled with water; his eyes burned with salt.

He was exhausted, already too deep. There was no point in resisting. Soon, far sooner than he ever hoped, he would die. The last air would leave his chest and it would be over. The end.

Was it odd to be comforted?

For a long while, he held his breath. It was an instinct, really. But once all light vanished and pressure forced his eyes shut, he stopped bothering. A rush of bitter water filled his mouth, his lungs, his everything. As his consciousness began to slip, he found he didn’t particularly mind. At least he would finally know whether his father was alive or dead. Perhaps Chip would see him again.

A pair of arms wrapped around him, in his final moments before fading, and something, someone pulled him upwards. He hugged back, certain it was Arlin guiding him to whatever came after. As his world went numb, Chip hoped his father’s death was this peaceful.

Chapter Text

Jay despised travel by carriage. It was the most inconvenient form of transport ever invented, with its awkward bumps and jolts. And it was made even worse if you couldn’t afford the finest coach. But, she reminded herself, it was the fastest way to get to Whitethorne Castle, so she would have to make do with the uncomfortable seats and deal with the bruises later.

She stared out onto the rolling hills: a hint of blue sea visible just over the horizon. The faint green of swaying grass was certainly a contrast to the greys and browns of Featherbrooke. A small wave of homesickness washed over her, but Jay shrugged it off. She had left for a reason. There was no point getting distracted by romanticised memories.

The worst part of the journey, by far, was the loneliness. Coming from a large tight-knit family, Jay hadn’t been completely by herself for as long as she could remember. It was…unnerving. Almost panic-inducing.

It won’t be much longer now, she reassured herself, taking deep breaths. Before you know it, you’ll be surrounded by loud voices and busy people, just like back home. She touched a hand to the eagle-pin she wore in her hair. Except, it’ll be nothing like home, for all the right reasons.

Hours passed; the grass turned to towering trees; the sun lowered in the sky. Jay found herself slipping into a state of half-sleep, and time went by in a distant blur. She was awoken, however long later, by the soft murmur of waves. The familiar sound shocked her into consciousness. She began taking desperate, panting breaths, until she realised where she was. She was safe now.

Clambering over to the opposite window of the carriage, she gazed out at a short and slightly crumbling cobblestone wall. Just beyond, barely visible in the dark, the gentle sea lapped at the barrier. A smile spread across Jay’s face.

The carriage drew to a halt. Even before the footman could fulfil his one duty, she had swung open the door. Holding her single trunk at her side, Jay stared up in awe at Whitethorne Castle.

A grand stone bridge stretched out before her, sculpted with ornate detail. Pillars of sandstone framed the castle’s entrance: a pair of giant, embellished, wooden doors. The palace itself was built of the same sandstone, marked with cylindrical towers which were topped by red slate points. In shape, it almost mimicked that of a ship, with a thick oval layer encircling a large square tower, which took the place of a mast. Though the sight was certainly mesmerising, Jay was underwhelmed. The castle was smaller than expected.

She hesitated for a moment, sparing a glance behind her, before shaking the feeling off and marching onwards.

As she neared the entrance, Jay took notice of a small figure waiting by the door. He was short, even for a halfling, and reasonably old. His head was almost entirely bald, save a few loose strands of white hair, though he made up for it with an impressive beard, which was groomed into a point. Immediately, it was clear from his drooping posture and expression that he was not happy to be there.

“Hi,” Jay began, not quite sure how to introduce herself. How much was she supposed to say? Just her name and reason for being there? Was this a guard? Would he question her presence? “I’m-”

It turned out she didn’t need to worry about it, for he interrupted with, “Quiet!” His voice was raspy, yet commanding, and Jay tensed in surprise. The old man rubbed his beard, eyes squinting as if trying to recognise her. “You’re that new bookkeeper?”

Still stunned, Jay simply nodded.

“Name?”

“Uh- um- Jay. Jay Ferin.” She stumbled over her words, not anticipating a greeting quite like this.

“Ain’t that a Navy name?” He leered at her with his piercing blue eyes and, for a moment, she was convinced he could read her mind. “You in the Navy, lady?”

“No,” Jay answered, with as much confidence as she could muster. Which wasn’t much, considering the surprise interrogation. What kind of introduction was this?

The old man stared for a moment more, still scratching at his chin, before he continued. “Good. We don’t want none of them bastards ‘round here.” He turned on his heel and yanked open the large doors, with surprising force considering his small stature.

Jay didn't have time to recover from the strange interaction before the old man – from his apron, she guessed he was some sort of cook – marched into the castle. She fell in stride behind him, trying her best to glance about the lavish hallways whilst still keeping up: for an old man, he was ridiculously fast. They sped down strangely deserted corridors, taking seemingly random turns.

They didn't speak, and all was quiet except for the gentle click-clack of their shoes – well, Jay's shoes: the man, oddly enough, was barefoot – and the distant echoes of voices. She found her mind drifting…

"That…that…" Her father's angry mutterings reverberated through her skull. Jay had been young when her uncle left, but her father's rage was still clear in her mind. "That bastard!"

"I understand why you're upset, love," The soft and soothing voice of her mother contrasted Jayson's fierceness. She had rubbed her husband's shoulders, reassuringly. "But he's still your brother."

Jayson had risen abruptly to his feet, brushing off Malenia's touch. "That traitor is no brother of mine. My brother is dead."

The Ferin's had always emphasised a hatred of those loyal to the Rose kingdom, but that was the day that Jay had begun to believe it. Rose had stolen her uncle and hurt her father, pushing him beyond his limits of anger. They had split apart her once united family. Her ember of rage had grown into an untameable fire.

Yet, here she was.

Jay chuckled at the change. At how sudden this switch was. She wondered what her father thought of it all.

The old man stopped suddenly and Jay, still absorbed in thought, crashed into him. He turned to glare at her, then pointed angrily at the door to their left. For a moment, Jay did nothing, confused by what the gesture meant.

"In there," The man said gruffly, after a brief silence. "Abby'll catch you up."

Hesitantly, Jay followed his instructions, slowly pushing open the door. She glanced back, only to catch the old man speeding off down the hallway, and so she committed to entering. When she turned around and took in the room, a small smile crept onto her face.

The soft scent of pages filled her nose as she stepped inside. The atmosphere was instantly so different from the corridor she’d come from, that Jay almost believed it was a different place altogether. Cosy browns and warm yellows made up the room, with even the filled bookcases that lined the walls and the worn leather chairs, which were tucked neatly under the cluttered desk, matching the colour scheme. Side tables of light wood were dotted at random about the room, and their surfaces were covered in stacks of old books, piled as high as gravity would allow. The space was small, but not cramped or claustrophobic. It was…homey.

“Give me one more moment,” Said a quiet voice from behind a stack of tomes. Jay jumped, more startled by the sudden sound than she would’ve liked to admit. “I’m nearly done.”

Jay peered past the books, catching a glimpse of dark hair before the person disappeared round the other side of the pile.

"Lovely to meet you!" The voice exclaimed, startling Jay once again. "Oh, I’m so sorry!"

As she spun around, she met a pair of apologetic golden eyes. The halfling woman was taller than the old man, her height reaching about the level of Jay’s chest. Her skin was a deep, warm brown; her ebony hair was tied into a long braid, which hung loosely over her shoulder. The woman was dressed in tones that matched the study: browns and beiges and yellows. A pair of round glasses perched atop her nose.

“I’m Abigail, but please, call me Abby. Everyone does.” She beamed so earnestly that Jay couldn’t help but return the smile.

“Jay Ferin,” She replied as they shook hands.

“Of course! You’re the new bookkeeper, aren’t you?” Jay nodded and Abby’s smile only grew. “Wonderful! We’ve needed better organisation for years, but no one can spare the time. I’d do it myself, but father’s practically given up on his responsibilities, and someone needs to do them!” She spoke with the enthusiastic energy of someone who had countless things to say, and not enough opportunities to share them all. Jay carried on nodding, feeling a bit lost.

After a moment, Abby turned to the desk and retrieved a sheet of parchment and a quill. “Right, I believe I have most of your information, but may I quickly ask which languages you can speak? Only a portion of our books are written in Common, so we need as many potential translators as possible.”

“Of course. Common, Undercommon and Primordial.”

Abby nodded, jotting those down, then glanced up wearing a curious look. “Primordial? That’s an interesting choice. I’ve never met someone who could speak it.”

Jay shrugged. “They write good poetry.”

“Oh, I adore poetry.” Abby’s eyes lit up. “Perhaps you could recommend some of your favourites, and I can try my hand at them. I’ve been meaning to learn another language, anyway.”

Jay bit back a chuckle. She wasn’t sure Abby would enjoy Schiwmmer’s dull ballads, but it would be funnier to not explain her previous sarcasm. And who knew, perhaps Abby took an interest in shoal politics.

There was a moment of awkward silence, where Abby stood expectantly, and Jay wasn’t sure what the correct response was. Was she supposed to do something else? Was there another step in this application that she hadn’t been told about? A test to pass? A codeword to present?

“I’m guessing Earl didn’t show you around,” Abby said after a while, smiling sympathetically.

“I didn’t get to see much,” Jay admitted.

“No worries.” Abby set down the quill, her braid whipping around as she turned. “I can give you a tour, if you like?”

“That’d be great.”

They left Abby’s office – which she explained was offered to her by the Prince when she practically took over her father’s role as advisor – and returned to the decorated hallways. This time, as they traversed the corridors, Jay got the opportunity to take in her surroundings, whilst Abby talked about the architecture.

There was certainly a theme of gold and red: the scarlet wallpaper was trimmed with golden borders; red roses sat in gold vases, perched on rosewood side tables. The walls were covered in portraits of regal-looking men and women, as well as paintings of impressive ships sailing across vivid blue oceans. And everywhere, the scent of roses was overpowering: they didn’t call it the Rose kingdom for nothing. It was…a lot. Especially in contrast to the castle’s plain exterior.

Nothing like her home in Raft.

Abby showed her most of the castle’s main rooms, which were certainly smaller than their lavish decorations suggested. They visited the kitchens, where they bumped into Earl, much to his displeasure, as well as the courtyard, the dining halls, the drawing rooms and the ballroom. All were designed with the same red and gold accents, though to a lesser extent than the hallways.

It was noticeable that more private rooms, like the kitchens or sitting rooms, were far less extravagant than where guests would be entertained. Jay wondered whether the ostentatious decor was a sort of mask: a way of impressing those who didn’t look too closely.

“Unfortunately,” Abby began as they strode down yet another corridor, “There are some rooms I cannot show you. The Prince’s private chambers are strictly off-limits, unless he says otherwise, as is the watchtower.”

Jay nodded. “That’s understandable.”

And it was. Especially because of who she was. She would’ve been surprised if they immediately trusted a daughter of one of the most powerful families in Raft. Though the two kingdoms weren’t officially at war, their feud was ancient and, recently, warfare seemed closer than ever.

Abby stopped outside a pair of grand double doors, shooting Jay a grin. “I saved the best till last.”

As the halfling pushed open the large doors, Jay's jaw dropped. She drifted into the cavernous room, utterly speechless.

Towering ornate shelves covered the walls, with sliding ladders to provide access to the highest points, filled with a colourful array of books. Wandering about the space, Jay paid almost no mind to the tables dotted about the room, instead focusing entirely on the sheer quantity of tomes. Eventually, however, she was able to peel her gaze from the walls, and she stared up in awe at the crystal chandelier that hung overhead. Along the back wall, the shelves framed a series of large windows, with an ocean view, that the afternoon sun shone through. The library had the same grandeur as the ballroom yet, to Jay, it was far more impressive.

"Do you like it?" Abby asked quietly, as if nervous for Jay's reaction.

"It's- it's incredible," Jay managed to mumble, eyes still wide. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I'm glad you think so." When Jay turned back to the halfling, Abby was smiling passionately. "It's my favourite room of the entire castle." She pulled a book from its place and held it close to her chest.

"Have you read all of these?"

Abby chuckled. "Of course not. Like I said, there are many written in languages I cannot understand: Primordial, for one. But I've read all that I can."

"How come there are books in Primordial if no one here can speak it?" Jay asked curiously, her eyes flitting about the shelves, scanning for titles she recognised.

"I think there used to be someone who could speak it," Abby explained, sounding unsure. "An old advisor, years and years ago. During the reign of the late King."

"What happened to them?"

Abby frowned, her brow furrowing as she strained to remember. "I'm not sure. It was long before I came here, even before my father did, and the Prince doesn't speak of the old court much."

The old court… Jay had heard about the previous King from eavesdropping on her father's meetings, but she never found out what happened to him. Whenever she asked, no one seemed sure in their responses. Dead, one had explained. Another claimed he simply went missing. All she knew were rumours and whispered stories, each more unbelievable than the last. She had assumed the people of Rose knew, and were keeping it secret, but perhaps they were as in the dark as Raft.

"Well, I'm sure you're tired from the journey." Abby touched a hand to Jay's shoulder. "Your bedroom is just through there." She pointed to a door that Jay hadn't noticed. "The key should be in the lock."

"Thank you so much." Jay smiled, picking up her trunk from where she had dropped it.

"No problem, if you need anything else, anything at all, don't be afraid to-"

The double doors swung open forcefully, slamming against the walls. The boom echoed throughout the room. A panting, red-in-the-face gnome, with very well-groomed hair, stood in the doorway.

"Julian?" Abby's cheeks flushed, though her eyes were full of worry. "What's the matter?"

"The Marshal and his crew have just returned-" He paused for a moment, whether for dramatic effect or simply to catch his breath, Jay couldn't be sure. "In a rowboat."

"What?" With widened eyes, Abby raised a hand to her mouth in surprise.

"They said the royal ship sank." When Abby slowly shook her head, Julian continued. "The Prince fell overboard and-" He broke off, choking with emotion. "They couldn't find him."

Chapter Text

The world was a faded blur. Chip was vaguely aware of a cool breeze against his cheek, but the ache in his chest was too overpowering for him to focus on much else. His eyes were open, yet he could only see distant blue. Breathing was painful. Still, he gasped for air: his throat raw and stinging. He was choking, but he wasn’t sure why.

Then, without warning, whatever it was burst up from within his chest, erupting into his throat like a geyser. Heaving and spluttering, Chip coughed up a bitter brine. The water dripped messily down his chin. It would’ve been humiliating if it wasn’t such a relief. Once the seawater – he assumed that’s what it was from the sharp tang of salt – left his lungs, he could breath easily again and the blurred world started to come into focus.

As his vision cleared, Chip found himself staring up at a rich blue sky, bespeckled by fluffy white clouds. To his left and right, golden beach stretched as far as his limited sight allowed him to see. Why was he on a beach? He racked his aching mind for an answer, but came up blank. He’d been on his ship, the Big Chipper, moments ago. So why was he suddenly on a beach?

He tried to sit up, leaning back on his arms and digging his fingers into the damp sand. Before him, the ocean caressed the beach with its gentle waves, reaching out till it hit the horizon. Why was he on a beach?

It wasn't the first time he'd had that thought. Ten years ago, almost down to the day, Chip had awoken confused and alone on a beach not dissimilar to this one. Ten years ago, when a storm and a whirlpool had stolen everything from him. He had been incomplete ever since.

Even when he'd been found and reunited with his sister, there was still a gaping hole inside him that nothing could seem to fill. So he had gone searching. Summer after summer. Year after year.

The sailing had been a comfort, replicating his time on the Black Rose. If he closed his eyes tight enough, he could almost pretend nothing had changed at all. He could almost hear Arlin laughing behind him, Finn reciting facts that Chip had once considered boring, Drey practising his aim, though he never missed once. It was so close he could almost touch it. Almost. Almost.

As he lay there in the quiet, with no company but the whistling wind, the previous day came back to him. In slow waves, like the ones that lapped at his feet, he remembered the conversation with John. The decision to return, empty-handed. The music, the dancing. The mysterious figure. The storm, the-

"Shit!" He exclaimed loudly, despite his hoarse throat, and abruptly sat up straight. "My fucking ship!"

A shriek sounded nearby, followed by a sudden splash. Chip froze, startled. He peered cautiously into the waves.

"Hello?"

There was no response. Of course there wasn’t. He’d scared whatever it was away with his obnoxious volume. He shook his head, chuckling quietly to himself. Add that to the list of people who’d run away from him. Although, technically this one had swam away from him, so that didn’t really count. And was he sure the thing that shrieked could be classed as ‘people’? He hadn’t seen it, after all. Could've just been a weird fish.

As he was thinking it over, another sound rang out from where the thing had disappeared. Only, this time it wasn’t a shriek. Instead, a melodic string of syllables flowed in the soft breeze like a lullaby. There was something charming about it, despite it being utterly incomprehensible. Intrigued, Chip got to his feet and began slowly approaching the waves.

“Hello?” He repeated, more quietly.

Another series of notes. They rung with uncertain determination. He stepped closer, the water cold against his bare feet: apparently he’d lost his shoes somewhere in the storm. Whatever, he could easily get more. Shoes were the least of his concern.

Chip wasn’t stupid, despite what others might've thought. He knew that following an enchanting voice into the sea wasn’t a smart idea. He’d practically grown up on a ship; Chip knew all about Sirens. But this wasn’t like that. It didn’t sound like singing, just tuneful words. He wasn’t enthralled or entranced, just curious. It was perfectly safe. Probably.

Once the water reached his knees, Chip stopped. He glanced about and, in doing so, met a pair of glowing eyes, which he immediately recognised.

"You were there," He said quietly, more to himself than anything. It had to be the figure from the storm. Had they followed him all the way to shore? Or, perhaps… "Was it you? Did you save me from drowning?”

The eyes blinked, and a short melody followed, full of confusion. Chip, unthinkingly, outstretched a hand. The eyes blinked once more. A series of small waves rippled through the sea, and the shape of a hand began to rise from the depths. Just as the turquoise fingers reached upwards, barely grazing Chip's, a shout echoed throughout the beach.

"CHIP!"

Chip's head whipped around, and his gaze immediately locked on the gnomish man that ran down the beach: Julian. A knot in his stomach loosened; he let out an instinctual sigh of relief. He hadn’t even thought about how he was going to get back to Whitethorne. Luckily, it seemed the world was being kind to him, for once, and making things easy.

“Julian!” He called back, overflowing with joy.

A shifting in the water returned his attention to the sea before him yet, when he looked back, the glowing eyes had vanished. His hand still hovered above the waves, but it was alone. The water seemed even colder around Chip’s legs; a strange ache tightened in his chest. But, as Julian hurriedly approached, Chip chose to ignore it.

“Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to see you!” Julian exclaimed between pants. His usually perfect pompadour was slightly unkempt. “We sent out so many search parties, and John even offered to row back to look for you!” The gnome paused, his eyes widening. “Actually, he might be heading off as we speak. We’d better get you back quick!”

“Julian,” Chip said slowly, looking back out into the waves. “There was a person in the sea. I think… I think they saved my life.”

Julian looked at him incredulously. “You must’ve swallowed too much saltwater, your highness. Are you feeling quite alright?”

“Well-” Chip stopped. Surprisingly, he felt fine. Much better than he had immediately after waking. He stared down at his hand, where the blue fingers had met his own. Chip was unfamiliar with magic – he’d never been able to get the hang of it – but even he could detect the traces of arcane energy. “I’m fine,” He said, cradling his hand with the other.

Julian didn’t seem to notice any odd behaviour. “I’ll get Rudith to check you over, in any case. Gods, what’re the chances you wash up so close to home! I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if we weren’t as lucky. All I know is General Lafayette would’ve killed us at least twice over. That woman scares me to pieces…”

Julian continued talking as he helped the prince up the beach. The silhouette of Whitethorne Castle was outlined by the brilliant yellows and oranges of sunrise. Chip paid no attention to any of it. His mind was focussing on something, or rather someone, else.

If he had turned back, he may have seen a figure watch from within the waves, then disappear once again into the ocean’s depths. Whilst the prince remained oblivious, there was someone else who watched closely with keen interest.

————

Chip was unable to tear his gaze from the window. From where he sat in the parlour, the beach he had washed up on earlier that day was just visible, and he couldn’t stop staring at it. Why? He wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps he wanted to witness the figure re-emerge from the sea. Perhaps he hoped they were a triton, and could possibly help the search for Finn and therefore the rest of the old court. Perhaps that interaction on the beach had relit the spark which he had only recently extinguished: the one he’d sworn to give up. Perhaps he wanted proof it wasn’t real so his fire of hope could finally die. Who could say.

“Are you even listening to me?” John’s voice boomed with annoyance, and Chip spared him a quick glance. The marshal had stopped his pacing back and forth in favour of glaring at the prince. He gestured dynamically with each word.

In all honesty, Chip had blocked out his drone ages ago. There had been some lecture on the importance of following orders, even if Chip didn’t like them, because it was all done to keep him safe and blah blah blah. Essentially, he was being told off for making dumb decisions, which was hardly fair considering who John was talking to. Chip was the prince of dumb decisions, if nothing else.

“So what if I’m not. You’re already lecturing me, why not add another criticism to the mix?” He snapped in response. He wasn’t mad at John, or anything, but he’d heard this speech a hundred times before from a hundred different people. It got boring after a while. Especially when there were more interesting thoughts to be had.

The marshal sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His rage softened into exasperation: an emotion Chip often brought out in people.

“I’m not blaming you for wanting to help someone.” John spoke slowly, as if to a child. “ That’s an admirable trait, especially in royalty. All I’m saying is, you need to look out for yourself, protect yourself above others.” Chip began to interrupt, but John stopped him. “I know what you’re going to say: ‘Surely you want to encourage selflessness rather than selfishness’. And yes, you’re right, for most people. But you’re the soon-to-be King, and the only heir of Rose. You’re all we have, Chip. I know you’ll disagree, but that makes you more important than others. If something happens to you, the entire kingdom is vulnerable.”

“No pressure then.” Chip chuckled grimly. “I’ll add this to the list of times being royal has made my life harder.”

“I know you don’t like it, Chip, and I hope you understand how much I hate enforcing these rules, but this one isn’t that difficult. I’m not asking you to sit back and do nothing, just avoid choices that put you in harm’s way. If someone’s in danger, let somebody else deal with it. You don’t need to be on the frontline in order to be useful, you know.”

John continued on with his speech, essentially repeating the same sentiment over and over. Sometimes Chip wondered if there was a specific word count for John’s lectures, which he had to hit in order to fulfil his job, or if the marshal just liked the sound of his own voice.

However, Chip wasn’t zoning out because the speech was boring – it was, that just wasn’t the reason. His attention had been captured by something he’d spotted out the window, some shape that washed ashore. A person. He was out of his seat in mere seconds.

“Chip! Where are you going, I’m trying to talk to you!” John called after him as he left the parlour. The prince made no move to reply, darting from the room. He almost felt bad for the marshal – he was still fairly new, and not yet entirely used to Chip’s antics – but the rush of excitement pushed away all other emotions.

He hurried through the hallways, only slowing to hastily apologise to the staff he bumped into. He ignored the concerned looks and questions. None of it mattered to him in those moments. Chip charged through the castle in search of the quickest exit, which happened to be through the kitchens.

“Where the fuck are you going so fast, kid?” Earl yelled as the prince dashed past.

“Sorry, Earl. I’ll explain later!” Chip called back, already out the door.

It wasn’t too long of a journey, but Chip still worried the figure would disappear again before he made it there. He ignored the distant shouts of the marshal, not stopping once. And yet, he froze when he reached the beach.

There, lying prone on the sand, was a humanoid that could only be described as aquatic. His skin was the same turquoise as before, and swirling marks of a deeper green ran up his arms; his hair was the colour of seaweed, fading into a lighter shade at the tips. From his head sprouted corals of vivid pinks and oranges, resembling a crown of sorts, and his ears fanned out into fins. He was immediately reminiscent of the former advisor: Finn. And he lay unmoving.

“Are you alright?” Chip suddenly snapped from his stupor and moved closer to the figure. “Are you hurt?”

At the sound, the triton’s head lifted slowly, weakly. His startlingly blue eyes blinked up at Chip, considering him for a moment. A small smile of recognition spread across his face and a deep mournful tune escaped his lips. It was distorted, compared to the song Chip had heard before, and unsettling. As if the melody had become harsh and bitter. More importantly, it sounded painful.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” He replied frantically. This sort of situation was utterly new to him, and Chip’s brain was running at top speed to come up with a plan. The man lowered his head, breathing heavily and irregularly. His eyes began to flutter shut.

“No wait, please don’t close your eyes!” Chip didn’t know much about medicine, but knew that giving in to unconsciousness wasn’t the right move. He swore quietly, realising he wouldn’t be understood, but surprisingly the triton complied. “Wait, can you understand me?” The man gave a slight nod. Chip’s eyes widened. That would make everything so much easier. “Can you speak Common?” The man shook his head. Well, Chip supposed that would’ve been too convenient.

“Okay,” He mumbled, an idea forming in his mind. “Okay, I’m gonna try and lift you up and bring you to the castle, where I live. There’s a healer there – Rudith – who can fix you up no problem. Is that alright with you?” The man nodded wearily. “Brilliant.”

He knelt at the triton’s side, running purely on adrenaline. Any other time he would’ve stopped to think things through, to consider that maybe this was some sort of trick, but he didn’t have time for that. This was potentially who had saved Chip’s life, and he was all too keen to return the favour.

Chip gripped under the man’s shoulders and heaved. He struggled for a moment, before processing the heavy armour. There was no way Chip was strong enough to carry the weight of this well-built triton and his plated armour all the way back to Whitethorne. And it seemed unlikely the man could walk on his own, even with support from Chip. That left him with the option of returning alone and asking for help, but that solution was far less immediate and, with the man’s current state, time was of the essence.

A thought struck. “You healed me before, I know you did. Can’t you just heal yourself now?”

With a slow shake of his head, the triton let out a quiet and melancholy note. The prince responded with his own groan of frustration. Perhaps John had a point about running into situations unprepared, as much as Chip hated to admit it.

Without warning, the triton clutched Chip’s arm and, with surprising force considering his condition, pulled the prince behind him. His eyes began glowing a bright white and he made a low sound similar to a cat’s hissing.

Looking up to see what had earned such a reaction, Chip spotted a familiar figure bounding towards them.

“John!” Chip exclaimed, panicked expression becoming a grin. “Boy, am I glad to see you.” Then, addressing the triton, he added, “Hey, it’s alright bud, this is my friend. Sort of. Anyway, he can help.”

The triton still seemed unsure, but he released his grip on the prince and switched to merely squinting suspiciously at John as he approached.

“Your highness,” John began, out of breath and clearly confused, “What-”

“Is going on here?” Chip finished. “Not sure, but there’s no time for questions. This triton saved my life and now we need to return the favour. We need to take him back to the castle and get him to Rudith as soon as possible.”

John held up a hand. “Woah, woah, slow down.” He rubbed his forehead, grimacing and taking in the scene. “It’s a serious violation of safety parameters to just let in this random triton. And I’m supposed to be keeping you safe from situations exactly like this one.”

“John.” Chip stood up and placed his hands on the marshal’s shoulders. He had to stretch a bit in order to do it, as John was significantly taller than him, so the dramatic effect was lessened slightly. “He is literally dying. What sort of future king would I be if I just sat around and did nothing? Hm? What would the people of Rose think if they found out? I highly doubt they’d want a selfish and cold-hearted king on the throne.”

He’d learnt by now that convincing John to let him do what he wanted was easy, as long as he used the ‘future king’ argument. Worked every time, without fail. He could see the marshal beginning to crack.

“Besides, didn’t you say earlier that wanting to help someone was an admirable trait? That was literally only a few minutes ago and you’re already turning your back on it. How can I trust anything you say ever again if you contradict yourself in this way?”

John grunted a laugh. “You very clearly weren’t listening to the rest of my point then.”

“I wasn’t, obviously, but come on, John. As your future king, I demand you help me to help him.”

The marshal let out a deep defeated sigh, rubbing his temples. He shrugged off Chip’s hands and looked deeply into the prince’s eyes. Chip tried his best to display pleading desperation. John sighed again, even louder. “Fine.”

“Yes!”

“BUT, once he’s recovered, I will be asking questions,” John clarified, glaring daggers at the triton.

“Noted.” Chip returned to the triton’s side. His eyes were fluttering shut, but he was still just about conscious. “Although, he doesn’t speak Common, so you may have some difficulty.”

The two slung the triton’s arms over their shoulders, with John grumbling all the while. They began the trek back to the castle. Under his breath, the marshal muttered, “Lizzie’s gonna kill me.”

————

Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound of Gillion’s shoes against the wooden floor reverberated throughout the room. It wasn’t the only noise: something ticked every second; something rattled as his steps shook the cabinets; the wind loudly whistled outside. The entire space was filled with strange new sounds and strange new objects. The whole experience was strange and new. Pacing was the only comfort, so he didn’t stop.

He’d awoken not too long ago, tucked into a strange ornate bed, in this strangely cold room. Paintings of unfamiliar landscapes and people hung from the walls; bright flowers and other trinkets littered every surface. But Gillion didn’t care about any of that. All he noticed, at least at first, was his missing belongings.

His armour, his sword, everything was gone. Even Pretzel. He was left with nothing but his clothes and his racing mind.

For not the first time since he’d awoken, he questioned whether he was right to trust a human. Chip, as the smaller one had called him, had seemed different and spoke as if he genuinely cared about Gillion’s life. And yet, here he was. Trapped in a room with no way out. Perhaps the Elders were right.

Gillion brushed away the thought. It was no use pondering over past actions, especially when he should be focused on the current dilemma: how in Lunadeyis' name was he going to escape. Besides, the Elders were right about everything. It was their whole appeal.

The door was locked. He knew, because he’d tried it several times already. It wouldn’t budge, even if he put all his strength into it, which wasn’t a lot at that particular moment. He was still recovering. But he was the Champion of the Undersea, and he refused to be thwarted by a simple wooden door.

There was a window, but it would’ve been too small for him to fit through. And the drop didn’t exactly look appealing, knowing that he couldn’t simply swim down. Which meant he was out of options.

The Elders had taught him not to swear, but Gods did he want to right then.

Muffled voices sounded from behind the door, and Gillion froze up. Once he realised they weren’t entering, he shook away the tension in his muscles and slowly approached the door, pressing his ear up against it. Eavesdropping had been frowned upon within the palace, but it was his only chance to discover a way out and back to Pretzel.

It took him a moment to pick up what the voices were saying; he was still confused by the unfamiliar sounds of the language, and it was usually Pretzel who did the listening. She was much smaller than him, so could hide in nooks and crannies and hear all sorts of secrets. Gods, he missed her already. They had been inseparable for years, and her absence was all too noticeable. Still, he managed to focus enough to make out what they were saying. Truly, the Wish Doctor's deal had been nothing but useful so far.

“Is he awake yet?” One voice said.

“Not sure,” Replied another, “But I heard moving from in there, so I assume so.”

Gillion’s heart began pounding. Had they been keeping watch outside his room? Perhaps it was a good thing he’d been bested by the locked door. Though the lack of weapons wouldn’t affect his combat much, he was still weak and exhausted. Under these conditions, the thought of potential battle with humans was not as exciting as it would usually be.

“Is he alright?” This third voice was easily recognisable as Chip’s, which was a slight comfort. Perhaps he could convince the less friendly humans to not attack Gillion. “What were his injuries?”

“Well, that’s the funny thing,” The second voice said. “There weren’t any injuries at all. Not even a scratch, besides old scars, of which there were a surprising amount. And he didn’t seem ill or poisoned.”

“So what was it?” Chip asked, confusion clear in his voice.

“Magic, I’m guessing. Something strong too, because I couldn’t pick up on it.”

“And is it gone?”

“I haven’t been able to sense it at all, so I'm not sure.”

They carried on speaking, but Gillion had stopped listening entirely, distracted by forming an attack plan. He’d stepped back from the door and grabbed a ceramic vase, ready to hoist above his head and hurl at the first person to enter. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that this was why Pretzel did the listening. He paid it no attention.

So immersed in the adrenaline, the door creaked open and Gillion was caught off-guard. He had barely lifted the vase by the time a figure stood in the doorway.

“Woah! Woah! Put that down!” Chip’s face blanched and he held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

Heart thumping like a war drum, Gillion slowly lowered the vase. “Where is she?” He whispered furiously, though he knew they wouldn’t understand his words. “What have you done with her?”

There was a beat of silence. Chip met his eyes, trying to convey some message through blinks. The longer the moment became, the less certain Gillion felt in his plan of attack. It could hardly be considered a fair fight if the opposition were not equally willing.

“With who?” A quiet voice asked. It took a second for Gillion to recognise it as Primordial.

His eyes widened. To some extent, he was irritated. The language was meant to be a symbol of the Undersea, something that shouldn’t have breached the surface. And yet, this feeling was immediately overpowered by relief. He wouldn’t be alone. He wasn’t alone.

A woman stepped forwards, taller than him, though she didn’t tower over like the Elders did… had. Her flaming red hair was tied back into a scruffy ponytail and she wore a look of careful curiosity. “To whom do you refer?” She said, slowly. The formality and strange grammar indicated she was new to the language, yet the familiarity was still a comfort.

“My frogtapus,” He responded quietly, still in shock, though Pretzel was so much more than that. She was as much his sister as Edyn. “Where is she?” The woman furrowed her brow. Perhaps the word didn’t translate. “My animal friend,” He explained. “She’s pink with little tentacles. My frogtapus.”

An ‘oh’ formed on the woman’s lips and she turned to Chip. In Common she asked, “Was there an animal with his things?”

“Um, I’m not sure.” Chip disappeared from the room briefly, before returning with a small glass orb. Within the sphere, an unmistakable pink shape spun about unsurely. “Is this it?”

Gillion dropped the vase and it shattered to the floor with a loud crash, startling everyone but himself. He reached out and Chip handed over Pretzel. Quickly removing the stopper on the orb, Gillion let the frogtapus climb up his arm excitedly. She trilled quietly as she hugged him with her tentacles.

“Thank you,” He murmured, beaming. Perhaps he was right in trusting these people. “I apologise for the quality of our introduction. Let us begin again. I am Gillion Tidestrider, Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep,” He announced his titles with great pride, puffing out his chest. The woman’s eyes widened in what could either be admiration or confusion. It hardly mattered. “And I thank you for saving me from death. I am forever in your debt.”

“It isn’t me you should thank,” She responded. “I’m no healer, and this castle isn’t mine. You should thank the Prince for extending his hospitality.” At this, she gestured to Chip, who gave a confused wave. “And Rudith for nursing you to health.” She pointed to the elven man in the doorway. “My name is Jay Ferin, and it is an honour to meet you, Gillion.”

She extended a hand and, after hesitating, Gillion gave it a tentative pat. Jay furrowed her brow for a moment, before shrugging and returning the pat.

“My apologies. I hope it isn’t rude to ask, but most tritons don’t leave the Undersea, so-” She paused again, considering her words. “What brings you to the surface?”

His heart stung at the question, at the answer he knew he would have to surrender. Perhaps he could delay it, even if only slightly. It wasn’t a lie if there was truth to it. So, with all the confidence he could muster, Gillion answered as he did to most questions, “Destiny.”

Chapter Text

Perched on a lone rock jutting out from the sea, Gillion watched as the two figures disappeared from view. His brow furrowed in confusion. A strange sinking feeling ached in his chest, not as strong as disappointment, yet not weak enough to be mere displeasure. He couldn’t understand it.

From his side came an irritated chirrup. Pretzel glared up at him, squinting with her dark eyes. She tapped a tiny tentacle against his leg, then pointed to the water beneath them.

The frogtapus had been annoyed with him from the moment he approached that floating construct, and her frustration only grew when Gillion’s fear had created a storm, which he proceeded to save a human from, despite his better judgement. She had even made a point to hide beneath the waves as Gillion brought the human ashore; he had only just retrieved her and begun convincing her to forgive him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gillion said quietly, returning his gaze to where the people had vanished behind a bank of sand. “The Elders said that all humans are intrinsically evil. I would usually trust in their wisdom, and yet…” He trailed off, before a more violent pat on his leg snapped him from his momentary reverie. “Somehow, I wonder if the Elders were misguided in their knowledge. I doubt they have met many humans, so perhaps they simply gathered the wrong impression.”

Another tap on his leg. Pretzel’s eyes had widened and she stared at him with a look of concern. She blurbled a string of horrified sounds, before reverting to merely staring.

“No, you’re right, as always.” Gillion sighed, placing the frogtapus gently on his shoulder as he swung around on the rock, facing towards the horizon. “Where should we-”

He cut himself off, gaze locking onto something in the water.

It started as a ripple. Small, barely noticeable, and certainly not at all concerning. The issues began when the rest of the ocean became utterly still, other than that single patch of rippling water. The breeze had died; the gulls stopped shrieking; the clouds no longer drifted through the sky. Everything, excluding him and Pretzel, had frozen.

In his shock and confusion, Gillion turned around, trying to figure out what had happened. His searching stopped once he noticed the door.

Crafted of a deep maroon wood and carved with intricate designs of crescent moons, the door stood proudly upon the rock as if it were a perfectly normal place for a door to reside. Gillion had only been on the surface for a short while, but even he could hazard a guess that there was something strange about this situation. His presumption was almost immediately confirmed by a strong stench of powerful magic. It wasn’t necessarily evil, just- pungent. Definitely not a normal door.

Hopping down from his shoulder, Pretzel frantically shook her head, but she had already used her daily bad idea veto, so Gillion ignored her as he turned the doorknob. He slowly pushed open the door, and a dark nothingness was revealed behind it. Naturally, he stepped inside.

For a moment, all was black. Then, a warm light filled his vision as he stepped into a strange room. Its walls were covered in shelves full of strange knick-knacks that Gillion didn’t recognise. Candles flickered from their ornate holders; gold glittered from chests of coins and other fancy trinkets; framed maps, paintings of unfamiliar sceneries and even tapestries hung from the walls. The room held the same arcane smell, if not a stronger version.

Perhaps the strangest thing in the room, however, was the man sat at the embellished desk, smirking at the new arrival. Gillion knew little of Oversea races, yet recognised that this was no human. The man’s skin was a deep shade of obsidian, with similarly coloured horns sprouting from atop his head, ornamented with various golden pieces of jewellery. His dark hair flowed freely down to his chest, which was poorly covered by a low-cut white shirt. Knee-high leather boots rested against the desk as the man leant back in his chair. Everything about him, from the arch of his brow to the clasped hands, exuded a supernatural confidence.

“I was wondering when I’d be seeing you,” the man announced, still grinning with what seemed to be excitement. “Well then, come in and sit down. The sooner we get started, the sooner you can get back to aimlessly drifting or-” he waved his hand dismissively, “whatever it was you were doing.”

“Who are you?” Gillion asked, full of suspicion. And how do you know all this?

The man chuckled. “What a terribly rude question! You’d think no one had taught you proper manners.” He tutted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Who are you?” He echoed.

Gillion puffed out his chest, prepared to list his titles with pride, before the man waved a hand again.

“Of course, I know who you are. I must say, it’s a true honour to meet the Chosen One.” Gillion stood gaping, unsure how to proceed. None of the Elders’ training had prepared him for this. “I am Niklaus Hendrix and, like you, I have picked up a few titles over the years. Wish Doctor, Sea Witch, and a couple of others that are reserved for special occasions.” At this, Niklaus winked, leaving Gillion even more confused. “But you can call me whatever you like.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Gillion asked, his voice unsteady. His hand hovered above the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheath it. “What is it you want?”

“I’d like to ask the same thing,” Niklaus responded. He chuckled at Gillion’s furrowed brow and continued, “Only the people who truly require my aid can find me and- well, let’s just say your particular case is intriguing.” He leant forwards, kicking down his feet and resting his chin on his clasped hands. “The desires of the Undersea’s Champion must be important indeed.”

“Is that what you deal in? Desires?”

Niklaus pressed his forefingers in a point against his lips and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose you could say that. Desires, wishes, ambitions, whatever you want to call them really.” He sat up straight, grabbed at the air and somehow retrieved a glass of sloshing golden liquid that Gillion was certain had not been there before. He sipped at it, before setting it on the desk. “So, tell me Champion, what is it you desire? And I don’t mean trivial things, either. What is your strongest desire? Perhaps I can help.”

There was no stench of evil on this man, as he stared deeply into Gillion’s eyes in a way almost suggesting he could read the triton’s thoughts. Yet, there was no good either. Proceed with caution, Gillion told himself.

It was an easy question really. His desire hadn’t changed for the past ten or so years of his life.

“To fulfil my destiny,” He said with pride. It was his only desire: champions did not have time for selfish wants and wishes. When Niklaus tutted, Gillion began to question if he had given the wrong answer.

“If you truly believe that,” He said slowly, each word drawn out, letting the message sink in. “Then you are deceiving yourself.” Gillion’s eyes widened. He didn’t lie. He couldn’t. To suggest such a thing was blasphemy. And yet… “But, no matter.” Niklaus sipped his drink once more, and the subject was changed. “I can help with this goal.”

“No, you cannot.” Gillion shook his head, disapprovingly. “That is the entire point of fate and destiny: it cannot be meddled with.” So he had been told, time and time again.

Niklaus smirked. “You have been misled, Champion.” Gillion’s head continued to shake, his mouth forming a set line and his fist gripping the sword’s hilt tightly. “Your Elders have been lying to you.”

Within seconds, the triton ripped his blade from its sheath, bearing it before him, cold fury in his eyes. Perhaps he was being impulsive again, but there were only so many times he could accept these kinds of insults and attacks. He may not understand the Elders’ reasoning behind certain decisions, yet he refused to believe they would deliberately deceive him. It was simply impossible. Blasphemous, even.

“Draw your weapon. You cannot expect me to accept these lies without defence,” Gillion hissed, in a fighting stance.

The Wish Doctor simply arched a brow. “There will be no need for any of that.”

“I would beg to differ." Gillion lifted his sword, pointing it towards Niklaus' chest. The man didn’t so much as blink. "Unless you choose cowardice and yield."

"Now," A dangerous smile flashed on Niklaus' face. "Who said anything about yielding?"

The green of his eyes seemed to brighten, casting a sickly tint over the room. The irises expanded, covering pupil and sclera, yet they did not stop there. Gillion's limbs locked as an emerald mist filled the room, all flowing from the Wish Doctor's eyes. He had not even risen from his seat. Time seemed to drag on, though only a few seconds passed. As the green consumed all else, Gillion collapsed to the ground.

————

“Gillion?” A quiet voice broke through the all-encompassing silence. “Gillion, are you alright?”

The room came into focus all at once, as if someone had wiped the condensation from a window. He sat on his bed, in his cavernous room in the palace. The details were a little fuzzy, the edges blurred as if in a dream, and he came to the pained realisation that he was forgetting it all. Worst of all was the sight before him: his sister, with her features shifting by the second, reflecting all the stages of her life. Edyn flashed between ages, hairstyles, clothes, yet in all versions her face was slightly off. A failing memory or a weak illusion. Gillion wasn't sure which.

"You've been quiet all day," Edyn commented, now appearing as how he had last seen her: long green hair tied into a loose braid that cascaded down her back.

"Just um- lost in thought." He stumbled over his words: words he had spoken before. That's what that shimmering sheen over the scene was. This was a memory. He wasn't sure why he was surprised. Edyn was back down in the Undersea and he was… not.

"Want to talk about it?" She wore the same gentle smile that she always did, speaking softly and soothingly. After all the years of visitations and separation, she had learned how to best calm him.

It worked, like it always did. Had.

"What if I never get it, Edyn?" Gillion's words flowed from him in an unstoppable rush. Once he had opened the floodgate, he couldn't stop. "I've tried so many times, and failed over and over again. You keep saying that I'll get it eventually, but what if I don't? What if I'm not good enough? What if I can't meet their expectations?"

A beat of silence. Edyn placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "Then you get to be yourself. You get to be whatever, whoever you want, not just the Chosen One."

"What if I've forgotten how to be anything else?" He whispered, like it was a crime to say it. Perhaps it was.

"Then you get to learn."

Something swelled up in Gillion’s chest – appreciation, regret, sorrow, who could say – and he reached out to wrap his arms around his sister. His hands fell through her, until all he held was himself. Looking up with tears pricking his eyes, Gillion watched as Edyn faded away, as the bedroom faded away.

Devastated, he opened his eyes.

He was greeted with the same scene he had left before the memory: the same dimly lit room of knick-knacks, the same impish grin. Only, this time, Gillion was splayed clumsily over one of the leather armchairs. All his limbs ached, as if he’d done a particularly strenuous session of training. The exhaustion was almost overwhelming.

“You’re awake,” Niklaus announced cheerfully. “How excellent.” He clapped his hands together, and the noise hurt Gillion's ears. “Now we can return to more civilised conversation, I hope.”

Gillion didn’t have it in him to protest. Whatever sorcerer this ‘Wish Doctor’ was, he was certainly powerful.

“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to agree with you. You’re correct in the belief that destiny cannot be changed – or at least, prophecy cannot be changed – yet it can certainly be helped along.”

The idea of aid in fulfilling the prophecy was certainly alluring. Edyn believed he could become his own person by turning away from his destiny, but he knew the guilt and regret would eat away at him eternally if that were to happen. Perhaps he would be allowed a chance at normality once the prophecy was done.

Gillion tried his best to push the idea from his head, yet it was an impossible task. He found himself sitting up straight, though it ached to do so, and hanging off each of Niklaus’ words.

“What do you mean?”

“I could direct you where to go next, what plan of action to take. Hints, if you will.” His words were laced with silver: compelling, intriguing, tempting. “However, there is of course the matter of payment.” Gillion was in no state of mind to think logically.

“I don’t have anything valuable,” Was all he could mumble out, eyes still transfixed on Niklaus.

“I’m not asking for much,” Niklaus continued, unbothered. “A simple favour will do.”

A favour. Another burden. Another expectation. Exchanging one prophecy for the next. It seemed all too fitting. And yet… a favour didn’t hold the same weight as a destiny. It wasn’t such an intimidating future, wasn’t such a daunting possibility. One burden for a lesser one seemed like a fair trade.

“It cannot be something I wouldn’t do otherwise.”

“Deal.”

Niklaus produced a scroll from thin air and unravelled it to reveal a lengthy contract. He handed Gillion a quill and gestured for him to sign the bottom line. As the ink touched the page, Gillion hesitated for a moment. Was this truly how the prophecy was meant to happen? Was this truly how Edyn meant for him to choose his own fate?

Oh, but the thought of finally lifting the weight that accompanied those titles was so enticing. In the end he couldn’t resist, scribbling his name in his usual spiky handwriting. Just his name. Just Gillion Tidestrider. A promise to himself, more than anything

The scroll was snatched away before he could feel any ounce of regret.

“Perfect,” Niklaus all but whispered, an off-putting grin spreading across his face. He looked… victorious. Then his expression returned to the playful smile of before. “Now, there is one specific line of the prophecy which is particularly relevant for the coming months: ‘rise or fall to bring unity’.” It left a bitter taste in his mouth, hearing the words of the prophecy from Niklaus’s lips. “I can reveal to you that the unity this speaks of is in reference to warring kingdoms of the Oversea. Rose and Raft are their names. I believe you’ve met prominent figures from both, the former more recently.”

“The human from the storm?”

“Precisely. He is the Prince of Rose. Crown Prince, to be exact. Through him, you will bring the two kingdoms together in peace.”

You will. How many times had Gillion heard those words?

“But-”

“You don’t speak Common?” Niklaus smiled. “But you’ve understood me just fine.”

“Aren’t you-”

“I’ve not spoken a word of Primordial for many years now, and I’m sure the people of Rose won’t be any better. Believe me, I’ve done you a favour.”

“You cast a spell on me without my knowledge?” How powerful was this witch?

“Yes,” Niklaus answered simply. He took a sip from his drink. “But that’s the least of your worries. Go on, get out of here. Destiny’s waiting.”

Overcome with a sudden sense of purpose and an unnatural level of adrenaline, Gillion stood abruptly from his chair. His muscles screamed in complaint, yet he ignored them. Whatever may happen in the future, whatever he may become, for now he was Gillion Tidestrider, Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep. He had a prophecy to fulfil, and he wasn’t going to waste time by lounging about for a moment longer.

Except-

“How do I leave, exactly?” Gillion asked, looking around for the non-existent door.

“Ah, right. Good luck, Champion.” Niklaus clicked his fingers, and everything went fuzzy for a moment.

When the world came back into focus, Gillion realised he was back to where he had started. A lone rock, jutting out from the sea, not far off the shore. He stared at the golden sands of the beach. The next step was finding that prince again.

A blurble of noises drew his attention to the angry pink blob that slapped at his leg. Pretzel glared at him with a mixture of rage and concern. Then, eyes widening, she crawled onto his arm and tapped at his wrist.

“What is- oh.”

Gillion stared down at the black mark, a stark contrast against his turquoise skin. A crescent moon and the letters ‘NK’, with the middle lines joined to resemble an ‘I’. NIK. Niklaus. He had staked his claim. Gillion gently rubbed at it with his thumb, but it firmly remained. He sighed. Another mark proving weakness.

He didn’t answer Pretzel’s frantic chirrups. Now that he was away from the Sea Witch, the regret began to pile up. The Elders would not be happy to learn he was cheating fate.

As he slipped back into the water, Pretzel hopping onto his shoulder, there was another change since leaving Niklaus’ presence for him to contend with. The adrenaline had faded away, leaving him with nothing but ache and exhaustion. Swimming usually came so easily to him, but each and every movement triggered immense pain. By the time he reached the beach, he was desperately clinging onto consciousness by a thread that was about to snap. His breaths were shallow and agonising. He was acutely aware of every nerve in his body screeching from the torment.

He wasn’t quite sure how long he lay there, but at some point Pretzel had crawled into his pocket, snuggling into his leg. After what felt like years, a familiar voice called out from somewhere nearby, in words that were foreign and strange, yet understandable.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Chapter Text

It was dark in the meeting room. Dark and cold and dirty. A thin layer of grime caked the windows, forcing the room into a dimness unnatural for the time of day. The stone walls radiated a bitter iciness that could be found nowhere else in the castle. Nowhere Chip often visited, anyhow. The room had been in disrepair for some years, but no one had the time to fix it up. Sending for a maid was out of the question. No one but his closest allies could know the state of it. None but those few could learn of the kingdom’s troubles. Not if Chip wished to maintain the people’s happiness.

The prince’s eyes scanned down the document in front of him: a list of Rose’s expenses as of the previous month. The frown on his face only grew at each amount. And this was only one of the many lists, all accounting for different months, all littered across the dusty conference table. He rubbed his temples, a headache already creeping up on him.

“We don’t usually spend so much on relief,” Abby inputted, her hands fidgeting with worry. “The floods in Midfell were significantly worse this month.”

That wasn’t the only increase Chip was worried about. “And the replacement ship? Does it really need to cost that much?”

Abby looked at him like he’d said something stupid, which was how she often looked at him. “We agreed to only cut the necessary expenses. The ones people would not notice.”

“I hardly think a cheaper ship will arouse many remarks.”

“Then maybe you aren’t paying enough attention to what the public are saying.” After she said it, Abby immediately clasped a hand over her mouth. Chip grimaced. They all knew why he’d stopped listening to the public’s opinions of him. The kingdom had certainly found creative ways to show their distrust of the young prince.

“You have a diplomatic visit to Edison Kingdom rapidly approaching,” She continued, breaking the brief uncomfortable silence. “If they believe us to be weakened, our alliance could be at risk. One that we need more than ever, with war close on the horizon.”

“Fine,” Chip conceded. There was little point arguing over a purchase already made. Besides, there were more important issues. Many, many more important issues.

Abby straightened out the documents, tapping them against the table so they were perfectly aligned. She looked at Chip expectantly as she laid them neatly in front of him, no doubt silently asking him to review them again. He rolled his eyes, but made a mental note. Because, as much as Chip pretended not to care about the boring paperwork, he couldn’t help but let it consume his every waking moment.

He rose from his seat, running his fingers through his hair and staring down at the papers. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the doors swung open and a familiar figure burst in.

"You're late, father," Abby commented, but Rolin ignored her.

The official advisor had been avoiding his duties for a few months now, so it wasn't surprising for him to turn up late. In fact, Chip was shocked he turned up at all. But, from Rolin's scarlet face and glaring eyes, the prince assumed he wasn't there to discuss the economy.

"Why," The advisor hissed through clenched teeth, "Is there a triton in the castle?"

Ah, so he'd found out then.

Chip knew it was pointless trying to hide things from Rolin forever, but he'd hoped it would last a little longer than two days. At least long enough for them to figure out what they were doing about their unexpected guest. Apparently he'd been asking for too much.

"I'm glad you've finally joined us, Rolin," Chip replied calmly. "Care to sit down? I trust the day’s treating you well."

"This isn't the time for small-talk. Your naivety has invited an enemy into the heart of our kingdom! I can make peace with the Ferin, but this is getting out of hand."

“We’ve already discussed this, the Ferin-”

“-Is staying, I understand. But a triton?” Rolin had calmed a little, yet his hands were still balled into fists. He sighed, as if he were about to explain something to a really stupid child. “Do you know how many ships the Undersea has sunk? Not just ours, Raft’s too.” The advisor continued solemnly. “Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. Over the past few years we’ve lost track.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Stop changing the subject. Do you know how dangerous it is to allow a regular triton this close to you? Let alone their Champion? Not only could he be reporting back information to the Undersea, but he may even be sent as an assassin.”

The thought had occurred to Chip, but he’d elected to ignore it. Now, when it was coming from the one voice in the kingdom he was legally obligated to listen to, that was a bit more difficult. Especially considering he had a point. They knew nothing about Gillion, other than his name, his titles, his vague reason for being there – though Chip was convinced there was more to it than ‘destiny’ – and that he could understand Common without being able to speak it.

Why did Chip trust him again? Oh right, because he was a Tidestrider. Maybe destiny was a good enough reason. Or maybe he was just sentimental.

“And what if he is?” Chip asked, pushing away the irrelevant thoughts. “He’s still injured. Are you suggesting we just send him on his way?”

“Quite the opposite.” The ominous tone of Rolin’s voice wasn’t reassuring. “We should hold him hostage. I’m sure the Undersea would pay a pretty penny to see their Champion return safe and sound.”

Abby had been silent since her father entered, as always seemed to happen, but she took this opportunity to speak up. “Are you forgetting that we’re talking about a person? An injured, helpless person who can only communicate to us through a translator? He can’t even speak our language and you’re acting as if he’s carrying out some evil plot to bring us down from within! Can’t you hear how ridiculous you sound?”

“Abby, he has a point-”

“Chip?” Her voice was filled with betrayal. He couldn't meet her gaze, couldn't see that disappointment.

Staring at the documents on the table, Chip tried to defend himself. “I don’t mean we should lock him in the dungeons or anything, but we should definitely keep an eye on him. Just long enough to make sure he’s recovered, and so we can figure out if we should trust him."

"I still think-"

"Rolin, we've already heard what you think." Chip looked to Abby, hoping for support, hoping they could compromise. Yet all he saw was anger.

"You would lie to him about what's happening? You would keep him in the dark, but expect him to trust you?”

"Abby, it's not like that-"

"There are difficult decisions to be made in politics," Rolin interrupted, his tone severe. "You cannot be led by such unreliable feelings of empathy."

"Then maybe I don't want to be involved in politics," Abby whispered harshly.

Chip's eyes widened. Sure, Abby wasn't really an advisor, just stepping in for her father, but she seemed to be made for the role. She was smart, decisive and charismatic: perfect for convincing the court to support whatever law they were passing. And, despite what Rolin believed, her empathy was one of her many strengths. It meant she could see from the perspective of the kingdom, represent them to the court and ensure they were well-treated. The point was, she was good at what she did. It had never crossed Chip's mind that she might not enjoy it.

He stood stunned for a moment, as Abby stormed out, letting the door slam as she left. Rolin grunted triumphantly.

“Well, your highness, I will need to be caught up on all the goings on, if I am to return to my role.”

There was nothing Chip wanted less.

“I’m afraid that will have to wait, Rolin,” He muttered. “I have business to attend to.” And with that, he followed after Abby, leaving Rolin grumbling behind him.

As Chip meandered the corridors – he couldn’t run, not with Rolin the king of formality around – he racked his brains for where Abby would’ve gone. He didn’t know her all that well, as they only really met to discuss politics, and he could barely even remember what role she’d had before taking over as stand-in advisor. Perhaps some planning or architectural thing? It’s what she seemed most interested in, at least. Though, she certainly spent a lot of time around the library so maybe she’d been some sort of records keeper. Still, that didn’t-

Chip paused mid-thought, stopping still. The library! He turned in his tracks and began racing in the correct direction, Rolin’s rules be damned.

Soon enough, he stood before the great doors, pushing against them ready to shove them open. He hesitated at the sound of laughter from within. It echoed throughout the hallway, these girlish jovial giggles. A happiness, genuine happiness, that was so foreign to Whitethorne, bloomed behind those doors. A joy those old walls hadn’t known for years. Chip couldn’t help from softly chuckling himself, a surprised grin spreading across his face.

Another sound followed. Not a laugh, not words, but a string of excited notes. There was a strange quality to them, as if the speaker wasn’t quite of this world. If they were who Chip believed, perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth.

Carefully, quietly, Chip pushed open the towering doors, just enough so he could peer inside.

The library itself was like another land to him, another realm. It was such a stark contrast to the dark and rundown rooms he so often frequented. The combination of the enormous windows and gold accents was almost blinding to him. But it wasn’t the library that drew Chip’s attention, it was the two figures perched around a table stacked with books.

His gaze first went to the girl. Perhaps it was because he had only met her once, or because of her striking red hair, or maybe it was her loud and wild laughter, it hardly mattered the reason. The girl – though she wasn’t quite a girl per se, and not just because Chip knew her to be older, no there was some maturity about her, despite the childish giggles.

So, to amend himself, the woman was fair-skinned and freckled and full of some powerful joy. Chip couldn’t recognise magic, but he was certain it was whatever life radiated from her. Her face, contorted as it was in laughter, was long and angular, with a strong and prominent nose. He recognised her immediately. All Ferins looked the same.

This was the former Lady Jay Ferin of Raft, and now Whitethorne’s bookkeeper. Though Chip had met her once before, it had been under hurried circumstances and he hadn’t been able to register just how much she resembled her uncle.

Then there was the triton. The one who had already caused so many problems in only a few short days. Gillion Tidestrider.

Chip could hardly believe how lucky he was to have found a Ferin and a Tidestrider in the same week. But, as improbable and incredible as it was, that wasn’t what Chip thought of as he watched the triton’s lips form a gentle smile.

The Tidestrider didn’t resemble Finn in the way the Ferin looked like Drey. Instead, he was the embodiment of whatever Chip imagined a hero to be. Broad shoulders, strong jaw, determination shining in his eyes: the very picture of a champion. Yet… there was something else. There was softness in him, in the way wisps of seaweed green hair brushed against his shoulders as he spoke, in the dimples that showed their face whenever he smiled. There was something magnetic about it, something-

Chip had been leaning against the door and, in his attempt to get a better view of the two figures, had accidentally nudged it forwards, causing a load creak to erupt from its hinges. The sudden noise startled all three of them, with Chip tensing and further opening the doors, as if that had been his intention from the beginning, while the two within the library turned to the doorway in shock. For a moment, he swore the triton’s eyes glowed.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting,” Chip blurted out, panting from the sudden scare.

“Your highness,” the Ferin said at exactly the same moment, standing to attention and quickly bowing. “What can I do for you?”

Chip shouldn’t feel embarrassed. It was his own castle, he was allowed to walk around it and visit the rooms. And yet an overwhelming humiliation washed over him. He was intruding on something, he was sure of it.

“Oh, nothing, nothing, I was just wondering if Abby was in here.” He glanced around the room: empty, besides the three of them. “And obviously she isn’t. Well, I’ll be going then-” He turned to leave, ready for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Wait!” The Ferin called out. She quickly corrected herself, “Wait, your highness.”

Chip stopped.

“If you could spare a moment, please, Gillion wanted to speak with you, your highness.”

A melodic noise of agreement followed.

“Alright,” Chip said, turning back. “On one condition. You need to stop calling me ‘your highness’.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“Chip.”

————

The castle was still new to Jay. It wasn’t surprising really, considering it had only been four days since she arrived. Yet, she couldn’t help but find comfort in the library. Perhaps it reminded her of home: the smell of old books and the salty breeze that somehow crept within. Although, this library was far more extensive; it wasn’t limited to battle tactics or history, no there were actual stories and encyclopaedias on any and every topic imaginable. And there was more colour, even if that colour was largely gold. So perhaps, while it was reminiscent of her old life, there was enough difference to bring her some hope. Things would be better here. They had to be.

It was lucky she liked the library so much, for that’s where she had to spend most of her time. She was implementing a new system of organisation already, which Abby was thrilled with, and that certainly took up a large portion of her day.

Then there was the new arrival. The spanner in the works. The triton.

Officially, he became her problem on the evening of the second day. When the newly returned prince brought back a dying man who could only speak Primordial. Abby kept repeating it was a stroke of luck that Jay was there. Ever the sceptic, Jay wasn’t so sure she believed that. At least, to begin with.

She’d grown up hearing about the Undersea and all that lived within it. Her father would come home and grumble about another sunken ship, or something that pulled their recruits into the depths. Then, out of nowhere, the attacks just stopped. No one would mention the Undersea at all, especially her father. In fact, they were unusually cheery about everything. Her father encouraged her Primordial lessons; books on tritons and their culture began to fill the library shelves. Just before she had left, it all went quiet again. So she knew something was wrong.

Jay was suspicious of the newcomer. Until she met him. And, oh, he was so scared and confused. Any anger from him was only out of fear. Once they’d returned his pet, he was kind and apologetic. Her heart ached for him: she knew all too well how it felt to arrive somewhere so new and so different. So, when Abby suggested for Jay to teach Common to him, she didn’t think twice about accepting.

At the time, she didn’t question why everyone assumed he was staying.

She didn’t regret her decision either. They arranged for daily lessons, as well as generally spending most of their time together – after all no one could understand him without her acting as translator. In the first lesson, she learnt he could understand yet not speak Common due to some magic, though he was very mysterious about the details. The sceptic in her made a note of the odd behaviour, yet Jay largely ignored it. Gillion was otherwise so sweet that she couldn’t bring herself to think ill of him. They exchanged some brief information, sharing some of their interests and upbringing, then got started on phonics.

The second lesson began similarly. Gillion struggled with the languages’ sounds – Jay didn’t blame him, she’d certainly struggled when learning Primordial – so they were practising those again. In all honesty, she had never planned to be a teacher and wasn’t particularly talented at it, but she tried her best.

About an hour in, maybe even less, some tension snapped. She couldn’t tell you what happened – perhaps Gillion had mispronounced something, or she had messed up her word order – but their gazes met and Jay just burst out laughing. One of the uncontrollable fits of giggles her father had always hated. Gillion rested a hand on her arm in an attempt to steady her, and asked if she was alright, which only made her laugh even more.

And that was the moment the Prince chose to stumble in.

She had only met him once, very briefly, before then. But after their second encounter, Jay could safely say Chip was not how she imagined a prince would be. Somehow, he failed to meet any of the requirements she’d built up in her mind. Princes were supposed to be well-dressed: Chip wore a plain shirt and trousers. Princes were supposed to be proper and well-mannered: Chip had stood and gawked at them for a good minute or so before saying a word. Princes were supposed to have a regal air about them: Chip was strangely awkward. Princes were supposed to have elegant names: Chip… well, that one was self-explanatory. Point was, Chip was unexpected. And not necessarily in a bad way.

Jay had anticipated that the Prince of Rose would be stand-offish and self-important, so discovering he seemed very normal was a pleasant surprise. However, it was a less pleasant surprise for him to burst in without warning.

And yet, it was lucky. Again, that invisible, unbelievable force of fate came into play. Destiny, as Gillion would say. Mere minutes earlier, Gillion had been asking if he could speak with the Prince and ask about what would be happening, because surely he couldn’t stay there unofficially forever.

“Wait!” She called out, just as he was leaving. Fate or not, she wouldn’t be letting this opportunity pass by. Then she remembered that he was a prince. Recalling her father’s lessons on etiquette, she amended herself, mentally listing the honorifics for each member of court until she arrived at prince. “Wait, your highness. If you could spare a moment, please, Gillion wanted to speak to you, your highness.” Maybe that was overdoing it.

Yet, he stopped and turned around. “Alright, on one condition. You need to stop calling me ‘your highness’.”

Yep, she’d overdone it.

“Then what should I call you?”

“Chip.”

A snort escaped her before she had the chance to restrain it. “Oh! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, that wasn’t- I wasn’t-”

“It’s fine,” He said, grinning and laughing himself. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? You mispronounce ‘ship’ once and suddenly it’s all people call you. Legally, I’m Christopher, but no one calls me that except at formal events.” Chip extended a hand and Jay accepted the shake, not quite believing what was happening. “You’re the bookkeeper, Jay Ferin.”

She nodded. “And that’s Gillion Tidestrider.”

He turned to Gillion and smiled. “I know.”

A beat of silence. “Do you want to sit down?”

All three took a few moments to arrange themselves around the table, with Jay and Gillion on one side – as they had been before – whilst the Prince sat opposite them. All the while, Gillion maintained eye contact with Chip, as if they were having a conversation in a language all of their own. Once they were settled, and the silence had stretched just long enough to be considered awkward, Chip smiled at the other two expectantly. Jay gently nudged Gillion with her elbow.

“Tell him I said thank you,” Gillion said, glancing between Jay and the Prince, unsure who to address. “For everything.”

Jay repeated this to the Prince, who smiled. “I’m just glad you’re back on your feet. Speaking of, how did you end up in that state? Do you remember?”

Jay watched as Gillion froze, his shoulders tensing just like every other time she’d tried to get him to open up about what happened. He rubbed a thumb over his wrist, shifting the sleeve of his borrowed robe just enough to reveal a black mark. At a glance, it looked to be a tattoo. And yet, some part of Jay doubted that. A strange dread filled her stomach. But, just as quickly as it had been revealed, the mark was hidden again.

Gillion didn’t speak.

“It’s okay,” Chip quickly chimed in, clearly aware of the growing tension, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Gillion’s shoulders sank in relief and the smile returned to his face. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I am extremely grateful for your hospitality,” Gillion began, speaking slowly and carefully considering each word. “However, I would like to know whether I’m going to be staying here for the foreseeable future, as I haven’t yet been told.” He paused, and Jay took the opportunity to translate.

“Would you like to stay?” Chip asked, once she had finished. He fumbled with his fingers and looked down at the table. To the untrained eye, he might seem nervous or like he was simply outletting some energy, but Jay had grown to recognise the signs of secrets. There was an unmistakable spark of mischief mixed with guilt in his lowered gaze. Not only was the Prince hiding something, but he was bad at it. Yet, Gillion didn’t seem to notice anything wrong.

“I would, if you’d allow me. I have nowhere else to go.”

The Prince seemed relieved. “Then you can stay as long as you like.” Though Chip maintained focus on the triton, Jay swore that, for a moment, he addressed the message to her. It was… comforting.

“Jay,” Gillion began, addressing Jay to her surprise, “Would it be impolite to ask to see some of the kingdom? As nice as this castle is, I would love to see the outside.” His bright eyes were full of childlike wonder at the prospect. And, as much as Jay didn't want to go on a tour of the capital and would much rather stay in the library, she couldn’t refuse him. Not when he seemed so frustrated with their lessons.

“I’ll see what I can do,” She replied, before switching back to Common. “Your highness- sorry- Chip, would we be able to visit the capital? The castle is wonderful but-”

“Of course, of course,” Chip interrupted, eyes lighting up with mischievous delight, “Or we could go someplace else. Someplace far far nicer than the capital, if I do say so myself.”

Jay was a little wary of the Prince’s sudden shift in mood, but Gillion was enraptured. “Oh yes, Jay we have to!”

She sighed. “Yes, if you believe we’d enjoy that more.”

“Oh, I think you would.” Chip rose from his chair, grinning wildly. “Though, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I’ve still gotta find Abby.” With that, he sauntered away, breaking into a run once he believed he was out of their sight.

As the remaining two returned to their lesson, Jay began to question her first impression of the Prince. Perhaps he was cocky and self-absorbed. Perhaps he was conceited and annoying. Perhaps everything she’d been taught about Rose was true. Perhaps she would have to find out.

Chapter Text

Gillion hadn’t quite gotten over the surprise of waking above water. It was still so strange to see sunlight streaming through the slit between the curtains and, once he pulled them aside, to search the landscape of rolling hills and swaying grass for a glimpse of the ocean. The novelty hadn’t quite worn off yet, but Gillion could certainly feel the guilt approaching. He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying himself. This was a punishment, and he would do well to remember it.

He glanced down at the crescent mark that stained his wrist: evidence of his deal with that wicked Sea Witch, evidence of yet another failure. If he could somehow turn that moment of temptation into redemption, it would be through fulfilling his prophecy. Just as the Elders and Niklaus wanted. And, if Niklaus could be trusted on such a matter, Gillion could only do this by first saving the Oversea.

That was why he needed to see the kingdom, why he needed to become close with the Prince. It was hardly important that these steps aligned with his wants. Just a moment of kindness from destiny. A brief relief from the storm.

There wasn’t time to be grateful for it. Or, rather, there shouldn’t be time to be grateful for it. Gillion shouldn’t have the chance to sink into that comfort and warmth and safety, but he couldn’t help himself. He was excited. And, as he noticed a strange structure – which Jay had informed him was a carriage – arriving in the courtyard, his excitement only grew.

A little while later – newly washed and dressed in robes he vaguely recognised, though he wasn’t sure where from – Gillion gazed out the window once more. He watched as staff loaded a box onto the carriage and attached strange creatures to the vehicle. It was all so peculiar, but the forbidden joy still tugged his face into a grin. He tapped happily at the windowsill: a quiet noise which was met with a curious chirrup. He turned to see Pretzel staring at him with a tilted head. She let out another blurble before rolling her eyes and wandering expectantly towards the edge of the nightstand. Her small tentacles made a gentle slapping sound against the wood as she called Gill over with a tap.

“I’m afraid you’re not coming, Pretzel,” Gillion said, sorry to have to break the news. “This is a matter of destiny, and it wouldn’t be proper to bring you along.”

The frogtopus let out a quiet grumble, so he added, “Besides, you’ll be here conducting the far more important task of befriending the staff. It will be far easier to save the Oversea if we can understand how their world works.”

This seemed to silence her complaints and soon enough she was pacing the nightstand and mumbling to herself, as if producing a plan.

Not long after, a knock sounded at the door, followed by a deep, gruff voice he could recognise, but he couldn’t place who it belonged to. “His royal highness wished for me to inform you that they’re waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.”

In a few swift strides, Gillion closed the distance between himself and the exit. He hesitated as his hand hovered over the doorknob, glancing back towards Pretzel – who raised two tentacles in her equivalent of a thumbs up – before slowly pulling open the door and poking his head out.

In the corridor, just outside his room, stood the owner of that voice: a tall and burly man, with deep brown skin and shorn black hair, and similar bristle-like scruff along his jaw. However, it was the markings covering his arms that piqued Gillion’s interest, reminding him of the mark upon his own wrist.

It didn’t take long for Gillion to recognise the man as the one who had helped Chip carry him to the castle. If memory served correctly, he was called John.

He stood to attention, but with an air of uncertainty about him that made Gillion wonder what words of encouragement or promises of destiny he would offer John, if only he could be understood.

"You ready?" John asked, maintaining eye contact with the triton.

Gillion opened his mouth and, after a moment of struggling, managed the word, "Yes." The Common word sounded strange and unnatural in his voice, more gasping than how others spoke. John's eyes widened in shock, before he nodded and gestured for Gillion to follow him.

As they moved through the castle's corridors and down several staircases, Gillion wondered what the Elders would think if they could see him now. Fraternising with humans was strictly forbidden, and he was more than breaking that rule. But, somehow, he found he didn't care as much as he’d believed he would. He didn't miss home as much as he expected. There was a release of pressure above the water, both literally and figuratively, which he could feel himself getting used to. His movements weren't as stiff and measured; his words – when he could use them – flowed freely without fear of punishment.

The guilt from before returned in a tidal wave. He'd only been up here for a few days, and already he was leaving all he'd been taught behind. He was forgetting himself, forgetting his place.

He straightened his posture, tugged at his clothes till he looked more presentable. It was too late to tie back his hair now, but he ran his fingers through it and tucked it nearly behind his ears. He could sense John watching him curiously, but he ignored it. He couldn't let his presentation slip, even if the Elders weren't there to chase him about it.

Yet, when they finally left through the castle's grand doors, Gillion wondered if he'd misinterpreted the formality of the outing.

Jay had traded her heavy blue jacket and ruffled undershirt for a white blouse, but kept her usual beige trousers. Her fiery hair was tied back into a braid. She smiled at Gillion reassuringly as he hesitated, and turned around to speak with someone. Chip.

The Prince glanced over his shoulder and gave a lopsided grin. He wore the same, or similar, white shirt and dark trousers as Gillion had seen him in before, yet had tied a vibrant red bandana around his head. Perhaps it was to keep the unruly hair at bay, but even from this distance Gillion could detect magic. He watched Chip curiously for a moment, something whispering unintelligible thoughts in the back of his mind. Niklaus' words came back to him: what is it you desire?

He brushed the thought away, striding over to the carriage.

Any worries he’d held about being overdressed were immediately disproven when Chip and Jay greeted him.

“Thank goodness you arrived when you did, Ferin over here was boring me to death with carriage facts." Chip made a face at Jay and she rolled her eyes.

"I was just making observations. For a barouche, it has some odd elements to it, which suggest-"

"Like I said. Boring me to death." Chip grinned as Gillion took a seat beside Jay. "Right, once John’s all settled we can get going. We can probably still get there with enough time to stay for a while before it gets dark, if we leave now.” He leant out the carriage and waved energetically at John. “JOHN! You coming or what?”

John, who had been speaking with a short woman at the castle’s entrance, looked over at Chip and rolled his eyes, before saying one last thing and striding over towards them. He didn’t climb into the carriage with them, however, instead sitting at the front nearer the strange beasts.

Chip must’ve spotted Gillion’s confusion, for he said, “John’s gotta come with us unfortunately. One of Rolin’s rules. But he’s got his own business to do in town, so he won’t get in our way.”

Gillion nodded as if this had answered his question, but the moment Chip turned to speak with John, he leant over to Jay. “What are the things at the front and why does John need to sit closer to them?”

“They’re horses. Usually friendly, and typically used for riding or pulling carriages along. And he has to sit by them because-” She paused, waving her hand about like she did when she couldn’t find the right phrasing in Primordial. “He has to… guide them along. So they know where they’re going and don’t run off in random directions. Lead them? I guess?”

“Thank you,” Gillion whispered, "I know it must be a pain to have to explain things to me all the time, but thank you. I appreciate it."

"Don't be silly. It's no bother at all." Jay squeezed his shoulder and adjusted her seating. Switching to Common, she muttered, "I hate carriage rides."

“Well you should’ve told me sooner. I would’ve called for my land-boat,” Chip laughed. “But it’s too late now, you’ll just have to cope. John's a good driver, it'll be fine.” Almost exactly as he said this, the carriage lurched forwards, knocking them all into each other and causing some grumblings, especially from Jay, before the pace steadied itself.

“John, my friend, that’s probably the funniest thing you’ve ever done, intentional or not. I forgive you for everything,” Chip called out, chuckling to himself. Gillion couldn’t see the humour in it, but he managed a smile all the same. The smile turned to a gape as they left the castle grounds.

It was all so green. And it wasn’t the green he’d expected, not vibrant like his hair, but soft and clear and fresh. And real. He’d heard of plants and trees, but he hadn’t quite realised how many there’d be. They were everywhere. They swayed in the wind, leaves rustling and whispering. Oh, how he wished he could understand their words. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning at it all: though he’d technically seen it when John and Chip carried him up to the castle, he hadn’t been conscious for most of that trip, or at least not present enough to take it all in.

But now…

Now it was all he could focus on. The waving grass that became a vaguely green blur as the carriage rolled on past; the occasional brightly coloured speck that Jay explained were flowers – Gillion leant over and plucked a few that grew beside the road and she helped tuck them into his hair, much to his excitement. Little delicate pink things that reminded him of Pretzel.

Oh, everything was so much more wonderful up close than it had been from through his window.

It wasn’t long later that Chip turned back to them – he’d been teasing John about something or other – grinning wildly. “We’re nearly there! Look, over there, can you see?”

Gillion leant forwards, gazing in the direction the Prince had pointed, a smile flickering across his lips when he saw it.

Just in the distance, hidden slightly behind a copse of trees, a small village shone golden in the morning sunlight. They neared the village’s outskirts and Gillion gazed about at the cottages in awe: built of beige stone with either thatched or tiled roofs. Vastly different from the sleek and spherical homes of the Undersea.

The carriage slowed to a halt and the four of them hopped out onto the cobblestone path. John stopped to speak with someone who appeared to be waiting for their arrival, and the horses were led away, but Gillion barely noticed. He was far too preoccupied beaming in wonder at everything around him. He’d completely forgotten the guilt he’d felt barely two hours ago.

A chuckle from beside him alerted him to Chip’s presence. He turned to find the Prince grinning at him, head cocked in amusement.

“Welcome to the village of Whitethorne,” He announced, making his way along the path and onto the main highstreet of the village. The others soon followed after, with Jay and John hanging back a little. Chip continued talking as they walked, occasionally pausing to smile at a passerby, who all seemed to recognise him.

“I grew up here,” the Prince explained, “in a little orphanage that was knocked down years ago. On one of the many royal tours of the kingdom, the late King Beau visited and apparently I wouldn’t let go of his General’s leg, so they brought me back to the castle and- well, the rest is history.”

Gillion nodded along to the story but was quickly distracted as they approached the village’s centre. The street circled around a patch of grass with a fountain in the middle and a few benches around it in the shade of some smallish trees, but little else. And yet the townspeople seemed to flock to it. Children ran about on the grass, chasing each other and screeching in joy; adults sat and talked on the benches, laughing at the childrens’ happiness.

It was something Gillion didn’t quite understand, something you certainly wouldn’t see in the Undersea – though tritons and other seafolk tended to live together in shoals, they rarely gathered like this outside their homes – but it brought a smile to his lips.

Upon their arrival, a half-orc woman arose from where she had sat and quickly approached them, giving a slight curtsey to Chip. “Your highness,” She exclaimed excitedly, a beaming smile on her face. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?”

Chip flashed his grin and the woman shook her head fondly. “My friends over here are new to the kingdom, so I figured I’d start off by showing them the best of it. And please, Amanda, there’s no need for the formalities.”

“Your friends?” The woman – Amanda, Gillion noted – switched her gaze to both him and Jay. “Of course, I know John already.” She gave a soft smile to the Marshal, who bowed in reply.

“How rude of me to not introduce you,” Chip laughed. “This is Gillion Tidestrider and Miss Jay Ferin.” Amanda’s eyes narrowed at Jay’s last name, but she said nothing, instead offering a curtsey to them both and smiling politely. Turning to the aforementioned, the Prince added, “And this is Miss Amanda Rinn, the mayor of Whitethorne.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rinn,” Jay piped up, always keen to demonstrate her manners.

The Mayor smiled. “The pleasure’s all mine.” She clapped her hands together all of a sudden, her eyes glistening with an idea. “Well, if it’s their first visit, we’d better make it memorable. I’ll call for the maypole. We’ll have a celebration!”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Chip began, but Amanda had already taken off. The Prince rolled his eyes, turning to Gillion and the others, “I’ll be back in a moment.” And he rushed after her.

The three were left, hovering awkwardly beside the fountain in the green's centre.

It was, of course, Jay who broke the silence. "Have you ever been here before, John?"

"Whitethorne? Once or twice. I know Mandy from events at the palace, more than anything…" John continued on to explain that he hadn't grown up in Rose and so didn't know his way around any more than Jay would, but Gillion realised early into the conversation that there was little he could do to contribute.

He hadn't quite anticipated how isolating it would be to hear what others spoke of, but not be able to join in. Perhaps that was intended. A sort of inbuilt punishment for turning against fate. Or perhaps Niklaus simply didn't wish for him to communicate the information surrounding their deal. Who could know. Either way, it meant Gillion felt very alone, despite the chattering of local people going about their days.

His eyes began to search the village for something to focus on. There wasn't anything particularly interesting: a few shop fronts with signs he couldn't read – apparently Niklaus didn't see fit to grant him the ability to read Common – but mostly just the same small houses with small gardens of white flowers.

A chirp from behind him made Gillion spin around, thinking that somehow Pretzel had snuck along with him. He was a little disappointed when he realised that was not the case, but his excitement returned once he saw the small blue creature bathing itself in the fountain. It was fuzzy, or at least covered in something fuzzy, with a little sharp beak and two tiny legs. As it sang, it splashed about in the water, shaking itself off every so often. Something about it made Gillion smile.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Gillion murmured, approaching the fountain's edge and kneeling beside it. The thing quickly looked up at him, tilting its head as if it were listening. "I am too, I suppose. It's definitely exciting seeing all these new things. I just-" He sighed. "I just figured it'd be more than this, you know?"

The water rippled and softly splashed as the creature hopped towards him, before stopping and tilting its head once more.

Gillion smiled. "You're definitely one of the more interesting things I've seen today." The thing tweeted in reply. "We don't have anything like you in the Undersea. I suppose frogtopi come close, but they're still very different."

He sighed, standing up and ready to return to listening in on whatever Jay and John spoke about, but the creature surprised him by stretching out its equivalent of fins and flapping upwards, as if swimming. It landed on Gillion's corals and he chuckled.

"What are you doing?" He laughed, extending a finger for it to perch on. The creature accepted the offer, its strange and small feet gripping onto him.

He turned to show Jay what had happened, but instead came face to face with a small crowd of children, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. They all stared up at him and the bird on his finger with awe and wonder.

"That bird seems to like you a lot," Jay commented, standing among those watching him. She looked around her and laughed. “And apparently these kids too.”

“Bird,” Gillion repeated quietly as he stared at his audience, the bird still perched happily on his finger.

Some part of him whispered that this was exactly like the Elders, that they were all judging him, expecting something grand and impressive. He shook that away. These were children: hopeful, innocent and excited about life, in ways he never had been. In ways he’d been taught were wrong. And yet, they were happy. So perhaps the Elders’ definition of ‘wrong’ had exceptions.

One child, a young girl with golden hair and eyes that sparkled with joy, held up a slice of fruit in offering. An apple, as Jay had explained during one of their lessons – apparently humans tended to learn phonetics through word association. Tentatively, Gillion accepted the offered food.

“‘S for the bird,” the girl said, now confident.

He nodded and placed the apple in the palm of his left hand, before moving it near to where the bird still stood on his right. The bird tilted its head in consideration, then swiftly began pecking at the fruit, much to the joy of the little girl, who was now beaming with pride.

“Woah, Gillion, you’ve got a bird now! I was only gone a few minutes!” Chip arrived at his side, lightly patting him on the back. The Prince laughed. “She’s devouring that apple. Hey, maybe we should call her that if she likes it so much. You are what you eat, and all that.”

Gillion nodded slightly. It seemed fitting to name the friend he made on his first adventure above sea after one of the first words of Common he had learnt. “Apple,” He whispered, and the bird chirped in reply, seemingly declaring the choice correct.

“Amanda’s decided she’s throwing a celebration anyway, I’m afraid. I did manage to convince her to not bring out the maypole though, which I’d consider a success.” Gillion looked back up to see Chip explaining this to Jay and John. “She’s gone to convince the bards at the tavern to play outside instead, but she won’t be long. Besides, she’s right to some extent. It’ll be nice to see my old home so lively and merry again.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Jay said, smiling. “But before that, John and I were going to stop by the post office quickly. I have something I wish to send off and John says he has business there too.”

Chip looked a little disheartened, so Gillion placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder – a hand that was now free of Apple, who’d decided to return to the fountain after her snack. The Prince gave him an odd smile, but it was a smile nonetheless.

“Of course.” He returned his focus to Jay. “I’ve still got Gillion, and you two won’t be long.”

“We won’t,” John agreed.

The Prince clapped his hands together. “Well then, it’s all settled. We can meet back here whenever you’re finished.” With that, the party split and Chip turned his attention to the newly returned Amanda Rinn, who’d brought with her not only the tavern’s bards, but also half the tavern goers.

Gillion watched from the sidelines as everything was set up: people gathered on the streets, seemingly in some sort of formation or pattern; the bards readied their instruments. Chip began to walk back over to Gill, but Amanda took him by the arm. The Prince looked over at Gill, grinning, then shrugged, letting himself be pulled into the fray.

The music started up – a bouncy, jolly tune featuring lutes and flutes and all sorts of instruments that he would get Jay to explain later on – and everyone started moving, the clatter of feet against the stone paths only adding to the melody. Men, women, children and all the rest spun and swung each other about to the music, with the vague idea of some learned choreography. They laughed and cheered and clapped and sang, all with beaming smiles and shining eyes. Skirts twirled about like squid fins as the dancers circled the village centre.

It was almost hypnotic to watch.

Gillion stood in the eye of the storm. He thought back to schools of fish, co-ordinated in their movements, acting to confuse and overwhelm predators. But that wasn’t quite this. The townsfolk weren’t scared of anything, weren’t trying to ward off an attack. This was movement for the sake of joy rather than defence. Gillion wasn’t acquainted with it but, from the happiness that radiated from the dancing crowd, he thought he’d like to change that.

And it was then that Chip, wearing that mischievous grin he’d sported all day, emerged from the joyful frenzy with an extended hand. An offer. He gazed into Gillion’s eyes; something was dancing in those pools of deep brown, something warm and alive.

Everything else seemed to stop; everything else blurred into nothing more than background noise. All Gillion could see was that blazing smile and the outstretched hand. A hand that had reached out to him before, but he had been too fearful to grab it. He’d sunk back into the waves after the slightest touch, terrified of what it could entail. Somehow, he found he wasn’t afraid anymore.

He took the hand. Their fingers intertwined. Gillion let the Prince guide him forwards.

Chapter Text

"You were born in Raft?" Jay asked, incredulously, as her and John made their way towards the post office. It was part of the reason they'd separated from the group, to continue their conversation in private. As much as she trusted Gillion to not question why they discussed the enemy nation, she couldn’t say the same for the townsfolk that watched curiously.

"I was. Grew up on the mainland and moved to Canella once I joined the Navy." John chuckled at Jay’s dropped jaw. “Yes, I was part of Raft’s Navy before I came here. Just as you were, or so I imagine.”

A quiet voice whispered something in Jay’s mind, some secret which couldn’t be shared. Her eyes widened, mouth still agape.

For a moment, she was silent. In all her planning, all her predictions, she hadn’t imagined there would be someone in a similar situation. It hadn’t even crossed her mind. No one let Raft. No one. Not without her hearing about it, at least. Unless it had been hushed up. Her head whirred with what that could mean. If they’d ensured no one heard about John leaving, what else had they silenced? It suddenly occurred to her that it was very possible no one knew she had left. No one except her mother.

She clutched tightly to the envelope in her pocket. There was more she would have to ask about.

“You alright?” John’s voice brought her back to reality. She realised she’d stopped walking without even noticing. A few streets back, jovial music started up.

“What made you leave?” Jay blurted out. It didn’t answer his question, yet in some ways it almost did.

He looked momentarily puzzled, before clearing his throat. “General Lafayette visited Canella a few years back, before Raft had such a strong hold on the place. She was brilliant, just this glowing symbol of hope, I suppose. Said things about choosing your own path and freeing yourself from the grip of life in Raft. She was forced out, but the words stuck in my head. Then she returned about a year ago and when she left, I left with her.” He paused, seeming to assess Jay’s reaction. She hoped she masked her face well. “What about you?”

The quiet voice was back, whispering the same things over and over. Jay pushed it away.

“My sister-” She took a breath. “My sister was a Navy Captain. After one of her trips she- she didn’t come home. Without them I guess I finally began to notice all the problems with Raft. If your own nation just doesn’t care about you, well that’s a wake up call that you need to leave. So I did. Never looked back. And that was a month ago, now.”

John placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled weakly. “Me too.”

They kept walking. Because that’s what you had to do. It was the only way to cope with it all, with the knowledge that, in the eyes of those you looked up to, you never mattered. You had to keep moving forwards, onwards to better things. In this case, better things happened to be a post office.

It was a small building, as many in this village were, with lodgings on the upper floor while the business itself claimed the lower. A hand-made sign, painted in blush pink with looping white lettering, swung from above the door. It read: Hatcher & Hatcher Postal Service. In smaller, blockier writing beneath was the phrase "endorsed by DPS".

A bell chimed as John pushed open the door.

“Fingers crossed it’s Agatha today. Trust me, you don’t want to meet Betty,” He whispered, approaching the front desk.

“What’s wrong with Betty?” Jay asked quietly, but John had already rung the bell for service.

A few moments after the ‘ding’ had stopped its reverberating, an elderly aarakocra woman emerged from the back of the shop. Her feathers were greyish-white and neatly preened. She walked hunched over, perhaps from the weight of the parcels she carried, or simply from her age, but at full height it wouldn’t be surprising if she were taller than Jay, which hadn’t often happened. Being tall seemed to run in the Ferin genes, and so far since she’d arrived in Rose, only John had surpassed her in height. She’d come to the conclusion that everyone in Rose was just really short, but perhaps she’d been mistaken.

“Agatha!” John greeted warmly, and the aarakocra lifted the spectacles resting on her beak up to her eyes. She broke out into a smile.

“Oh, the Marshal’s come back to Whitethorne, how lovely. And who’s this you’ve brought with you?” She peered through her spectacles and her eyes suddenly widened. “A Ferin? A Ferin, here? John- John you must do something! Call the guard or- or-”

“Calm down, Aggie, you’re getting worked into a state.” John rested a soothing hand on Agatha’s shoulder, while the woman flapped about in panic. Jay stood frozen, not sure what to do. In a way, she should’ve expected this, and she’d already received a few glares and side eyes, but this reaction caught her off-guard. “She’s with me, okay? His highness brought her here. He trusts her, so we should too. This is Jay. We’re both here seeking your service, that’s all.”

The mention of the Prince put a stop to the frenzy. Agatha gave Jay a suspicious glance before turning back to John. “My service?” She repeated.

“Yes,” John confirmed, releasing his grip on the aarakocra’s shoulder. “Jay has a letter to send and I believe I have one to collect.”

Agatha nodded slowly, still keeping an eye on Jay. “There are two. One for you and one for his highness, both from the General. I made sure to keep Betty from them,” She winked. “I’ll go get them now. Then we can deal with the Ferin.”

Ignoring the poorly cloaked threat, Jay was all the more curious about who this infamous Betty was. She said as much, then noticed John’s furrowed brow.

“Is everything alright?”

“I hope so,” John replied. He shook his head, as if dislodging an uncomfortable thought. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” Jay wasn’t convinced, but he’d already moved on. “Betty is Agatha’s younger sister. She has a habit of snooping through mail she thinks is interesting.”

"But isn’t that-”

“Illegal? Oh, she never opens anything. She’ll hold letters up to the light to try and read them, or rattle packages to figure out what’s inside, so I’ve been told. It isn’t ideal but this business is all that’s keeping these two going.” He grinned. “Besides, any information she does gather is never leaked anywhere. Some places can’t be trusted as much with valuable secrets, but everything sent through here stays private. Betty’s just nosy.”

Jay laughed at the thought of someone collecting gossip just to keep it to themselves. She wondered at the secrets in that woman’s brain.

Her wondering was cut short when Agatha returned, two pristine envelopes in hand. Each bore the wax seal of the royal family: a skull with a rose in the place of one eye. A nod back to the origins of the kingdom, to the pirates who’d settled here all those years ago. Jay recognised it from her training.

The letters were handed over to John, who retreated to a corner and began tearing open the one addressed to him. Agatha turned expectantly to Jay, who quickly remembered why she was there in the first place and retrieved her own letter from within her pocket. She placed it on the counter.

“Where to?” The aarakocra asked, maintaining eye contact with Jay and not moving to take the letter. She glanced down at it before hastily looking away, as if she feared it was trapped and would explode if merely looked at.

In that moment, Jay was glad she’d made the decision to send any mail she might have to a friend, who could then direct it to Jay’s mother back in Featherbrooke. If Agatha was so suspicious of a letter merely written by a Ferin, Jay didn’t want to know how she’d react to one directed to a Ferin who still lived in Raft.

“All-Port, please,” She said as sweetly as she could. “I’ve written out the specific address just there.”

Agatha nodded, then cautiously reached for the letter. Upon realising it was not, in fact, rigged to detonate, she snatched it up and began scribbling something in a journal behind the counter. In a surprising turn of events, she smiled, genuinely smiled, for the first time since she’d noticed Jay.

“I used to write to friends in All-Port,” She said. “I’m glad that hasn’t yet gone out of fashion.” And with that she disappeared again into the backroom, taking the letter with her.

Jay thought it odd that she hadn’t been asked for any kind of payment – neither had John, come to think of it, though perhaps there was some prearranged royal deal going on that she wasn’t privy to – and so decided to leave ten silvers on the counter, just in case, before turning to meet John. Her elation at winning over Agatha quickly gave way to worry when she spotted the Marshal staring grimly down at the letter in his hand.

“Is everything alright?” She asked.

John glanced up at her, then back at the letter. His mouth was set in a hard line and his grey eyes had gone stormy. “We have to leave,” He said, with a mixture of urgency and firmness that was particularly discomforting.

“Why?” Jay’s heart pounded in distress, adrenaline beginning to kick in. “Has something happened?”

The Marshal opened his mouth to speak but, looking back at Jay, hesitated. He slowly folded the letter, in an almost protective motion. Right. She was still a Ferin. If it was something serious, he wasn’t going to trust her with the details yet, certainly not before telling the Prince. The fact that it needed to be concealed didn’t help with Jay’s panic.

“Okay. If we need to go, then we’ll go.” Jay’s mind raced to come up with a plan of action. “Okay. I’ll go gather Gillion and his highness, and you can sort out the carriage. We can meet back where we started and you can give the Prince his letter then. Sound good?”

It felt a little strange bossing around someone in a much more senior position than her – she hadn’t quite gotten used to the lowliness of her role – and for a moment she thought John was going to refuse, but then he gave a sharp nod.

“Be as quick as you can,” He commanded.

“I will,” Jay promised.

The two swiftly left the post office and hurried off in their separate directions.

————

Chip hadn’t intended to join in the dancing, not immediately at least. He’d meant to go back to Gillion for a bit, keep the triton company until it became obvious that they couldn’t properly communicate, and then pretend to recognise someone in the crowd so he could leave and join the merrymaking.

It was obvious that the triton was separate from everyone; it had almost been guaranteed, the language barrier really emphasised the barrier part. As the soon-to-be king, it fell on Chip to fix that, but it was so much easier to just let the Ferin deal with it. He already had so much to worry about, what with the approaching Edison visit, the planning of his coronation and, most pressingly, the prospect of fucking war. He thought it was fair for him to take a backseat on this one thing. Besides, he’d made an effort by arranging this outing, even if it had really just been an excuse to escape Rolin for the day.

He’d had his plan all worked out, down to the wording of the excuse he’d give for leaving. And then Amanda had dragged him away early. It was fine. Saved him from a few minutes of one-sided conversation. He shrugged at Gillion, flashing one of his famous grins, and let it happen.

And he’d tried to enjoy himself, he really had. He let the music sweep him up, easily falling into the rhythm of the dance. But, every so often, someone would move aside a little, providing a clear line of sight to the triton. He still stood beside the fountain, eyes darting about nervously, fingers twirling a stray lock of seaweed green hair.

There was something about it that made Chip’s heart ache. Not just the quiet loneliness of it, but that Gillion seemed used to it. Almost expected it. Chip knew that feeling all too well.

Perhaps five or ten minutes into the dancing, he’d buried his selfishness and made up his mind. No chance was he going to let someone feel alone, not here, not when the triton was already deemed as ‘other’. Chip moved nearer to the fountain, still following the moves of the dance, until he stood directly before Gillion.

Then he held out a hand.

He hadn’t forgotten the last time he’d done this, before they’d properly met. Back on that quiet beach, where Chip had extended a similar offer and, whilst their fingers had brushed for a moment, Julian’s abrupt arrival meant that the offer was quickly declined. Chip hadn’t forgotten. He hoped the triton now felt safe to escape.

He couldn’t hold in the grin, a real one this time, when Gillion’s fingers clasped his.

Their eyes met for a moment and Chip’s smile only widened at the reappearance of the endearing look of curiosity that the triton had been wearing all day. Slowly and cautiously, not wanting to scare him off, Chip began returning to the crowded streets. Gillion followed, not breaking eye contact.

Once they reached a quiet patch, Chip released his grip and turned away, rejoining the dance. He’d hoped the triton would fit easily into the crowd, a hope which, upon spotting Gillion’s rigid stance and confused eyes, Chip realised had been foolish. He stopped and faced the triton once more.

“In hindsight, assuming you’d know the local dances was a little ridiculous of me,” Chip chuckled. That wasn’t quite it though. Gillion’s confusion extended beyond that. A thought occurred to the Prince – one of his rare moments of wise insight. “Have you never- have you danced before?” He posed the question apprehensively, in case it seemed accusational. He got the feeling tone was an important part of communicating with the triton.

A little unsurely, Gillion shook his head.

Well, that certainly explained it. Chip took a moment to recover from his surprise: as someone raised with dances, both formal and informal, it was difficult for him to imagine a life any other way.

“Would you like to?”

Chip wasn’t sure where all this impulsive generosity was coming from. He blamed it on his pounding heart and swimming head, though that only made him question the origin of this adrenaline. His breath caught and faltered as if he’d tired himself out, but he’d stopped dancing a while ago now, and even that hadn’t been that draining. So why was he acting like this? It crossed his mind that it could have something to do with the very small distance between Gillion and himself. Chip didn’t know which of them had moved closer, but he could’ve reached out and taken Gillion’s hand with little trouble. If he’d wanted to. But that explanation made no sense, so perhaps it had been the dancing.

The triton began to speak – a beautiful melody that entwined itself in the music – but cut himself short, bearing a frustrated expression upon remembering the Prince couldn’t understand. There was that ache again. Gillion gave a quick nod.

“It’s okay, we don’t need to speak much anyway. In fact, just to make it fair, I won’t say a word until Jay gets back, then we can both understand each other.” The words left Chip’s mouth before he knew he was speaking them. “It’ll be easier to teach you by just showing you, anyway.”

The triton nodded once more. His scrunched up nose and frustrated grimace gave way to a small smile.

The music changed to another jolly tune, one which, magically, was accompanied by a dance Chip remembered from his brief years in the village, a dance both easy to teach and to learn. Perfect.

Grouping into pairs, the crowd began to settle into the right places before setting off. Chip took Gillion’s hands in his, like every other pairing, and began leading him through the choreography. The dance began quite slowly, calmly paced, allowing Gillion time to grow used to the steps, before speeding up as the pairs swapped partners.

Gillion looked momentarily bewildered, glancing nervously back to Chip, who now spun with Amanda. Once the Prince offered a reassuring smile, the triton began to settle a little. A few partners later, Chip watched, grinning as the triton twirled about with glee, a beaming smile on his face.

Something glowed warm in Chip’s stomach, and glowed even brighter when he recalled that he’d be back with Gillion by the time the song was finished.

The dancers spun and swung one another about in wonderful and chaotic synchrony. The music grew faster, punctuated with a cacophony of claps each time the partners switched. If able to view the spectacle from above, onlookers would quickly realise the formation of the dancers resembled a rose, something very carefully thought of when the dance was choreographed, or so Arlin would so often declare. It was a symbol of pride for their kingdom, of hope and joy even in the face of danger.

Chip loved each dance he’d learnt over the years, which was a fair few, but this was by far his favourite.

The twirling and swapping and spinning continued until, once again, the Prince and the triton clasped each other’s hands, and the music finally drew to a conclusion. Around them, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but Chip and Gillion stayed together, smiling and out of breath.

Despite his promise of silence, Chip opened his mouth to speak, but was swiftly interrupted by Jay barging through the crowd towards them. The two broke apart from each other as she approached. Her expression was one of both worry and contempt, a confusing mix but one that Chip had gathered often accompanied the bookkeeper. She too was panting, but Chip suspected that was due to the haste at which she arrived, rather than particularly enthusiastic dancing.

“We need to leave,” She announced between breaths. “Now.”

————

The three were practically racing down the cobbled streets, turning down alleyways, which Chip remembered sneaking through as a child, to try and reach the edge of the town faster. Dancing was now long forgotten, and Chip hardly paid his previous partner any mind, except the occasional glance to check he was keeping up. The atmosphere had shifted from joy and wonder to fear and anxiety in only five words.

"John seemed really worried about whatever it was," Jay said as they ran.

"And there were two letters from the General?" Chip asked.

That was the part that worried him. He knew his sister, and she'd never written to him directly like this before. It was always some short update to John that he'd be able to pass on, but never directly to the Prince.

The kingdom seemed to worry that, with the General and Prince being siblings, even if not by birth, there would be a risk of some kind of collusion if the two communicated directly. It was ridiculous. Especially considering the information was shared between them either way. But the rule kept the people quiet, and Chip would never do anything to disrupt that. Not with his already shaky reputation.

"Yeah. One for him, which he read, and one for you, which he left."

That made even less sense. Why would John leave the second letter untouched if he knew it contained potentially useful information? Unless something truly terrible had happened.

Dread settled in Chip's stomach. Dread he knew all too well. It was the same feeling he'd dealt with for months after the accident at sea all those years ago, worried with every update he was given. And when those reports turned out to be useless, that dread turned to desperation. A need to hear something, even if it was bad.

He couldn't lose Lizzie too.

Chip shook the feeling away. If it had been that, then Jay would've told him about John's choked words and teary eyes. He took comfort in the urgency, instead of grief.

At their pace, they reached the outskirts of Whitethorne far sooner than he'd expected. Before he knew it, that same carriage from what felt like centuries ago was mere feet ahead of them. John emerged from behind it, staring distantly ahead of him, as he always did when deep in thought. He snapped back to reality when he noticed the trio before him.

"Good, you're here," Was his greeting. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Chip. "You can read it on the way back."

They clambered into the carriage, far more silent than they had been for the journey over. Jay and Gill stared expectantly at the Prince as they began moving. Chip paid them little attention, only looking at his sister's scratchy handwriting. A small smile passed over his face, remembering how he'd teased her for it when they were young. She'd shot back that his writing wasn't exactly the pinnacle of neatness, which drove him to learn elaborate cursive, just to spite her. He turned the envelope over, broke the wax seal, and gently slid out the letter inside.

His eyes darted over the words, so quickly that he barely understood them. He had to read it a few times over before the meaning sunk in. Then the panic set in.

Chip,

I won't bother with the formalities or other bullshit, there's no time. The attempt in Canella took a turn. We were forced to retreat, but the residents are still fighting. I'm hopeful they'll have more success than us. The ship's practically empty now. Only me, Caspian and a few others. Oh, and we'll need some serious repairs. Half the bloody boat's gone. Thank fuck we've got Caspian. We'll be back within the week, maybe sooner by the time you're reading this. I've given more detail to John, if you're worried.

General Lizzie Lafayette

"John," Chip said after a long bout of silence, "How soon will we be back?"

"About half an hour, maybe longer." Not good enough.

"And if you break the speed limit?"

From the corner of his eye, Chip watched Jay's eyes widen. She began to say something, but stopped herself. John hesitated in his response. "Less. But-"

Chip waved his hand expectantly, cutting the Marshal off. "Well then. Fast as you can."

The carriage rocketed down the winding roads, the sound of hooves against stone drowning out what little conversation Jay and Gill engaged in. Chip stayed deadly silent. His mind worked at double it's usual pace, both taking in what had happened and planning what to do next. He barely noticed, about twenty minutes later, that they'd stopped beside the castle until John called out to him.

Chip wasted no time in jumping out onto solid ground once more. He walked round to the carriage's front, holding out a hand.

"John, your letter please."

The Marshal stared blankly for a moment, before handing over his own letter, returned to its envelope.

"Thank you."

The Prince marched inside the castle and, upon seeing Rolin waiting with some remark about how they were back early, snapped his fingers and gestured for the advisor to follow after him. Stunned, Rolin did as commanded. They disappeared into the meeting room, letting the door slam shut, leaving only confusion and worry in their wake.

Any other time, Chip would've regretted leaving in such a hurry, would've made a note to apologise to John later for being so rude, would've offered some explanation to his guests. But there simply wasn't time. There was much work to be done.

Chapter Text

Gillion had barely left the carriage by the time Chip was long gone. There was a strange and urgent confusion hanging in the air, clinging to the three who remained in the palace courtyard. It had been an odd transformation to watch. One moment the Prince was all smiles and laughs, the next his face was grave and there was a metallic sharpness to his voice. The triton stood frozen for a moment, staring in shock at the castle doors, which still rattled from when they'd been slammed shut.

It was Jay who made the first move.

"Right. John, you need to tell us everything you can. What the fuck is going on?" She sounded desperately curious. Gillion had to admit, he also longed to know.

The Marshal glanced about and nodded. "Not here though."

"The library then," Jay announced. She began hurrying both Gill and John inside. Behind them, a stableboy raised a brow before shrugging and attending to the carriage and horses.

It didn’t feel like long before they reached the library. Though it was practically at the other end of the castle, the journey was so rushed and confused that it passed in mere seconds. Before he realised it, Gillion was sitting at the table he knew so well, still littered with books on learning Common, as well as one in Primordial, for his own comfort. He gently moved it in front of him, thumbing through the pages and scanning the words. Old poems and prophecies he'd learnt years ago. There was a particular one that caught his eye, as it always did.

His gaze lingered long enough to read the first line – Born of moonlight, storm and sea – before he quickly shut the book, looking up towards Jay and the Marshal.

"First of all, what was in that letter?" Jay asked, pushing the books aside, allowing room for her to lean over the table while John spoke.

"The General is returning." Was all he could manage at first.

Jay leaned closer to him still, her eyes urging him to continue. John looked away and inhaled a breath.

"She and her crew were on a mission to Canella, attempting to incite revolution. It seems to have worked, the people are fighting back against Raft control, but the majority of her crew were slaughtered.” He shut his eyes and bit his lip, seemingly suppressing some emotional reaction. Gill couldn't blame him. He was a Marshal; he would’ve known that crew. “Raft's Navy is stronger than we believed. They’ve been forced to retreat."

The two fell silent. John’s gaze was locked on the table before him; Jay stared off out the window, afternoon sun high in the sky. There was distant fear in their eyes. Something was brewing in the Oversea. Even Gillion could sense the hanging tension.

"From death comes triumph," He recited, cutting through the silence.

It was an expression the Elders had used often, whenever news of some fallen hero had reached their ears. One of grief and mourning, but also hope. A sacrifice for the sake of success.

Briefly, Gillion wondered if they’d recited it for him, for his disappearance. He wondered if they cared that much. He wondered if Edyn had been burdened with that phrase.

Jay turned back to him, brow furrowed as if she recognised the words but was confused at their meaning. Gillion had gotten used to that look over the past few days. Knowing a language and knowing a culture were two very different things, and sometimes it was blindingly obvious that Jay only fell into the first category.

“So what does this mean?” She asked the Marshal in a near whisper, moving on from Gill’s contribution. He didn’t particularly mind. “What’s Raft building this power for?”

John looked surprised. “I assumed you’d have some idea.”

“No. Father never included me in military discussions. That was Ava’s thing.” She winced and the Marshal gave a sympathetic smile. Gillion wondered what he’d missed. Who was Ava?

John left no room for such questions. “The General believes it’s a sign they’re preparing for war. She mentioned it in her letter, how she’s certain that direct battle is rapidly approaching.” He paused for a moment, took a breath, stared worriedly down at the table. “And if that’s true then we’re in deep trouble.”

“What do you mean?” Gillion asked. Apparently his quizzical expression was enough for John to understand, as he replied without the need for translation.

“The kingdom is-” He cut himself off, perhaps hesitant to relay such information. But he carried on anyway. “Rose is not prepared for war. The Prince refuses to believe it’s nearing and his advisor is keeping tight controls on the treasury so, with the two of them together, we aren’t at all ready for whatever Raft could throw at us.” John’s fists were clenched by the time he’d finished speaking. Gill got the impression that this was something the Marshal had argued about before. Perhaps even the Prince and advisor directly, by the looks of the way his mouth curled into a grimace.

The library door creaked open, and a familiar head peeked in. Gillion hadn’t properly spoken with Abigail – or anyone, for that matter – but he’d been there for a few of her chats with Jay and he’d already decided she was a good sort of person. The sort that radiated kindness. She smiled at him whenever they passed each other in the halls; she tried her best to include him in conversations, even if it was difficult. She was decidedly sweet. Reminiscent of someone else he knew, someone he missed very dearly.

“You’re back early,” She commented. Upon seeing their serious expressions, Abby stepped completely into the room, a tired sigh escaping her. “What’s happened? I’m guessing it has something to do with Chip dragging my father off into the meeting room?”

“Lizzie sent a letter,” John explained, and Abby’s face fell.

She hurried in, shutting the doors behind her, and pulled up a chair beside John. “Tell me everything.”

As the Marshal recounted all that had happened, Jay chiming in with a few additions, Gillion’s mind was reeling. This was why he was here, after all, to help prevent this war. It was his destiny. But how was he supposed to secure peace if he couldn’t speak to anyone but Jay?

The others talked back and forth about what they thought would happen, about the General and the Prince, about how worried they were, with John and Abby telling Jay that they were used to Chip disappearing after something like this had happened and that it never meant anything good.

All that played through Gill’s mind were those words Niklaus had used only a few days before, how had it only been days before? Through him, you will bring the two kingdoms together in peace. Through the Prince. There was something hidden in that, Gillion felt. Some trick or double meaning that he couldn’t understand. It was the nature of witches to speak in riddles, but this was more than that. He just wasn’t sure what it meant yet.

“Are you alright?”

Jay’s sudden question made him jump. He hadn’t even noticed her break from the conversation and switch to staring, concerned, at him.

Gillion gave a quick nod then, pausing to think, added, “How many books does the library have on Oversea history?”

————

There was a certain benefit to the royal chambers being out of bounds. They became a place to escape royal duties, to be a person rather than a prince. Though, the decor tried its best to make that pretence impossible. Golden furniture with scarlet upholstery seemed to glare angrily at all that entered, screaming an obnoxious reminder that this was the bedroom of a prince. This was a place of royalty. Chip had half a mind to move to the servant's quarters or simply sleep in his study, but didn't dare face Rolin's wrath at the suggestion.

He had calmed the room as much as he could, covering the walls in paintings of the ocean and other such blues, trying to cool to fiery surroundings. It worked, to some extent. There wasn't the budget to redecorate, so small changes would have to work.

Chip was perched on the edge of his bed – a lavish, humongous thing that took up the majority of the space – head buried in his hands, when a knock sounded against the door. His muffled “Come in” sounded nothing less than pathetic. He briefly glanced up to see who was there – another meeting with Rolin might’ve killed him – and returned his head to his hands with a sigh of relief when it was Julian who stepped inside.

“Are you alright, your highness?” The gnome asked cautiously. He, unfortunately, was among those that had witnessed the Prince’s rage first hand, and so knew to be careful. Chip felt guilty each time someone looked nervous around him, but his short temper remained exactly that.

“There’s no one else here, Jules. You don’t have to use proper titles.” Was his greeting. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else, didn’t have the energy to restrain himself.

“You didn’t answer my question, Chip,” Julian replied. Malicious compliance was a phrase all those close to Chip appeared to be acquainted with.

The Prince sighed into his palms. “Must I? I’m sure you’ve already heard what’s happened. Word travels quickly in this castle.”

Julian shuffled further into the room; looking up, Chip noticed the gnome was watching him with concern. Apparently that was the reaction he earned from everyone. “Abby told me that the General is to return, and that you rushed off to meet with her father. I thought you might want some company, from someone more… agreeable than the advisor.”

Chip chuckled a little. It seemed his dislike of Rolin wasn’t unique.

“Thanks, Jules. I appreciate it.” He smiled. Then his eyes narrowed. “Please don’t just hover in the doorway though, you know that’s always irritated me. You’re allowed inside.”

Within moments of Julian stepping fully into the room, he’d dropped his guise of the concerned and slightly awkward attendant, becoming the loyal and judgemental friend Chip had known these past few years.

“Abby also told me that you’d been grouchy with everyone after the news, which makes sense, but I gather there’s something going on beyond your sister coming home?”

Chip fell back onto his bed, sighing dramatically. “Oh, just the usual. The beginnings of revolution, mass slaughter at the hands of Raft, impending war. A typical Thursday, really.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Well, in that case, everything’s horrible and going to shit.” He stretched his arms out and stared at the ceiling above. It had once been painted with brilliant images symbolising the kingdom, waves and ships and roses, but now the colours were faded and dull, and the paint was peeling. The decay seemed terribly fitting. “Julian, I don’t think I’m cut out for this royal bullshit.”

A silence. Perhaps he’d said too much. Then he felt the mattress sink as Julian sat beside him.

“Talk to me.”

Chip felt tears of relief prick his eyes. He blinked them away. There was no time for his own emotions. It was the kingdom’s that were important.

“Rose is struggling. Economically, socially, politically, you name it. We’re barely scraping by. Our military forces are crumbling before official war has even begun: less than a quarter of the General’s crew – the best of the lot – were able to survive a mere fraction of Raft’s power. The operation in Canella may yet succeed, but with our ships retreating it hardly looks that way. People will talk.”

He squeezed shut his eyes and raised his hands to his hair. “Rolin suggested a distraction in the form of a celebration. He said we needed to host some event anyway, considering the last one was over a year ago and the public are starting to suspect we can’t afford it. Their suspicions are correct. We can’t afford it. But if we don’t do something soon, we’ll damage our chances at any future alliances.”

“So are we going to have a ball?” Julian asked.

“We have to,” Chip answered. “It just means we won’t be able to spend that money on the military or something else that’s useful for more than one night. And we’ve got the coronation coming up as well, so it’s all- I just-”

A hand found the Prince’s shoulder. He opened his eyes and Julian was smiling at him reassuringly.

“I trust you and I trust whichever decision you’ll make.”

The words carried weight, but not one Chip had to bear. If anything, it was a promise to share the pressure, even if only through a simple act of support like a hand on a shoulder. It was enough to calm the howling winds of Chip’s mind for a brief moment. Enough to put a grin on his face.

“Well,” He said, voice mischievous, “I do love a party. All the food and dancing and music. Hey, Rolin might get drunk and make a fool of himself in front of the court again. I think that’d solve all my problems.”

In an instant, just as Chip had intended, the tone shifted. The melancholy drifted from the room, passing down the corridors and disappearing. Worry was replaced with laughter; tension gave way to friendship. Chip had missed the simpler times, when he and Julian had snuck into the kitchen as young teens, bothering Earl to no end. But, as the Prince's responsibilities extended further and further, readying him for when he was crowned, those days became few and far between. Now they seemed centuries ago.

It would continue. The pressure would keep building. Who knew when he'd next joke like this; who knew what new duties Rolin would drop on him. But, for that brief moment, for that sunny afternoon, Chip let all that wash away. His sister was coming home, and how wonderful was that? He let his worries fade into nothingness.

As soon as the sun rose the next day, the planning began.

Chapter Text

The sun rose and fell thrice, carrying the kingdom of Rose through an unbearable heatwave, which was promptly washed away by a day-long storm. Typical weather for the time of year, but Chip feared it would extend the wait for the General even further.

It wasn't unusual for the Prince to disappear into his study for days at a time, especially if something important had come up, but this instance felt particularly isolating. He'd watch down in envy at the courtyard below, where Jay and Gillion had moved some of their lessons, remembering when he and Lizzie had played there as kids. Remembering the telling off they'd received when they picked some of the roses. Remembering it all.

Seeing the two figures there, he could almost pretend he was a child again, peering out the windows at Finn and Drey. But, even if he squinted, they weren't the same, and even then there was someone missing. Arlin.

This study had been his once.

Chip used to hide beneath the desk while his father worked, where his tutors couldn't find him. Arlin would talk aloud, knowing the kid was there but never revealing his hiding place. He'd bring up two plates of food when dinner came around and leave one at his feet for Chip to eat from his spot.

Under Arlin's command, the study had been neat. Now, like many rooms of the castle, it was a wreck. Dust collected on each and every surface; some sort of mould grew in the corners; the furniture was scuffed and slightly rotted; papers lay scattered in disarray on the desk.

Another example of Chip ruining what the kings before him had built.

From the dusty window, he watched the sun begin to dip. It was already late afternoon, but he hadn't left the study since breakfast. His fingers half-heartedly rooted through a stack of reports, all detailing various issues he was expected to address. Most were unimportant things – complaints about some corrupt landlord, thanks for providing aid for flood repairs, offers of excess grain for export – but others… It appeared some were catching on to Rose's strained economy. Chip hoped this upcoming ball would ease their concerns.

Of course, that was assuming Lizzie arrived in time.

He set down his pen, rubbing his temples in an attempt to drive away this looming headache. The knocks at the door weren't helping.

Knocks at the door…

"Who is it? I remember asking to not be disturbed." The harsh words escaped him before he could adjust his tone. He was far too exhausted to attempt to take them back.

"Marshal John, your highness," The familiar voice boomed out. "And I recall you would make an exception if it was important."

Important. He wasn't in the mood for anything important. Important meant leaving his study and speaking to that goddamn advisor. Chip didn't have the patience for that.

Leaning back on his chair, he dragged a hand through his greasy hair. He made a mental note to wash it before the following evening.

"Right, come in then," The Prince conceded after a moment of internal groaning. "What is it?"

He turned as the door clicked open. The Marshal stepped in and bowed, before standing to attention.

"Your highness," John began. He was unusually slow to get to the point. Either that or Chip's patience ran thinner than normal. "I thought you would like to know, the General's ship had been spotted off the coast. It's pulling into the docks now, but…"

"But?" Chip repeated impatiently. So far good news, but from the look on John's face, there was something else. He wished the Marshal would just spit it out already, and bit his tongue to stop himself from snapping.

The Marshal sighed. "She wasn't kidding when she said it was in bad shape."

————

'Bad shape' was a slight understatement. Standing on the palace's private docks, Chip stared up at the Crescent Moon, or at least the half of it that remained. It was split as if torn by the hands of giants, broken over some mountainous knee. If that was the power of Raft’s Navy… Chip feared his lunch might resurface.

But the gang plank was lowered and his heart pounded with excitement. He hadn't had the chance to spend time with his sister for a long while, not without some caveat, but after the ball there would be no important events until the trip to Edison next month. There would be at least four weeks of calm.

At least, that's what he hoped. Chip felt less sure in this hope when Lizzie appeared at the top of the gang plank, her silhouette stark against the pale blue sky. She marched down towards him with an air of purpose about her, her mouth set in a grim line. Behind her, Chip could just about spot Caspian and two other sailors following in the General's stead. They walked from the ship full of confidence and importance, as if the ship itself weren't something you'd find at the bottom of the sea. Chip briefly wondered how they'd gotten this far with only half a ship, but the weariness in Caspian's eyes was all the answer he needed.

Magic was a wonderful, exhausting thing.

Lizzie herself displayed no sign of fatigue or worry or anything other than steely conviction. She was all perfect poise and straightened scarlet uniform, dark curls tied into a tidy ponytail. For not the first time, the thought crossed Chip's mind that his sister was far more regal looking than him. Shame it was he who wore the crown.

Her mask only barely cracked when her foot connected with the dock. A quick nod and the slightest hint of a smile was all she offered. Chip frowned.

"No warm greeting for your dearest brother?" He teased, covering his worry with a grin.

"Not until certain matters have been settled." Her tone was serious. She spoke in what Chip had dubbed her 'business voice'. His worry only grew. Something else had happened.

Lizzie only stopped in front of him for a moment, quickly turning and continuing her march in the direction of the castle. Chip was forced to scurry after her. He reclaimed his old position as her shadow. They made their way down the dock, back to solid land, in absolute silence. Panic itched in Chip's skin.

"Talk to me, Liz," He said after a while, not able to bear it. "I haven't seen you in months, you appear out of the blue with a brief warning note that implies you've been in fucking battle, your ship is utterly wrecked and now you're not even speaking? Is it worse than you said? Were you followed or- or…"

Chip trailed off. He'd glanced over his shoulder, to check Caspian and the others weren't within earshot, and spotted something that unsettled him greatly.

A fourth silhouette emerging from the Crescent Moon. A small one. A boy. It was difficult to see from this distance, but he appeared no older than twelve.

Chip turned back to Lizzie, mouth agape. She nodded.

"We'll talk inside." And she started off again. Chip silently followed in utter shock, about a thousand questions running through his mind at once, overlapping into incoherent ramblings.

Why was there a child on their battleship? And, more importantly, what the fuck were they supposed to do with it now?

————

He didn't get a solid answer till they'd reached the meeting room. Marshal John and Rolin were called over, the crew sent to the spare rooms, the boy handed over to Abby, then Lizzie sank back into herself. She took her seat at the table, the second grandest besides Chip's, and let out a deep sigh.

Chip stayed silent. He knew his sister didn't respond well to prodding, physical or verbal. Rolin, however, was not privy to this piece of information.

"General, it's a pleasure to see you again so soon." Chip glared at him, but he continued in that irritating voice, "I'm certain his highness has already told you all about the upcoming ball-"

Lizzie held up a hand to silence him. She settled her hands on the table, drumming a pattern with her fingers. "Chip, you'll have to tell me later. For now, there are more important things to discuss than parties." She gave a pointed stare to Rolin as she said this, and he shuffled about nervously before taking a seat.

"The boy?" Chip prompted, but Lizzie shook her head.

"Not yet. First, Canella." Her hands now lay flat, and he noticed a few scrapes and cuts that he didn't recognise. The General cleared her throat. "We plan to check in with them in a few months to check their progress. They've begun a civil war. It's quite uplifting how easily they agreed to the idea of revolution. Of course, that's when Raft sent their battleships. We were forced to retreat to the Crescent Moon and fight from a distance. Their cannons…" She went quiet, lowering her head in a painful combination of shame and mourning.

A silence that not even Rolin could break passed over them. Chip dipped his head in solidarity. There had been some good people on that crew.

"Without Caspian's magic, we would've sunk the second we left. I've promoted him to my second in command." She looked to the Prince for approval. He nodded quickly, still finding it strange that his elder sister had to check all her decisions with him first. Lizzie flashed a half-smile in thanks. "Now the boy. About two days into our journey, we found him hiding below deck. His name's Oliver. Apparently he snuck aboard after an argument with his mum and just didn't get off on time, but well… you can never be sure. Especially in times such as these."

Chip turned away at this, gazing out the dusty window. He really should get them cleaned. Maybe he'd do it himself if he was ever bored enough.

He knew what was coming next. He barely paid attention as Lizzie switched her focus to John, informing him that Oliver would be placed under his care – to which John joked he already had one child to look after and that was plenty, but Chip chose to ignore that part. As that conversation drifted to a close and John marched out the room to find Abby and therefore Oliver, the General cleared her throat and Chip glanced back to see her glaring at him. He braced himself.

"Speaking of never being too sure." Here it comes. "I've heard that in the past few weeks you've invited not only a Ferin, but also a triton into the castle. Chip, have you entirely lost your mind?" Lizzie's voice raised to a shout. He hadn't had this kind of telling off in a while.

"He's not just a triton," Chip mumbled.

"What?"

"He's Gillion Tidestrider, Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep." He smiled a little as he said it, remembering the strange introduction.

Lizzie was not so amused. "You realise that's worse, right? Chip, the Undersea are our enemies. They've sunk so many of our ships, more even than Raft! And you've invited their fucking champion to play royal guest?"

"I did advise him against it," Rolin dropped in.

The General didn’t even break her gaze from her brother."I should fucking hope so, considering that's your goddamn job! Clearly your advice hasn't worked. Perhaps we need to reconsider your position, Mr Loffin." That was certainly enough to shut up the advisor. He sank back in his chair in shame. Chip failed to repress a grin.

"What are you smiling at?" Lizzie snapped and the Prince's grin immediately dropped. "This is a serious problem, Chip. You've put yourself in danger again! You need to stop trusting people so easily, this can't be a repeat of what happened with-"

"I was a child then, Lizzie!" Chip interrupted, his voice full of unrestrained anger. And here he’d thought his sister of all people would understand. "I was fucking fifteen! This is not the same."

"You're still a child!" She shot back and Chip froze. "Or at least you still behave like one.” Lizzie clutched her face in her hands. A sigh he could only describe as exhausted escaped from between her fingers. "This is all real, Chip. The stakes are real, the danger is real. We're not just playing kings and queens anymore, it's all real."

Chip took a breath. He understood how it looked, how could he not, but he was getting a little infuriated by how few people trusted him. Not his sister, not his advisor, not John, not Abby, not even his own kingdom. He didn't count Gillion or Jay: they didn't know him well enough to form an informed opinion and he intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. Everyone close to him either left or treated him like an unruly child. It was starting to make him question his own authority.

What good was a prince – a king, before long – that nobody trusted?

"I know, Liz. Believe me I know," He sighed, turning back to the window to avoid Rolin's piercing gaze. It was unsettling how good the advisor was at just staring until self-doubt was almost inescapable. His glare was almost scarier than Lizzie’s anger… Almost.

"I know you, Chip, and I know how kind you are beneath that mask – I can tell you're pulling a face, just know it's true," Lizzie said softly, all anger drained from her voice. "I know how kind you are, but just be careful. There are people willing to take advantage of that kindness and turn your strength into a weakness. I can't always be here to protect you."

"I know," He mumbled back. "John's here-"

"Yeah, John's here. But that didn't seem to stop you." Chip turned back to see a teasing smirk on his sister's lips. He rolled his eyes. "Be careful," She repeated.

There was no tight embrace, no ruffle of the hair – Lizzie had long grown past that kind of affection, especially in the company of others – but a moment of understanding passed between them. A glimmer of familial love in both golden and muddy eyes. The quiet was not long lasting, quickly interrupted with Rolin's "Now, about the ball-", but it didn't need to be. Chip understood well enough that his sister would accept his decision for now. She would show some trust. And that was plenty.

Chapter Text

Jay had been in the royal dining hall before, during her tour with Abby, but she hadn’t yet eaten there. It was too fancy for everyday meals, so she’d been sitting in the kitchens with Gillion, eating whatever expensive yet simple dish Earl had provided – she’d learnt the ‘Old Man’ part of his name was reserved for Abby, with perhaps the exception of Chip – and listening to his half-hearted grumblings. There was something homely about it, something warm and full of life that reminded her so much of her mother’s tavern. It served as her reminder that she could be happy here. Rose could become her home.

Homeliness wasn’t good enough for the General, it seemed.

The dining hall was one of the grander rooms, with elegant crystal chandeliers, tapestries of nautical scenes and furniture accented with gold – though Jay could now tell that this was painted rather than plated. Still, it was intimidating.

The table itself ran nearly the length of the room: their party of seven only just filled half. Jay found herself seated between Gillion and the advisor, the latter was to her displeasure – she’d heard enough negative reports of him to form an impression. She would’ve much preferred to sit by Marshal John but, with both Rolin and the General needing to be seated beside the Prince at the head of the table, sacrifices had to be made. The seating plan went as follows: the General to Chip's left, a water genasi officer introduced as Caspian beside her and John at the end; the advisor sat to Chip's right, with Jay in the middle and Gillion beside her.

Jay and Gillion had been the last to arrive and so, as the elaborate starters were brought out, were excluded from the conversation. Not that it seemed particularly interesting. From the bits and pieces Jay could pick up, it seemed they were discussing something she lacked the context to, about ships and approaching voyages. Something vaguely intriguing, but not enough to pique her interest. Besides, she wasn’t going to just leave Gillion to fend for himself.

“How did your research go?” She asked, picking at the food before her. It was much too fancy for her liking.

Gillion had been cooped up in the library for a few days now, trying his best to read history books despite his poor knowledge of the language. Occasionally he’d ask her or Abby to translate a section or simply a recurring word. Jay had a feeling he was mainly looking at the illustrations, but she let him be.

The triton pulled a face. “Less helpful than I hoped. We’ll have to resume our lessons before I’m able to gain the information I seek.”

He’d been awfully mysterious about what he was looking for, which didn’t exactly help Jay to know which books to recommend. If he’d asked for something specific, she might’ve stood a chance, but as it was she could only offer vague and all encompassing textbooks she’d read in school.

“There must be an easier solution," She mused, not for the first time.

While Gillion had been busy, she'd been conducting research of her own, looking through collections of spells for something on translation. So far, she hadn't found anything that could be simply cast on Gillion to make those around him understand his words, but she was determined to keep searching.

Gillion opened his mouth as if to reply, however he never got the chance, for the water genasi opposite to Jay spoke first. “If I may interject, is that Primordial you’re speaking?”

Cautiously, Jay nodded. She glanced over to the rest of the table and – excluding John, who was now barricaded from the rest and left smiling up at Jay – the previous conversation continued.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” The genasi clasped his hands together. “Let’s see… I’m a bit rusty but I’ll give it a go.” He cleared his throat. “Hello, my name is Caspian and I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“You speak Primordial too?” Gillion asked excitedly, though the question was a little redundant by that point.

“I’m from the Undersea, so I would hope I did,” Caspian responded with a chuckle. “From your appearance, I assume you are too?” Gillion nodded. “Right, so you must be the Champion I’ve heard so much about. Come, we must talk. Let me see-” He placed a hand on John’s arm and switched back to Common. “Marshal, would you mind swapping seats with me, so I may talk with…” At this he looked over to Gillion.

“Gillion Tidestrider,” The triton responded.

Jay lost focus on this fairly quickly, giving a quick nod of consent when Caspian asked if it was alright for him to steal Gillion from her for a moment, and then the Primordial became too rapid and complex for her to understand. She sometimes forgot how little she actually knew and wondered how much Gillion had to dumb down his language for her. It was sad, really. She couldn’t imagine how isolating that must feel.

Her moment of pity ended abruptly when, from the corner of her eye, she spotted the General glaring at her.

Jay hadn’t paid the General much attention yet, aside from the glance up and down she’d given both her and Caspian upon entering the dining hall. She looked over briefly now – not meeting the gaze, simply observing.

General Lafayette was certainly a striking figure, intimidating even just lounged on a dining chair. On anyone else dishevelled hair and creased uniform might’ve indicated a lack of care or manners and thereby some inferiority or weakness, but on her it only showed her power. Perhaps she didn’t care what she looked like, perhaps she didn’t have table manners that Jay’s father would be proud of, but she didn’t need to.

She was the General of Rose’s army: the singular most powerful person in the kingdom besides the Prince himself. No one would dare comment on her posture or appearance, and that only made her all the more respectable. To some at least. Jay just thought it was rude.

Underneath all that reputation and armour, the General wasn’t particularly remarkable. Beautiful? Yes, but not stunningly so. If the title and confidence hadn’t given her away, she may have looked like any old officer. Her skin, deep brown and covered in scars, did not glow with the radiant and ethereal importance that Gillion so easily exuded. Her brown eye bore no resemblance to gold, as Chip’s did, and the patch which covered the other was nothing to gawk at: a simple black piece with the symbol of a red rose. She was nothing remarkable, and yet Jay couldn’t help but stare at her a little longer than intended, till their gazes did meet and lock in a battle of will.

With a brief and subtle brow raise, the General challenged Jay to maintain that stand-off, but eventually it was the blue eyes that looked away. The General snorted in amusement and returned to her conversation with Chip, leaving Jay with a combined force of rage and shame.

And that's when the first course arrived.

————

In all her preparation, all her hopes for change, Jay hadn't considered that the nightmares might simply continue. She hadn't even brought her journal to record them in, though that was hardly necessary. It was the same one as always.

For a brief moment when she'd awoken, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, she'd forgotten where she was. Her first thought was to find her mother. Find her mother, curl up in that familiar embrace and wait there till morning. But, when her feet had touched the floor and met a stiff rug instead of cool wood, she remembered.

And there it had been again, that homesickness she'd been battling ever since she left. It was stronger than ever, an ache she couldn't ignore.

She'd gone to the library. If she couldn't sleep, she could at least make use of the time by continuing her research. The lantern she'd grabbed from her bedside illuminated the tomes before her in a pale orange light. Comforting. Soft. But still not enough to warm the icy cold pain in her chest. The candle flickered behind the glass. Hope seemed to dwindle in these quiet hours.

Jay turned the page, eyes darting over the spell it displayed. The same one each book had recommended. A sigh of disappointment broke from her lips and she slammed the book shut. The sound echoed throughout the room.

Her fingers tapped a tune on the leather cover and she glanced about the cavernous space. The library was less impressive at night, she concluded. Without the daylight, the gold couldn't so much as glint. It was calmer. She couldn't decide if she preferred it that way.

After a moment of unnerving silence, Jay grew restless. She tapped the same pattern again and again till her fingers ached.

Jay stared at the tall doors on the opposite side of the room. With her bedroom being attached to the library, she hadn’t needed to journey far. And yet there was part of her that longed to wander the halls, discover the mysteries of those areas off-limits. A castle was practically guaranteed to hold some secrets.

The temptation lingered for a little while as she attempted to ignore it. It didn’t take long for her to give in.

She took the lantern and padded quietly across the library – footsteps hushed by her thin slippers – hesitating briefly before pulling open one of the doors. A rush of cold air sent shivers down her spine. It was exhilarating. She slipped into the corridor, letting the door fall shut behind her.

The chill was only brief; it was late summer after all and the heat was inescapable. Jay began to wish she’d tied back her hair, but there was no turning back now. She was better than that, had been taught better than that. So she continued, tiptoeing through the corridors for fear of waking someone. And perhaps there was some fear of being caught; even though she was perfectly entitled to walk around at night she couldn’t help feeling guilty. The remnants of the rules back in Featherbrooke, she suspected. It was best to rid herself of those habits while she still could.

These halls were familiar to her now, nearly two weeks into her stay. She’d memorised where each turn led, where each door opened. She moved through the castle with little trouble, holding the lantern up every so often to appreciate a painting or tapestry that she hadn’t noticed before.

These halls were familiar to her now, so she knew when she reached the corridor that held the Prince’s private quarters. One of the few places she’d been specifically told not to enter. Jay hesitated on the threshold between following and breaking the rules. Then she stepped forwards.

It wasn’t much different from where she’d just been. Red and gold still repeated in furniture, wallpaper, roses, everything really. She walked slowly, taking it all in. One painting in particular stood out to her: a beautiful ship cutting boldly through the waves. In small looping handwriting, just to the bottom right corner, were the words ‘The Midnight Rose’. Jay recognised the name, but she wasn't sure where from.

She kept going till she heard familiar voices, drifting through a doorway a few steps away, the door slightly ajar and letting a beam of light into the corridor. All her muscles tensed at once.

"There are movements in All-Port, you know. Whispers that Raft is meeting with them now." The General's voice was unmistakable.

"Then I don't see much point in trying ourselves," Chip replied. Jay hadn't heard him like this, so seemingly bored with the world. He didn't much sound like a Prince, more like a teenager trying to get out of his homework. Something about it didn't sit right with her.

A tired sigh. "You could at least pretend to care."

"Oh, but Liz you're supposed to be the one person I can be honest around." The sarcasm practically dripping from his voice wasn't exactly reassuring.

In her attempts to hear better, Jay took a step forwards and must've hit a loose floorboard, for a loud creak broke the hall's partial silence. The voices immediately stopped. Jay winced and turned around to leave.

"Oh, Miss Ferin?" said Chip quizzically from behind her.

She glanced back to see him standing in the doorway, dressed in the usual white shirt and dark trousers, though the sleeves were rolled up and his muddy brown hair was more unkempt than normal. Jay didn't think the Prince's attire could get any more casual but apparently she'd been wrong. Though perhaps it wasn't casual so much as lacking care.

Straining her neck, Jay could just about spot the General glaring through the crack in the door. Again, she failed to keep the gaze, instead switching her focus back to the Prince before her.

"I'm so sorry," She started, brain racing to find a reason to be there. "I must've gotten lost."

Chip chuckled. "It's definitely easy to get lost here."

There was an awkward pause. Neither really knew what to say. They hadn't spoken much, just the two of them, and were still practically strangers. It wasn't unexpected – Jay would've been surprised if a royal immediately greeted their guests as new friends – but did certainly make being found standing in a dark corridor she wasn't supposed to be in more uncomfortable. She was very aware of the fact that she only wore a nightdress. The tut her father would've given was practically audible even from across the Viridis Sea.

“Were you having trouble sleeping?” Chip asked, almost knowingly.

Narrowing her eyes, Jay nodded slowly and the Prince raised his hands in faux surrender.

"Just a lucky guess." He shone his signature grin to show he meant no harm and, whatever Jay believed about him, she trusted it. "I'm having the same issue. It's been a busy few days."

Jay snorted. "That's one way of putting it."

The thought kept burning in her mind, how coincidental it was that so much had happened so quickly after her arrival. So far she'd concluded it was nothing more than that, a coincidence, but there was something about it that didn't sit right with her.

"If all goes to plan, there'll be a few weeks of rest after the ball tomorrow night." It sounded more like a plea than a statement. The confident mask slipped for a moment before the Prince righted it with a smile.

There was another pause as Chip glanced back to the room behind him, mouthing something to the General, who rolled her eyes and nodded. He turned to Jay with a mischievous glint in his eyes. A friendly glint. In that moment more than any other, Jay could finally say that her initial judgement was wrong. The Prince meant no harm. She concluded that what she'd seen as a lack of care was probably just childish boredom, after all he couldn't be any older than twenty. She felt a surprising and sudden kinship with this young leader, understanding what it was like to have such pressure at an age when the world was still new and unexplored.

Maybe it wasn't so bad, here in Rose.

"There's something I want to show you," Chip said, grinning with poorly restrained excitement. He practically buzzed with it. "Come on!" Giving Jay's wrist a quick tug before swiftly releasing it, he sped past her and down the corridor. A race.

Energy and enthusiasm that had long been hidden away now began the long journey to the surface as Jay's lips formed a slight smile. Those old habits clung tight, but perhaps she could loosen their grip.

With a joy she hadn't known she'd missed, Jay ran after.

————

"You wanted to show me a door?" Jay asked incredulously, staring at what indeed appeared to just be a door. Whatever lay beyond it was blurred in the frosted glass panels.

Chip had led her down corridors she often avoided – mainly because they led into rooms of no interest to her, like the series of guest bedrooms, or others that she was forbidden from entering – until he’d stopped just in front of this door, grinning wildly.

His grin didn’t break as he said, “Not the door, but what’s behind it…”

He trailed off and slowly pushed open the door, revealing the world outside. A salty breeze flowed in, much cooler than the stuffy castle. Jay stepped out onto a large balcony, a similar length to her by no means small room and a little wider than the corridor she’d left behind her. The balcony itself wasn’t the main attraction of course, it was the view.

Jay hadn’t quite realised how close Whitethorne Castle was to the sea until she was staring right down at it, hearing the waves lap against the shore below. Much closer than it had ever been back home. From the spare room in Featherbrooke Manor, Ava had sworn she’d caught a glimpse of that endless blue ocean, but Jay had never seen it. It was silly really, but something about it seemed to reassure her that this was her place. The sea smiled up at her and murmured promises of freedom, promises that wouldn’t be forgotten. She breathed in that salty air and the oath was made.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Chip said, appearing beside her. He made his way to the balcony’s edge, leaning against the railing and beckoning her to join him. As she approached, he continued, “It was Lizzie who found it, way back when we were kids scampering about and playing hide and seek. Before anything mattered. After the-” He paused, looking away and taking a breath. He wiped something from his eye then smiled back at Jay. “After the old court went missing, she told me about this place. Said it might help with the uh- well, the nightmares.” He gave a broken chuckle.

The old court. There it was again. Pieces of a puzzle that Jay couldn’t figure out how to solve. She was tempted to ask more, but it was clearly a touchy subject for the Prince. Besides, there was something else he’d said that struck a chord with her.

“Did it help?”

Chip turned to look at her, confused. “Did what help?”

“Coming here. Did it help with the nightmares?” Jay tightened her grip on the railing. It was almost an anchor, tying her down so she didn’t run from the unspoken confession. From the recognition in Chip’s eyes, she gathered he understood her meaning.

“Yeah,” He said softly. “It helped.” He lightly punched Jay’s arm, like one would with a dear friend. Something about it made Jay tense up. “You’re welcome to come here. I haven’t used it for years, so you won’t need to worry about me showing up. Plus, it’s out of the way from most things, and those guest rooms are hardly ever used so-”

“Why do you trust me?” Jay interrupted. It broke the moment, filled the once calm air with uncomfortable silence, but she couldn’t help it. He was acting too familiar, as if he knew her. He didn’t know her; she’d barely been there for two weeks.

Chip blinked in surprise.

“You hired me to work in your castle, even though I’m a Ferin coming directly from Raft. You let me teach and translate for Gillion, but you hardly know me. You don’t question when I’m walking round the halls in the dead of night and now-” She broke off, pausing for breath. “Now you show me the place you used to come to when you needed comfort and offer me that same experience. Why?”

Another pause. The candle light from the corridor flickered with the wind. The waves continued their gentle lapping. The air was crisp out here. It was dark and cool and quiet. Jay could hardly stand it. Waiting, waiting, always waiting.

“One problem at a time,” Chip began. Relief flowed through Jay’s veins like soothing water. No more quiet. “I showed you this place because of your wandering, which I didn’t question because I recognised that look you had. The night can be difficult when it feels like your own brain’s out to get you.”

He gave a soft smile, the kind that Jay needed badly. Pity was one thing, but it was understanding that helped best soothe pain.

“As for hiring you, well I can assure you I was advised against it. Constantly. Repeatedly. But when I heard a Ferin had applied for the position as bookkeeper, I demanded to read the letter myself. You seemed desperate, talking about needing to escape, to leave that strict regime and start afresh.” Chip gestured to a flag that flew atop one of the towers, bearing the same skull and rose as the royal seal. “Rose is the kingdom of outcasts and outlaws, has been since its creation. I wasn’t going to turn away someone in need, even if they were from the lands of our enemies.”

Jay stared out into the waters. She sighed and rested her chin on her folded arms, leaning on the railing, her anchor.

“And it wouldn’t have been the first time we accepted a Ferin runaway,” Chip continued.

She stood up abruptly, not able to hold back a shocked, “What?”

The Prince chuckled. “Yeah, we’ve had a Ferin here before. Drey Ferin.”

All of a sudden, it all made sense: why her father had condemned her uncle, why they’d never seen him again or even been able to speak his name. Traitor didn’t just mean he’d left the Navy, or even just Raft. It meant he’d joined the enemy. Her father’s words rang through her skull like a war drum. That traitor is no brother of mine. My brother is dead! But what about your daughter, Jay longed to reply.

“My uncle,” Was all she could get out.

Chip seemed almost as shocked as her. “I mean, I knew you’d be related to some extent, but that close? Woah. What are the chances?” What are the chances, indeed. “He was high up here, you know. Head of the castle’s guard. Like Marshal John only less like a babysitter.”

His words were almost as distant as Gillion’s, though the barrier this time wasn’t caused by the language but by Jay’s own state of confusion. That one piece of information had been enough to break down a dam she’d constructed long ago and now all the questions surrounding her uncle and his disappearance were flooding her mind in a tsunami, bringing with them even newer questions. It was too much.

“Hey?” A hand rested on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Jay looked up at Chip’s concerned face and gave a nod. “Yeah. Yeah I’ll be fine. Just-” She sighed. “I never even knew.” One of those new questions jumped to the front of her focus. If Drey had been part of the old court, then- “Is he still around?”

A million different emotions passed over the Prince’s face. His mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. The solemn shake of his head was all the confirmation Jay needed.

They stood like that for a while, Chip slowly withdrawing his hand, giving them both some space. Their heads both hung in grief, Jay’s new and fresh while she was sure Chip’s was like an old scar: enough time had passed for it to heal, but sometimes the recollection of pain hurts more than the real thing.

“Thank you,” Jay said after a moment. “For trusting me.” With a long sigh, she added, “I’m glad someone does.”

“What do you mean?” Chip asked immediately and she regretted the words that had slipped out. “Who doesn’t trust you?”

Jay exhaled a laugh. “Well, your General for a start. And almost everyone else, besides Abby, John, Gillion and maybe Earl on a good day. The rest look at me like I’m about to commit some heinous crime.”

Chip’s brow furrowed. “Lizzie will warm up, I’m sure. She’ll just be tired from the events of the past few days. As for the rest, I’m sure they’ll do the same once they’re able to meet the real Jay Ferin.” There was that look of understanding again, wrapping around her like a comforting hug. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to have people look at you with disdain, to not trust you because of your parentage. After a while they’ll realise their suspicions were all wrong.”

“And if they don’t?” If they aren’t.

A sigh. “Then you’ll learn to ignore them.” He smiled. “But they will realise. Maybe even sooner than you think. The ball might help, showing that you’re part of the royal unit.”

“Right, the ball.” In all the night’s events, she’d completely forgotten. It was a good job Abby had ensured everyone found their clothes a few days ago.

“It’ll only be a small event, Rolin’s promised me, so just the nobles and more important people. But they’re easy to win over with a few friendly words and the help of free food and drink.”

Jay laughed. “I can believe that.”

“Oh, one more thing. I was going to ask tomorrow, but you’re here now so I may as well do it while I still remember. There are two entrances to the ball, the main one for all the guests and then the staff entrance. If you enter with the guests, you’ll need to be announced, else it’ll get the crowd worried there’s been a break in, so I was wondering if you’d prefer-”

“-To go in the staff way,” Jay finished.

“Exactly. It’d only be for your comfort, of course. You’re perfectly welcome to go in with the guests but, considering what you were just saying about being looked at strangely, you might want a more discreet entrance.” Chip looked at her as if to gather her reaction.

She smiled. “Yes. Thank you, I think that would be better.”

That had been the part she worried about. The scene played so clearly in her head, her name being announced and the entire crowd gasping in shock and horror, their gazes being on her the entire night. This would be better. At least if she was introduced to someone and met with that reaction, it would be easy to escape the scene entirely and unnoticed.

Chip sighed in relief. “Good. Okay. I’m so glad you didn’t take that as an insult, or me suggesting that you need to be hidden or something.”

His mask was entirely gone. Jay almost forgot he was a prince at all. He was only a boy really.

“No, of course not. Thank you. I mean it.”

They shared a smile for a moment before a loud yawn from the Prince led to the two erupting into a fit of laughter. Both were so young, really. Far too young for the responsibilities that weighed down on their shoulders.

“On that note, I think I better make a second attempt at sleep. Wouldn’t want to start yawning mid-speech tomorrow,” Chip joked. “You should try to rest too. I don’t know if you have events like this in Raft, but just to warn you it’s gonna be a busy day.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” She laughed.

“Please, don’t thank me for anything. This is your home now, you don’t need to act as if you’re a guest. Get comfy, settle in, be demanding. Believe me, after years of putting up with me, no one here will consider you any bother at all.”

Jay looked to the Prince, who now walked towards the door, letting out another yawn as he stepped inside the castle’s walls. “I’ll keep that in mind,” She called back.

“Remember: get some sleep, or by tomorrow evening you’ll be grumpier than Lizzie!”

“I’ll come in soon,” Jay promised through her laughter as Chip disappeared down the corridor. She had definitely been wrong about him, that was clear enough from the smile that still graced her lips.

She stayed on that balcony for a moment more, staring out at the distant horizon. Raft was beyond there, somewhere far far away. It had been home once, the only home she thought she’d know. But Chip’s words echoed in her mind: this is your home now. It was a nice feeling, being accepted somewhere so easily and with so little resistance. Not moving her gaze from the horizon, Jay wondered if there was someone in Raft at that moment doing the same thing, staring out at their past life and knowing that they were now safe where they were. Safe and accepted. She wondered if anyone from Rose’s side of the world could ever consider Raft a home.

Somehow she highly doubted it.

Chapter Text

“So how do I look, Jules?” Chip asked, doing a few spins in front of the mirror.

“Dashing, princely-”

“No need to lie, I know I look ridiculous in all this get-up.” The Prince snorted a laugh and scrunched his nose in disapproval of his own reflection.

His crumpled shirt and trousers had been replaced with the loathsome finery that was expected of him. He hated it: the black jacket with those stupid golden tassels on the shoulder; the shoes that pinched his feet; the golden crown that loomed on its velvet cushion. All of it taunted him, whispering those harsh words that had followed him for years now. He’s not even of royal blood. Not even a true Rose. How could a bastard ever be a Prince, let alone a King?

“Well, it could be worse,” Julian chimed in, freeing Chip from his mind. A welcome relief.

“Oh do tell, Jules. How could it be worse? A ruffled collar? I wouldn’t put it past Rolin to suggest it.”

“He absolutely would. In fact,” The attendant paused to smile mischievously, “I might even hint at the idea.”

Chip gasped, placing his hand over his heart as if wounded. “How dare you! Betrayed by my only friend! I’ll have you know this is treasonous behaviour.”

The two laughed like they had no cares in the world, but the light caught on that crown beside them and their responsibilities made themselves known.

“I hope you’ll be there,” Chip said after a moment, turning away from the crown. “I know it’s not really your scene and these events are the most stifling things ever invented – I mean personally I’d rather be beheaded in a violent revolution than attend – but it’d be nice to have you around.”

Jules chuckled. “You know, Abby said almost the exact same thing. Minus the beheading bit.”

“Abby?” Chip raised a brow. “Why was Abby trying to convince you to come to the ball?” The gnome blushed red and Chip’s curiosity only grew. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand the Loffins and you’d be perfectly happy if they’d never moved here in the first place? Your words, not mine.”

“Well-”

“Julian Booker! Have you been keeping secrets from me?”

Julian looked to his feet sheepishly, before sighing. "I suppose you would've found out somehow anyway. Me and Abby have been seeing each other for a few months now."

"A few months! And you never told me? I'm impressed." Chip winked, earning an eye roll from Julian. "Well, you're going to have to explain to me how that happened."

"With uh- with the upcoming coronation and shit, we've been working more closely together. And I don't know, I guess something clicked." Jules rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

Oh, how Chip was enjoying this. "Is that why you've been spending more time in the library? I thought you were just living up to the name.”

"What?"

"You know. 'Booker'."

"Oh. Yeah, no I was going there to see Abby. Her father's not exactly fond of me, as I'm sure you know by now, so we've been keeping it secret."

Chip couldn't help from smiling to himself. "I'm happy for you, man."

Of course, there was that thought in the back of his mind: is he going to leave you now? He tried his best to shake it off, but it stayed stubbornly there. Is someone else going to leave you? What did you do this time? It’s all your fault. It’s-

The weight of a crown atop his head silenced his mind's whispers.

"Well I think you're all ready now. The ball's starting at seven, so you've got like half an hour."

"You should be there," Chip said suddenly. "Dance with Abby or something. I'll keep Rolin off your heels."

Julian laughed. “What, you gonna dance with him all night or something?”

“Gods, I’d rather be shot dead. No, I was thinking more like encouraging him to talk to the nobles. Something about the economy or some other issue that'll take hours to fully discuss." Chip grinned. "He wouldn't even notice you were there."

Jules gave a half-smile. "Thanks Chip. I'll think about it."

A knock sounded against the door. Abby peeked her head through, giving a quick nod to Julian before turning to Chip.

"Rolin wants you to check over the final details."

Chip rolled his eyes, straightened his jacket and made his way over. "Duty calls."

————

Music drifted through the halls, intertwined with the chatter of the guests below. Chip took his final few breaths of fresh air – well, fresh was a relative term – before stepping onto the grand stairway, arms held out as if he were about to embrace the room. Trumpets sounded to either side of him and the herald cleared his throat loudly.

"Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses, established and respected nobles of the kingdom, I present his Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Rose, Lord of the Pirates, Ruler of the Outcasts, Prince Christopher!"

Chip winced at the name, but his grin never faltered. The crowd erupted into brief applause, which he swiftly dismissed with a wave of his hand. He managed to contain a sneer upon seeing the fancily dressed nobles staring up at him. These were the ones that spread those whispers, those rumours about his parentage. Oh the things he'd call them if he had a moment of privacy.

"Esteemed nobles, I find great pleasure in seeing you all gathered here for such a merry occasion." Rolin had written the speech. Chip's drafted version had been 'too vulgar’ according to the advisor. "It's been so long since we last met like this, which is the fault of no one but myself. For that I sincerely apologise. But, now that the coronation is fully planned-" A lie. "-and our beloved General has returned from Canella victorious, we have good reason to celebrate!”

The crowd broke into excited murmurs, slowly hushing as they noticed the Prince was not yet done.

“I won’t bore you with a long and dull speech,” He punctuated the phrase with a practised laugh, “Not yet at least, but the night’s still young.” A chorus of laughter. Whether it was real or as fake as his, Chip hardly cared. Already he was glancing about the room for familiar faces to join with. “But I do want to thank you all for joining me in honouring those who fought for our kingdom’s freedom many years ago, and those who continue fighting for us and for others to this day. Even in our revelry, we will not forget.”

“We will not forget,” The nobles repeated in unison, as was the kingdom’s way.

Chip knew the truth by now. They would forget, once the music started up and the drinks were served. These nobles had never known hardship, had never known loss – true loss. He envied their ignorance.

His part was over quickly. The crowd became disinterested as he descended the stairs, too absorbed in their own conversation. Guests were still arriving through the main entrance and the herald resumed his announcement of names.

Chip stopped listening, pushing his way through the crowd towards a group of four nobles: Lord Jasmine Drake and the Ladies Maria, Satasha and Aslana. Calling them friends would've been a touch too strong, but they were certainly his allies within the Court.

"Ah, speak of the devil!" Jaz exclaimed delightedly as Chip joined their little assembly.

Lord Drake was far more suited to the fancy attire that came with aristocracy. Whilst even the finest clothing couldn't quite rid Chip of that street-rat look, Jaz looked as if he were born in silks and velvets – perhaps he was. The deep crimson of his coat matched his locs, which were tied neatly into a sort of ponytail. A Lord through and through. Even his stance suggested importance.

The sisters – nicknamed the Beasts for how vicious and cutting they became in Court, but also for their status as half harpy, naga and mermaid respectively – were similar in their natural grandness. Each wore sparkling gowns, one of gold, one of green and another of blue, with shimmering jewels adorning their necks and hair. They too stood with pride, though perhaps this declined from eldest to youngest. Aslana appeared more excited than anything else.

"We were just discussing your little drowning stunt last month," Jaz chuckled. Ah, so that had reached the nobility. Perfect. Another reason for mockery. Jaz may have meant it lightly, but others would use it as further reasoning for why Chip shouldn't be crowned.

The Prince laughed along with the joke.

"It's just wonderful here!" Aslana said abruptly, childlike wonder shining in her blue eyes. She'd always been his favourite. As the only other nineteen year old in Court, Chip had always felt a sort of natural kinship with her, even if she was just there to learn from her sisters. "I've never seen anything so incredible!"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Apologies for my sister, it's her first time attending a royal ball."

"Nonsense, no need to apologise!" Chip gave a smile. "I'm sure we all had a similar reaction to our first ball."

"You've certainly outdone yourself with this one," Jaz commented.

The Prince glanced about at the flashy chandeliers – glass, not crystal – the golden furniture – once made with real gold, but now merely a convincing paint job – and all the other fake and showy elements of this ball. Even with all those cut backs, it had been far more expensive than Chip had anticipated. The face Abby had made when he told her the sum was enough to confirm that. Another trip to the treasury seemed imminent.

"Thank you." Chip opened his mouth to say something else, to change the subject to something less directed at expenses, but was interrupted by the arrival of a recognisable figure. Roofus. A smile passed over the Prince's face. "Roofus! I didn't think you'd make it!" He greeted the hound with a friendly handshake.

Roofus huffed a laugh. "Yes, well, you know my thoughts on this whole spectacle."

"I'm glad you're here, either way." Chip glanced about. "Is Amber with you?"

"No. No, I couldn't convince her to get out of the workshop. We've had a new project, you see, and she's been utterly absorbed in it for the past few days." The treasurer reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a sheet of crumpled parchment. “She wanted me to ask you about-”

“Not now, Roofus,” The Prince said gently. “We can talk business some other time.”

“Of course. My apologies.” Roofus returned the paper to its place.

This was supposed to be an escape from duties and worries, or at least from the more serious ones. Chip could handle smiling and making small-talk with stuck-up nobles so long as it got him out of that goddamn meeting room for a few hours. It was the lesser of two evils, so to speak.

A couple approached while Chip was briefly free from any conversation, Jaz and the Beasts having moved to another part of the ballroom to speak with someone or other, and Roofus distracted with this piece of parchment. The two weren’t anything noteworthy, certainly not part of the group of nobles whose names Chip had any chance of remembering, but he greeted them with a grin that suggested they were dear friends. The same flashy charming smile he used on everyone. Conversation between the couple and the Prince was brief; they hadn’t wanted anything much, simply to talk to his royal highness on the day of the royal ball, so as to brag about it to their families later no doubt. Once they were gone, off to dance or drink or some combination of the two, Chip looked back at Roofus to find the treasurer watching him with a strange look in his eyes.

“What is it?” The Prince asked.

The treasurer quietened his voice, sparing a look around only to find no one paying the two any sort of attention, and said, "I hate seeing you put on a face like this.”

Chip raised a brow. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

Roofus gestured to the couple, making their way across the room, largely obscured by the rest of the crowd. “That person there who was talking to them, that wasn’t you, Chip. I know that wasn’t you.”

The Prince laughed as if it were a joke. “Do you need to sit down, Roofus? Are you alright? It was me, I promise.”

“I know I’m old, Chip, but I’m not going senile. I simply meant that you don’t seem like yourself anymore, at least never in public. You must remember what you were like once. You’d run around at these balls, dancing about in your own strange way with no care for how people looked at you.” Roofus chuckled to himself, fondly remembering. Chip found his fingers clenching unconsciously into fists. “Where’s that boy gone, hm?”

It was meant harmlessly, Chip knew that. Roofus couldn’t have known about the years of horrid nightmares, the moments of unbearable panic that seized the Prince like a prisoner, that screamed at him to remember. All those things that changed the young boy so much with such little effort. The treasurer might’ve been the only surviving member of the Black Rose Court, but that was only because he hadn’t been on that particular voyage. So Chip didn’t, couldn’t blame him for not knowing. Very few did.

Chip couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t stop the boiling, burning anger. How dare he bring that up now. How dare he spoil this freedom.

"That boy is at the bottom of the ocean, with the rest of the Midnight Rose," Chip snapped back. Then he took a breath.

The Prince’s fingers wrapped around that golden coin deep in his pocket and the anger extinguished.

But there had always been a second reason for the lack of royal balls: far too reminiscent of days before that haunting night. The pain had already been there, Roofus’ comment had simply brought it to the surface. And now it demanded attention.

"Excuse me."

And Chip was in the crowd again, carefully avoiding the dancers in the room's centre. He wasn't sure where he was going, he just needed to get away. This wasn't the right day for unwelcome memories. Not when these events already reminded him of a life he could never return to. Those happier times, before crowns and heirs had ever been a problem, before the sea became dangerous as well as exciting, before he was alone.

Fingernails dug into the Prince's palms, leaving crescent moons in their wake, as a voice ordered in a harsh whisper, Remember.

"Arlin! Arlin, teach me too! Teach me too!" A young boy shouted in unrestrained excitement, running around his father and sister as they spun about the cavernous room.

The Prince bumped into a noblewoman and, upon nearly knocking her over, mumbled a quick apology before continuing forwards. He shook his head desperately.

The General belted out a laugh. "Wait your turn, Chip. Patience is key." It could have been a telling off, but the grin on his father's face showed no signs of anger or frustration. The boy continued running about, giggling all the while.

In a quiet corner of the ballroom, Chip leant desperately against the wall. Tears threatened to spill. He steadied his breathing and blinked away the emotion. A swift sweep of the room and he was confident no one had seen him. Another breath. Then another. He let his eyes fall shut for a moment.

Somewhere across the room, the herald's voice rang out. "Presenting- uh-" He paused as if to consider something. "Gillion Tidestrider, Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep- um…" Chip looked over to see Gillion standing beside the herald, hands on his hips as if posing for a portrait, whilst the poor man glanced about with uncertainty. "Friend of Chip and Jay, Guardian of… Pretzel? Do I- do I need to keep going?" Gillion shook his head and the herald gave an audible sigh of relief. "Gillion Tidestrider!" He repeated before scurrying away.

A light laugh escaped from the Prince’s lips. The past washed away as the present made itself clear. Chip shook his head in amusement. That Tidestrider certainly was something. He began the walk towards the grand entrance, grin not faltering once.

————

From the moment Gillion awoke, nothing had quite made sense. The morning had been rushed, his lessons with Jay cancelled in favour of preparations for the ball, so he couldn’t seek comfort in that familiarity. Still no one had explained to him what exactly a ball entailed – he could guess it didn’t refer to the spherical object – but he inferred that it was important.

It was why he had opted for wearing formal attire more fitting of his new home. That and because when Abby had revealed the traditional Undersea regalia that she’d found, presumably from the same place as the robes he’d been borrowing, a strange discomfort had built in his stomach.

He’d lived below the waves his whole life, but could count the public celebrations he’d been to on one hand. Those clothes weren’t associated with fun and joy like Abby seemed to expect. He’d worn something similar to each painstaking assessment. It felt wrong to don them now.

Eventually he’d settled on a deep blue jacket, to keep the sea close, that was embroidered in fine white thread with leaves and various geometric patterns.

But these new clothes didn’t offer any reassurance: they were tight and restricting. Anyone would find them difficult to swim in, though that was a problem he realised the Oversea rarely had to face. Perhaps he just needed to get used to it all. He’d adapted to the walking, the differing air pressure, things that presented a far more complicated change. This should’ve been easy in comparison. Maybe if it had just been the clothes, ‘easy’ would’ve been an accurate description.

He was alone for the entrance. Jay, Abby, John, anyone he could’ve relied upon for social cues had left for the staff door. Barely a minute into the wait, Gillion decided he hated crowds. Books that Jay read him snippets from sometimes compared them to the ocean. He would’ve recognised the ocean, but that one corridor held more people than he’d ever seen in his life.

Three minutes in and he regretted not following the others. It had been about pride, really. Pride had long since left him.

Five minutes in. It was quieter on the balcony overlooking the ballroom. Not surprising, considering this was an off-limits area for guests. Gillion, luckily, was more than a guest by now. He tugged at the collar that seemed hell-bent on strangling him and peered cautiously over the golden balustrade, the paint flaking slightly at his touch.

It was…well, ‘overwhelming’ seemed too negative. Perhaps ‘new’.

Everything sparkled: the crystal chandeliers, the sloshing drinks, the intricate gowns and suits. There was dancing, but not the kind that Chip had taught him at Whitethorne – no, this was stricter, less about the enjoyment of the experience and more about the way it looked. Dresses swished and flowed like a whirlpool of fabric, all in unison perfectly along with the music. New.

It all paused when the Prince stepped out onto the lower balcony. Everyone turned to face their leader.

Something clicked in Gillion’s mind when those trumpets sounded and a small man rushed over to introduce Chip with a list of titles. Titles…Gillion understood those.

————

The Champion stood proudly in the doorway as his titles were recited for the entire room to hear. A momentary confidence. He'd got something right finally, Gillion thought as the guests' attentions immediately switched to the triton at the entrance. The uncertainty returned in a brief falter as he took a step forwards. What next?

Chip had given a speech, but even if he'd wanted to, Gillion couldn't replicate that. The Prince had descended the steps after. That Gillion could copy, to an extent. He moved further into the room and behind him heard the next guest be introduced. From this angle, from the ballroom itself, everything seemed so much more impressive. Impressive and busy.

His eyes flitted about the space, not quite sure where to focus. Someone carrying a tray offered him a drink with a lobster tail hanging out of the glass. Taking the lobster tail but refusing the drink, Gillion thanked the server and returned to watching the surroundings. Jay had said she and the others wouldn't enter until all the guests were inside and, from the stream of nobles behind him, Gillion assumed that would take some time.

A hand on his shoulder and the triton jumped to action, reaching for a sword that wasn't there. He still hadn't quite gotten used to that, but apparently carrying a sword around all the time appeared threatening.

"Woah, calm down Tidestrider," The Prince laughed in his usual way. Gillion's heart slowed in its rhythm. "It's only me."

Of course. He'd almost forgotten Chip would be there.

The Prince was different, dressed in formal garb. Almost unrecognisable except for the smile. The crown atop his head glittered with importance, an importance Gillion had neglected to associate with him.

"Hello, Chip," Gillion greeted in his poor attempt at Common. He'd been improving – before the lessons were briefly cancelled – but still the words came out nasally. Perhaps Jay was right in the assumption that this was simply an Undersea accent.

"Hi," Chip replied, surprised. "Jay must be a better teacher than she gives herself credit for."

"Yes." Was all the reply Gillion could offer. At least the conversation didn't feel as one-sided as it had during the trip to Whitethorne.

The Prince glanced around. "Here, let me take you somewhere a little quieter."

He offered out his hand and Gillion clasped it with no hesitation. The triton found himself led along the side of the ballroom, dodging between laughing nobles and servers who chased the former with drinks – Gillion grabbed another few lobster tails as he passed by.

The two tucked between the columns which supported the balconies above, and Chip was right. To say they had found someplace peaceful would’ve been an exaggeration, but it was quieter. And for Gillion, who had never been to any event even remotely the size of this, quieter was enough.

"I told Jay to meet us here when she arrives," Chip explained. He turned to Gillion, raised a brow at the lobster tails the triton held, then shrugged it off. "I was going to ask if you wanted anything to eat, but you've beaten me to it," He chuckled.

Gillion swallowed the mouthful sheepishly, certain he’d broken some social rule. He didn’t touch anything else after that.

It was a little while before Jay appeared. The Prince waited with Gillion for the most part, but occasionally returned to the main area to keep the nobles away. Once he'd come back from the revelry the second time, he’d commandeered a tray of drinks, setting it on a nearby side table and selecting a glass for himself.

"It would be a shame to waste the drinks." The Prince bore one of his lopsided grins as he sipped the golden liquid. He pulled a face. "Actually, maybe not." Returning the drink to its place on the tray, Chip laughed. "That's the last time I'm letting Rolin take charge of the catering!"

Gillion smiled along with it all. It was nice to find small moments within the chaotic grandness of the evening.

A few moments later, Jay was with them: hair tied into an elaborate updo, wearing a gown of deep red that flowed like water. Gillion almost mistook her for one of the nobles.

"Hey!" She greeted, cheerily. Turning to Chip, she curtseyed low, "Your highness."

"Yeah, yeah. No 'your highness', remember!" The Prince teased.

"How are you finding all this?" Jay asked, returning her attention to Gillion. Chip had found a different tray of drinks that he was busying himself with – from the grin he wore, Gill assumed these were better.

Back in the ballroom, the dance had ended with a note from the violins and new couples joined the fray as another song began. The smile that had been teasing at the corners of Gillion's lips beamed.

"I've never seen anything like it." It was still new, still strange and overwhelming, but he'd started to enjoy it. Different was nice, sometimes. This was certainly preferable to the events the Elders had made him attend. Less forced silence. Less standing around, acting more like a decoration than a person. "It's brilliant."

Jay smiled. "This spot's nice. I was worried we'd be in the centre of it all. Back in Featherbrooke-"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," The Prince said abruptly. He'd left the drinks behind. "But I need to speak with my advisor." The two gave a nod of understanding and Chip disappeared into the crowd.

Momentary concern passed over Jay's face but, when Gillion informed her that the Prince had been doing this for the past half hour, that worry quickly dissipated. The following minutes slipped by like seconds as they continued with their usual merry conversation. It was strange. Gillion had never had a friend before – discounting Edyn, and Pretzel of course. He rather liked it.

They made it about an hour into the extravaganza before anyone outside the trio found their hiding spot. Gillion didn't notice the two approaching figures until Caspian and the General stood before them, bowing.

"It's so wonderful to see you again, Gillion," Caspian announced with a wide grin. "Have we missed anything important?"

Ever glad the Elders taught him to be well-mannered, Gillion bowed in response. "I'm glad to see you too. And no, nothing much has happened yet."

"We're sorry to arrive so late into the evening." The genasi caught sight of the drinks and Gillion led him over to their stash – which had grown larger with every time Chip left the hideaway. "But of course, we wouldn't miss a ball held in our honour. Besides, there was something else I wished to discuss with you." He glanced about. "In private, if that would be alright?"

"Of course, let me just-" Gillion turned to tell Jay that he would be leaving for a short while, but paused mid-sentence.

Both Jay and the General were nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

“Care for a dance?”

It had been a stressful morning, yet all dread had disappeared once Jay joined Gillion and the Prince in their hideaway. That panic was back now.

She stared blankly at the General, perhaps for a little too long. Jay wanted to retract her previous judgement. In the tailored red coat that swept down to her heels, with her locs loose about her shoulders and her eye patch swapped for a golden replacement – embroidered with a pattern of roses – the General was remarkable.

She was remarkable, and waiting for an answer.

"Sure," Jay blurted out, far less elegantly than she'd have liked.

The General raised a brow, but said nothing as she bowed and took Jay's hand. Sparing a glance back to Gillion, who seemed preoccupied talking with Caspian, Jay allowed herself to be led towards the dancing. Her heart fluttered frantically in her chest.

They took their place as the small orchestra began the next piece. Jay cautiously rested a hand on the General’s shoulder, the clasp on her own waist far less nervous. Inexpensive linen gloves met regal silk and Jay had a few seconds to worry that she’d forgotten how to dance before they were moving. Spinning, twirling ever so gracefully around the room – it was strange to think that the two had met with such silent tension. Perhaps an apology was due. People talk when they dance, right? That’s not weird?

Jay hoped her anxious swallow wasn’t audible. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong–”

“Don’t speak,” the General interrupted, bitterness clear in her tone. Her eyes, Jay noticed, were far from her partner’s face.

“What?” The butterflies in Jay’s heart had escaped, frightened away by pounding drums.

“I said don’t speak.”

Jay opened her mouth to say something anyway, but was silenced as the General met her gaze. That umber eye was piercing, unblinking: a pool of unending darkness. Except…was that a flash of purple?

“You’re gonna listen to me, and then use that big brain of yours that everyone keeps going on about to answer my question.” Her silk-gloved fingers gripped Jay’s tighter. “And you’re not even gonna think about bolting, ‘cause you have no clue how many weapons I’m carrying, but you do know that there are at least a dozen guards in the room ready to receive my orders. Got it?”

The inside of Jay’s cheek bled from all the chewing. She forced a nod, trapped in the warring gazes, not able to check if anyone was watching. None of it felt real. The drinks from before sat uncomfortably in her stomach.

“Good.”

Jay found herself being spun away from the General, as the choreography demanded, then pulled back with fierce intensity. It wasn’t so much of a dance as a battle – one Jay was badly losing. Not that she had any intention of changing that. The General was right: no one would turn against a trusted leader for the sake of a girl they hardly know. She doubted even Chip would challenge his sister’s authority in such a public way. She was trapped.

The General continued in an angry whisper. “I know why you’re here, Ferin.”

“What?” Jay bit her lip; the word had slipped out unconsciously.

“Surely you didn’t think it was subtle?” The General’s tone was mocking. “It’d be quite the coincidence for a daughter of the most powerful family in all of Raft to show up here, looking for work near the Prince while we’re closer than ever to war. My brother is too trusting for his own good, but I can see past your lies.”

“Nothing I’ve said has been a lie!” Jay shot back.

“I hope that’s true, for the kingdom’s sake.” A grimace flashed across the General’s face before her expression returned to steely neutrality. “But none of this is important, or at least it doesn’t have to be. I’m willing to offer you a chance to prove yourself. If you’re honest in your claims, this should be easy, if not…let’s just say we don’t respond well to traitors.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Jay steadied herself. Her feet still somehow kept along with the dance, but inside she was far less composed.

“So, tell me Jay Ferin, what are Raft planning?”

Planning. Well, they were planning a lot. There was the upcoming meeting with All-Port, plus whatever was happening with the Undersea. The Admiral’s birthday was soon, so there would of course be a celebration. But Jay had a feeling this wasn’t what the General was hinting at. She’d seen first-hand the new weapons that Raft possessed and now she wanted answers. Answers that Jay couldn’t provide.

“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully. “I left a month ago, and even then I was never involved in any meetings. Until John explained what forced you and your crew home, I hadn’t heard anything about ship upgrades, or magic, or whatever it was that they attacked with.” The General nodded along, not breaking eye contact. Jay’s voice wavered, “That’s the truth, I swear.”

“If you don’t know anything, then why did they send you?”

“Nobody sent me. I sent myself.” It came out wrong, an arched brow from the General told her that much. “I’m not here for them,” she clarified, “I’m no longer affiliated with Raft in any way.”

A final nod. “Alright. I’ll choose to trust you this time, but don’t think I won’t be keeping an eye on you.” The music came to a dramatic conclusion and the dancing stopped. Jay’s head still spun. “Let’s hope you’re not what I think you are.”

And it was over. The General turned and left. The clack of her heeled boots faded in the chaos of the pause between dances.

Jay shuffled to the edge of the room. She clutched at her gown, rubbing her fingers against the smooth material. Abby had been right in suggesting a red dress, rather than the blue version Jay had favoured. If Jay had arrived sporting the colour of the Raft naval uniform, she imagined the General’s reaction would have been much worse.

A few fiery hairs escaped Jay’s updo. She tucked them behind her ear.

Breath in. Breath out. Okay, now again. Slower, Jay, slower.

Glancing up at the clock, she realised barely five minutes had passed. Her eyes flitted about the room but neither Chip nor Gillion were anywhere in sight. She considered squeezing through the crowd to look for them. One glimpse of the General was enough to make the decision for her.

Jay left the ballroom in a flash of scarlet.

In the quiet comfort of her bedroom, she shed the heavy gown and underskirt, kicking them both into the corner of the room. She didn’t care how crumpled they got, or how appalled her father would be if he ever found out. Pulling on her blue jacket over her slip, Jay collapsed onto her desk chair. Her unsteady hand grabbed a quill, dipping it in ink thrice before touching it to paper.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Dear Kira,

Something’s happened.

————

“Rolin, I know I tend not to listen, but I do recall you explicitly saying this would be a small event.” Chip glanced down from the private balcony. He tried counting the dancers but lost track after twenty-something.

It was late in the evening and quite a few guests had left, but there were still more than he’d anticipated. He didn’t blame Gillion and Jay for hanging back from the crowd – if he had any say, he’d be doing the same. The balcony was as far away as he was permitted, especially since he’d joined Rolin. Chip didn’t regret the decision – he’d been more than happy to distract the advisor from Abby and Julian once he spotted them dancing – but Rolin wasn’t exactly the best company.

“Small is a relative term,” the advisor replied, “with only the nobles in attendance, this is significantly smaller than if I had invited the entire kingdom.”

Chip held back a frustrated sigh. “As much as I love it when you’re overly pedantic with phrasing, I would rather that energy be directed at our rivals in court instead of me.”

“Duly noted.”

“Which roughly translates to ‘fuck you’ – see, I’m catching on.”

“Stop that. You’re in public.” Rolin glared at the Prince as if he were a misbehaving child. To the advisor, he probably was. “I do wish you’d refrain from such obscene language, especially around esteemed guests. You are to be King, after all. You need to start acting like it.”

“I really don’t think these guys–” Chip gestured to the few nobles beside them on the balcony, far too distracted by their drinks to be paying any mind to their Prince, “–care if I’m swearing or being sarcastic. Anyway, I don’t think it’s possible for the kingdom to like me any less than it already does.”

“I really believe you’re exaggerating their disapproval of you.”

“And I really believe it’s not your place to tell everyone the date of the coronation before we’d officially discussed it, but at least I know when to keep my mouth shut.” Chip gave a forced smile. “Yes, I heard about that.”

“Your highness–”

“I’m glad you remember my title, because sometimes I wonder whether you think it’s you who gets to make all the decisions.” There were those drinks, asserting themselves. Chip knew this wasn’t the time to start a fight, but he was bored and maybe a little drunk, so he didn’t particularly care. “Just because you’re older than me, doesn’t mean you have control. I’m still your Prince.”

“And I’m your advisor,” Rolin snapped. “Planning events and their dates is my job. This ball wouldn’t have happened without me.”

“Oh and aren’t we all so pleased about that.”

Rolin huffed. “I really don’t know why I bother with you.” He turned away and joined the nobles by the tables of food.

Chip sighed. He didn’t hate Rolin, not really. Sure, the man was annoying and a little full of himself, but so were most people in positions of power. If anything, he admired Rolin for having the patience to put up with a teenage prince. It must’ve been a tough job. And, in some ways, the advisor was right – Chip was too immature for someone about to be crowned King. Yet, he couldn’t help his frustration at the strict rules that accompanied his title and the blatant hypocrisy of those that enforced them. He was expected to be this perfect Prince, but everyone around him seemed to have a different idea of what ‘perfect’ meant.

Chip slumped down on the balcony’s railings. A few more dancers had left and there was just enough space between them to imagine his younger self with Arlin and Lizzie, twirling about, laughing all the while. His face lifted into a smile. Things were simpler back then.

They should’ve still been simple. There was usually more preparation time before a new monarch was crowned, more time for the previous ruler to impart wisdom and train up their successor. In his ten years of waiting, Chip could only learn from books and snobbish teachers that thought they knew it all. He hated that Arlin couldn’t be there for him. He hated how alone he was. Most of all, he hated the part of him that agreed with the nobles, agreed that he wasn’t a good fit for the throne. The days till he was crowned were rapidly washing away, and he didn’t feel ready.

But there was little point worrying about the coronation. If they were to use the date Rolin gave out, there was still a month left before Chip would be crowned King. Plenty of time to pretend it wasn’t happening. There were so many other things to be distracted by.

A glimpse of recognisable red flashed below, and Chip rose abruptly from his slouch.

Lizzie was leaning on Caspian’s shoulder, practically collapsing against him as they made their way to the exit. From that distance it was difficult to tell, but her movement was jolted and strange. Chip darted down the grand stairs to meet them.

“Is everything alright?” He asked frantically, intercepting their path.

Lizzie didn’t raise her head, merely giving a weak thumbs up. It wasn’t the reassuring gesture she’d presumably intended.

“Your highness,” Caspian gave a slight bow. Chip wanted to tell him to shut up and get on with it, but he bit his tongue. “Everything’s fine. The General just had a few too many drinks and needs a lie down – it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“Wait– this happens regularly?”

With a sad smile, Caspian nodded. “Yeah. Often enough for me to know what to do.” Chip tugged anxiously at his sleeves. Grey-blue eyes followed the motion. “Why don’t you go sit with Gillion while I sort Lizzie out. I can tell you everything later, alright?”

“Alright.” Chip nodded, glancing over at the triton. Alone. Gillion was alone.

“I’ll warn you, he’s a bit tipsy.”

Confused, Chip scanned the crowd but there was no blazing red hair in sight. Odd. “Is Jay not there with him?”

Caspian raised a brow. “No,” he said, as if it were obvious. “She left a few hours ago. Seemed in a hurry.” He looked back down to Lizzie before giving Chip an apologetic smile. “I’ll talk with you later.”

“Thanks,” the Prince said just as the two turned to leave, “for looking after her.”

It was a difficult thing to admit that someone knew his sister better than him, could take care of his sister better than him. Difficult, but not surprising. The two had been torn in different directions: Lizzie playing an important role out at sea, while Chip was trapped within the castle walls. They were bound to seek comfort in different places. He just had to accept that.

Then there was Gillion. The triton still stood beneath the balcony, in that ‘hidden’ spot Chip had revealed hours ago.

Sparing a glance back to Caspian and his sister, Chip approached Gillion.

“Hey,” he said.

The triton smiled, leaning against a pillar with the glass he held tilted so diagonally that the golden liquid almost spilled. He sang a melody that the Prince assumed to be some Primordial greeting.

“Right.” As the adrenaline wore off, Chip remembered the issue with talking to Gillion when Jay wasn’t around. “Well, maybe that’s fine.” He rested his head on the pillar a few steps from Gillion’s. “I’m okay with not talking for a bit, if you are,” Chip said, his words trailing off into a yawn. The few days of rough sleep were catching up to him, it seemed.

He was met with another couple of notes. Notes that then intertwined and repeated, forming longer tunes. The triton was beaming a toothy smile, drink sloshing as he gestured about. A grin spread across Chip’s face. Watching Gillion had easily become his favourite pastime.

His decision to keep the newcomers at a distance hadn’t changed, but he found himself enjoying the little time they spent together. If the situation had been different, if Chip wasn’t so painfully aware of his own weaknesses, he thought the three of them could be good friends. For now though, he still sat apart from them at dinner, merely observing.

Gillion didn’t smile a lot, Chip had noticed, so it was strange to see him so smiley now. Caspian must’ve been right about him being tipsy. It explained the chatter, too. Even when Jay was around, he seemed to always keep quiet.

There were other things Chip observed. Things that had little reason to be noticed in the first place. Like the lock of seaweed green hair that had fallen from the neat bun. Chip watched it hang between the sunset corals and rest against the turquoise cheek. Every so often it would move, unsettled by Gillion’s energetic gesturing, then float back to its place.

Gillion and everything he touched almost moved like they were underwater.

Why Chip was noticing all this, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps it was that magnetic pull he’d felt from the beginning. His eyes drifted so easily towards the triton, like a ship into a whirlpool. Sometimes it was difficult to look away. He questioned if he even wanted to.

With a swift movement, Gillion tucked the strand of hair behind a fin-like ear. And the spell was broken.

“Well then,” Chip said, forcing a yawn that quickly evolved into the real thing. He laughed. “Maybe Jay had the right idea turning in early.”

Gillion’s laugh was a gentle sound: soft as the lapping tide. Frightening nonetheless.

Chip ran a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna head to bed. The ball will probably go on for another hour now, so you can stick about if you want. You know the way back to your room from here?” A nod from the triton was all the response he needed. “Then I’ll see you some other time.”

No one questioned the Prince leaving, or seemed to notice. Chip was like a phantom – forever ignored, even by those that were supposed to care about him. It hurt a little, sure, but it was useful at moments like these when the last thing he wanted was a fuss.

He retreated to his scarlet prison of a room and carefully removed his fancy clothing, till he wore the usual shirt and trousers. Collapsing onto his bed, he gave in to sleep.

That night, Chip dreamt of the ocean.

Chapter Text

Chip woke the following morning with a blistering headache. The repeated rapping at his bedroom door wasn’t particularly helping.

“Who is it?” He called out, clambering from his bed and glancing down at himself. He still wore the clothes from the night before, minus the jacket, which lay neatly folded atop a chest of drawers.

Pale sunlight shone through a gap in the heavy curtains. In the morning’s glow, the room almost appeared pink.

“Marshal John, your highness,” a familiar voice called back.

"It always is, isn't it," the Prince murmured to himself.

The crumpled clothes hardly mattered in that case. Rolin might complain about it, Abby would judge, and Lizzie would certainly have a few things to say, but John didn’t care how Chip looked so long as he was behaving. It was a shame really. Behaving hadn’t been on Chip’s plan for the day.

More loudly, he added, "Come in then John."

The door creaked open – Chip made a mental note to ask for that to be fixed – and the Marshal's towering figure was revealed. He wasn't alone. It was that boy, the one that Lizzie had brought. What had his name been? Something like Benjamin. Maybe Adam? That sounded about right. Adam stood just behind John, peering with awe-filled eyes at the royal chamber.

"Has something happened?" Chip asked cautiously.

He couldn’t think of any reason John would bring a small boy to see him at – he checked the clock at his bedside – seven o’clock in the morning, except for in dire emergencies. Perhaps Lizzie was in one of her moods and the boy needed rescuing. Or maybe he’d been caught stealing from the treasury. Or perhaps–

John bellowed a laugh. “Everything’s fine, I just came to let you know that me and Abby are heading down to the village for the day. There are some supplies we need to pick up for ship repairs – and some orders for extra supplies for the Crescent Moon, though I don’t know how much of that’s salvageable.” He laughed again and Chip managed a chuckle.

“Well, I’ll see you both later then.” Chip stretched, and straightened out his duvet, giving John a farewell smile.

The Marshal made no move to leave. So there was something else. Was Chip being made to feel bad about not being dressed? Was this some elaborate ploy of Rolin’s to fix an earlier wake up time – ‘if a twelve-year-old can manage it then so can you’?

Glancing over to the kid, John rubbed the back of his neck. Chip's eyes widened with understanding. Oh no. "I was wondering–" No. Absolutely not. "–if you aren't busy–" He was busy. He had to be busy. Surely there was something he could be busy with. "–could you watch over Oliver for the day?"

Too distracted by the discovery that he'd remembered the kid's name wrong, Chip struggled to think of any excuse as to why he definitely couldn't. Considering his plans had been to sneak in a few extra hours of sleep then go bother Earl, nothing came to mind.

“Sure thing,” he said, jumping to fill the growing silence. Damn it. His head throbbed in preemptive pain.

John smiled and patted Oliver on the shoulder. The boy beamed, his hazel eyes shining with excitement. “Thanks, your highness. I didn’t want to bother Jay or Gillion, which left only Rolin available and that–”

“–would’ve been an awful experience for everyone,” Chip finished. “It’s no problem. Just…uh…” He looked down at his creased clothes. Had that stain always been there? “Give me ten minutes to get dressed.”

“ ‘Course.” The Marshal chuckled and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Me and Ollie will wait in the courtyard. Don’t leave it too long – Abby’s keeping a tight schedule.”

“I can believe that.”

The Prince smiled dutifully till the two had left. Once the door clicked shut, he ran his fingers through his hair, pacing the chamber.

Babysitting. He’d been stuck with babysitting. He supposed it was John’s payback for having to put up with Chip everyday, but even so Chip found it dreadfully unfair. Surely his title could redeem itself of its many faults by relieving him of this, but no it seemed to be pointless even then.

He plucked a fresh shirt from a drawer, pulling the old one over his head and quickly replacing it.

And what was he supposed to know about looking after kids anyway? It wasn’t as if he’d ever spent any time around them since his own childhood. There was a distinct lack of children in Court and Chip was more than happy to keep it that way. By all reliable accounts – mostly just Lizzie really – kids were annoying little brats who couldn’t shut their damn mouths. That was a direct quote.

Yet…there had been something familiar in the boy’s awestruck eyes. Chip had been in a similar situation once, albeit without the accidental kidnapping. He’d arrived somewhere new and been welcomed with open arms. The same kindness could be extended to Oliver. He would ensure it.

By the time Chip sauntered out into the courtyard – now appropriately dressed in his usual attire – he was determined to make this kid feel at home.

————

John had left almost immediately after the Prince and child had been quickly introduced. A few minutes had passed since then; they still sat in the courtyard, comfortable on the fountain’s lip. Chip had commandeered two oranges from the kitchen, much to Earl’s disapproval, and handed one to Oliver. The boy gladly accepted it, but made no move to peel the skin.

Mischief sang its siren song. Perhaps it would’ve been best to ignore it, but Chip couldn’t resist.

He raised the orange to his lips, peel and all, and made as if to take a bite. All the while he watched the round hazel eyes follow his movement. After a mere moment, Oliver began to mimic the action, lifting the unpeeled orange without questioning himself.

“Woah, woah, kid!” Chip exclaimed with pure amusement in his voice. “You can knock that off now.”

Oliver glanced down at his hand, stupefied. “I didn’t even realise…”

The Prince chuckled, setting his orange on the fountain beside him while holding out his hand, asking for the boy’s. “Let me get that for you.”

He handed the fruit back a few moments later and noticed Oliver was watching him with wide eyes.

“What’s up?”

The boy shook his head quickly, expression dropping. “Nothing. It’s just that– Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“No, come on. What is it?”

“Well,” Oliver said slowly, looking away and plucking a segment of orange. “I guess I’m just not used to people being nice to me. The kids back home aren’t exactly the friendliest.” He glanced up at Chip with a quiet admiration that scared the Prince a little. He chose to ignore it, instead focusing on the words.

“I get it. I really do.” Chip picked at the peel of his orange and offered Oliver a reassuring smile. “Kids in the orphanage I grew up in weren’t the nicest either. Sometimes people just aren’t, and it sucks but you learn to find the good ones. Once you’ve found them, and you’ve found your place in the world, it’s easier to stop caring about the people trying to put you down.”

“Have you found your place?” The boy asked, looking up at the Prince with hopeful eyes.

No, whispered a voice in Chip’s head, and I’m scared I never will. But he couldn’t let Oliver down. The kid needed someone to look up to, someone to confirm that things got better eventually. Drey had been that for Chip. He’d left a dark place for somewhere lighter, traded a prison for freedom. It had been inspiring when Chip was younger. Maybe he could be a similar role model for Oliver.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “And you will too – I’m sure of it.”

The boy's beaming grin was worth the lie.

They ate the oranges in a comfortable quiet, with Oliver interrupting every so often as he spotted different shapes in the clouds. Once they were finished, Chip rose from his seat, stretching his arms in an exaggerated motion to earn a laugh.

"Well then," he began as he gave a final stretch with an added grunt. "Let's give you the grand tour."

"Oh, but Marshal John and Miss Abby already showed me around," Oliver said nervously as stood up.

Chip grinned. “But I’m sure they skipped all the fun parts.”

The day passed far swifter than its predecessors, as did the days that followed it until nearly two weeks had flashed by. The Prince and Ollie – who quickly requested the shortened version of his name be used, a sentiment which Chip understood well – explored the castle grounds, the beaches and even took a few trips down to Whitethorne village. It was wonderful, Chip often thought in those ten days, to feel like a kid again. He couldn’t help but absorb some of Ollie’s joy and enjoyment of life, in the same way that the boy gained Chip’s mischief.

Most of the time was spent in the kitchens, which was where Caspian found them a few days after the ball.

The genasi peeked a head round the doorway and met Chip’s eyes with an urgency that typically preceded some hurried conversation. The Prince glanced back to Ollie, who was helping Earl wash up and was completely oblivious, then nodded to Caspian. They met in the hallway a minute later.

“Is everything alright?” Chip asked, shutting the kitchen door soundlessly.

“Presently? Yes. Overall? Well, that’s what I’ve come to discuss with you.” Caspian tucked a lock of white hair behind his shoulder. It wasn’t tied up – Chip couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen Cas’ hair down, but a better look at him revealed why. Bags clung below his half-closed eyes. Goodness only knew how long it'd been since he'd slept a full night.

"Are you alright?"

Caspian huffed a half-hearted laugh. "I'll be fine. It's Lizzie I came to talk about."

"Is this about–"

"The ball? Yes. I promised you an explanation and I intend to follow through on that." With a sigh, Caspian leant against one of the many side tables that lined the castle's corridors. "You saw how she was that night. Drunk out of her mind. And I told you, didn’t I, that this happens often enough for me to know how to handle it.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“When did it start?” Chip asked quietly, not quite sure what to say or even how to feel. He should’ve known. That was the phrase repeating in his mind. This was his sister. He should’ve known.

“A while back. It’s difficult to pinpoint an exact time. But I think I know the reason.”

“You have to tell me.”

Caspian shook his head. “She’d kill me if I did. It’s her business to share, not mine.”

And the universe repeated, he should’ve known. Chip’s hands bunched up the fabric of his shirt into a ball, gripping it for dear life. He should’ve known and he should’ve had the confidence to confront her directly. But the fear of not knowing, of realising how little he knew his sister, had been too great. He’d distracted himself with mischief and what he’d once believed was a good deed, but spending time with Ollie was just a selfish ploy to forget the issues at hand.

You’re going to be King. You don’t know your sister. The whole world knows you’re not good enough. You’re going to be King. You don’t know your sister. The whole world knows you’re not good enough. You’re going to be King.

“There was a girl,” Caspian said after a moment. “And that girl is dead. I think it affected the General more than she lets on.”

Why? Why is she such a mystery?

The genasi continued, “Don’t try talking to her about it. She never brings it up, not even after a night of drinking. It’s a weight she bears alone, even if that’s a truly stupid decision on her part. And it’s been getting better recently. The ball was the first time it had gotten that bad in a while.”

“So everything’s alright?” Chip wasn’t convinced.

“It will be,” Caspian said, confidently. “Just let me handle it. I know what I’m doing.”

The unspoken “and you don’t” rested heavily on Chip’s shoulders. The days passed in a blur and the distractions returned, but the weight never once shifted.

————

Jay wasn’t sure why she’d been invited. Approaching the docks, where the new royal vessels waited to be revealed, she couldn’t rationalise it. The General certainly wouldn’t want her there and Chip…well, despite the conversations they’d shared, she barely knew him. She’d not made a good impression with Caspian, but he only seemed to have an interest in Gillion anyway, and she highly doubted John or Abby had the power to grant such invites on their own.

So, she concluded after much thought, the only reasonable explanation for her being there was Gillion.

He might've not solely relied on her anymore, considering Caspian could speak Primordial too, but Jay supposed she was still the only true friend Gillion had.

She looked over at the triton beside her and thought back to her letter. Perhaps she needed to reconsider… She shook her head, returning her gaze to the path ahead. He would be fine. Caspian could become his friend – they seemed to get on well enough. And the Marshal. Gillion had told her how John had sat with him when the Prince left the ball. There were others. Gillion wasn’t alone.

The walk to the docks wasn’t long, but it seemed an age before the distant sails grew nearer and the salty air blew cooly on their faces. Gillion’s long discussion with the pink frogtopus atop his shoulder came to an end when they joined the once far-off group, gathered just before the actual dock began. The spot was far enough from the scramble of sailors packing crates onto the two ships that any conversation wouldn’t be interrupted by yelled orders.

“Gillion! Jay!” Chip greeted, with a beaming smile.

He turned away from the rest: the same group from that first dinner after the General’s return. The General, Caspian and John were engaged in their own conversation, whilst Rolin watched the Prince with a judgemental gaze. Jay shivered, and not because of the soft breeze. Something about the advisor always reminded her of her father.

A little further towards the dock stood Abby, gesturing to the staff and sailors in quiet orders, not unlike a conductor. She looked back briefly and, upon spotting the new arrivals, gave a welcoming smile. Jay couldn’t help but smile back.

The Prince continued his greetings.

“And Pretzel of course. I’m so glad you all could join us.” He gestured to the two grand ships on either side of the dock. “As you can see, the ‘reveal’ part was a bit difficult to carry out, considering you can see them from a mile away, but we wanted a chance to show them off.”

“They’re so…fancy.” Jay glanced at the ships.

Each was made of a dark rosewood, with gold detailing along the sides. They both had two masts, flying snowy white sails on the left and scarlet on the right. Compared to the sleek and simple Navy vessels Jay was used to – which, aside from the steel reinforcements along the hull, just looked like large merchant ships – ‘fancy’ was certainly the word to describe these ships. Perhaps even ‘flashy’.

“They’re incredible,” Gillion mumbled, ocean eyes sparkling with wonder.

His arms raised in excitement and the deep purple sleeve of his robes slipped down, revealing a brief glimpse of the black mark that Jay had nearly forgotten about amongst all the action. Before she could get a better look at it or utter a single word, Gillion lowered his arms – the sleeve falling back into place – and the Prince looked to Jay for a translation.

“We were lucky to have them finished in time,” Chip confessed, once Jay had fulfilled her role. “Work officially stopped a few days ago, but they’ve only just been prepped for voyage. Considering we leave for Edison tomorrow…well, the worries have been resolved, there’s no point dwelling on them.” He laughed and Gillion laughed with him.

Jay attempted a smile, but was preoccupied. Her thoughts had moved from the black mark to the General, whose piercing eye had drifted in the Ferin’s direction. The wind seemed icier.

Slowly, not breaking eye contact with the General, Jay asked, “Who exactly is going to Edison then?”

“Besides me?” Chip grinned. Jay’s nerves prevented her from returning the sentiment. “Just John and his ward, Ollie. Plus the crew, of course. It’s a small trip. Nothing big, despite what Rolin might say.”

Jay nodded, hands fidgeting. “Does that mean the General and her crew will be…staying at the castle?”

The idea of being in close proximity to that woman without Chip to provide some sort of protection was less than appealing. In fact, Jay could almost feel her breakfast resurfacing.

“No,” Chip said solemnly, as if it were terrible news. “Just this morning I was informed of their plans to leave tomorrow. Business in Joaldo, apparently.” He scoffed and hushed his voice. “Though I’m not quite sure what ‘business’ occurs in Joaldo. Nevertheless, they’re leaving and will probably be gone by the time we wake tomorrow morning.”

Jay breathed out in her relief.

“Rolin will be in charge while I’m gone – though don’t worry, I’m sure Abby will make sure everything with you and Gillion is alright. Besides, we’ll only be gone a week and–” the Prince’s ramblings were interrupted by Abby, who had finished with her instructing and was swiftly approaching the three of them.

“Your highness, we need a name for the new ship,” she said, voice full of apprehension. Jay cast her a confused glance but Abby merely rolled her eyes and gave a slight shake of her head.

Chip swatted away a stray bug before beaming. A glint of mischief shone in his eyes. “Of course.”

“Don’t choose something stupid again!” the General said as the two groups met on the dock, now empty of frantic sailors. Rolin, with an awfully formal apology, announced he would be returning to the castle. He was largely ignored.

“I’ll have you know, the Big Chipper was an incredible name and anyone who claims otherwise just has bad taste. But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve come up with an even better name.”

Abby raised a brow. “Against all odds.”

“This ship,” the Prince continued, paying no mind to Abby, “will henceforth be known as – drumroll please – the Millenium Chipper.” His hands were outstretched as if revealing a brilliant thought. His eyes sought applause but none followed.

The General broke the building silence. “That’s arguably even worse.” Only she, in her unique position as sister and General, felt comfortable critiquing Chip’s ideas so blatantly.

The Prince looked at her, aghast. “First of all, we do not speak ill of the dead. Rest in pieces Big Chipper, you shall be missed.” Jay could hardly believe he was royalty. “Secondly, rude. It’s a cool name and it’s been decided.”

“Couldn’t you decide on a more serious name?” Abby said with a pointed look. “The Big Chipper was alright because you picked it when you were much younger. You’re of age now and about to be crowned.”

“She’s right,” John added, appearing behind Abby almost protectively.

Chip pulled a face.

It was clear Jay didn't fit here. She couldn't tease or joke with the others – they weren't friends. The only other person who would understand her isolation was Gillion, except when she turned to speak with him, he'd gone, talking with Caspian a little ways away. They looked happy. She smiled.

“Jay?” The Prince asked, snapping Jay back to the conversation.

She stared at him for a moment before realising he expected something of her. “Hm?”

“What would you call a ship?” Abby chimed in. “We’re trying to convince Chip he’s the only one who’d give it a dumb name.”

“Oh.”

It was a polite way to make her feel included. Jay appreciated it – especially as it was most likely Abby’s doing – but she couldn’t help from glancing towards the General, whose diverted gaze and stony expression made her opinion on Jay’s inclusion very obvious.

Jay cleared her throat. “Well, I’d probably pick something like my sister did. They knew Mum loves birds, so she named her ship after a bird. Partly after me too, and Dad. She called it the Blue Jay.”

As the words left her lips, the distinct image of that boat flooded her every thought. After Ava’s death, the ship had been given away – there was no good reason to keep it, after all. But for Jay, it was just another part of her sister’s life that disappeared.

She shook the thought away. Now was not the time. Not with the General now glaring at her with those intense brown eyes.

“I’ve always liked albatrosses, so maybe the Albatross.”

She fiddled with a button on her sleeve as she spoke, eyes darting about to test the waters.

But she hardly noticed the response. Insead, her eyes settled on Caspian, who had begun approaching the General. The two stepped outside of the larger group, and while Abby, John and the Prince continued their discussion about the ships, Jay did what she did best, what her position of being opposite this separate conversation allowed. She watched.

“Lizzie, I know we’re busy, but I was hoping you’d allow me a spare moment to show Gillion your study,” Caspian said in a low voice. He didn’t appear eager to conceal his words; the tone seemed more for the General’s benefit.

“And why is that important enough to warrant breaking schedule?”

“There’s some magic in there that I think could be of use to him, and there won’t be another opportunity to show it in potentially months.” Caspian was facing away from Jay, outside the reach of her perceptive gaze, but his head moved towards Gillion as he spoke.

The General sighed. “Be back within the hour.”

“Of course.” Before he sauntered over to tell Gillion the news, Caspian offered a short bow to the General, who accepted it with a slight nod.

Jay’s eyes narrowed. ‘Some magic’ was too vague for her liking. But, she thought, catching her own suspicion, there is no use assuming the worst. Gillion is able to look out for himself. If he trusts Caspian, so should I.

But they left, and despite the company, Jay was alone.

————

“It should be on this shelf somewhere,” Caspian said, rummaging through books.

The General’s study had the strange quality of being both like and completely opposite to the library that Gillion had grown used to. It still held some of the grandness, the sense of importance, the gold. It was funny how the colour connoted power up here. The Elders had only ever worn silver – the rarer metal. But Gillion had gotten used to the change, along with all the others. He quite enjoyed the warmth of the Oversea, warmth that even its colours reflected.

And yet, though the study certainly held the warmth and elegance of the library, it had an entirely different atmosphere. Gillion got the impression that if he nudged even one thing from its neat place, the repercussions would be dire. He focussed his attention on Caspian and stood perfectly still in the doorway.

“You’re certain you found something then?” He asked. It was an exciting prospect. To be given back his voice, his command over himself, after almost a month of silence was… It was a feeling beyond words.

“I truly hope I have. I thought I saw it here– oh there it is!”

The genasi pulled a thick and worn leather-bound tome from the shelf and set it on the mahogany desk. A loud ‘thump’ echoed throughout the chamber.

Tentatively, Gillion crept further into the room, hovering at Caspian’s shoulder as they both read the title. Pretzel hopped down from his shoulder and patted the book with a tentacle. She chirruped happily.

‘All That Glitters Is Not Gold: An Exhaustive Guide to Everyday Magic’ by Finn Tidestrider

“That’s my…grandfather,” Gillion said slowly, not quite believing it.

He knew, of course, that his grand peepaw had done the unthinkable and swum to the surface, but it seemed Finn’s disappearance was more than that. He’d lived a life up here. Made more discoveries about the world. Written about them, even. Maybe Gillion could do the same, forge his own path in the world.

“Well, let’s hope grandpa holds the answers.” Caspian flipped open the heavy book – another ‘thud’ as the cover hit the desk – and began scanning through the exceedingly long contents pages. “Communicative magic from page two hundred and four, onwards.”

Blue fingers leafed through the tome till more than halfway through and then there it was. Written in elaborate cursive, the page’s title – according to Caspian – read: The Magic of Language.

Gillion’s eyes flitted across the double page spread. The spells were separated into individual boxes, with titles in easy to read capitals. Even with his limited knowledge of the language, Gillion recognised many of the words.

“Most of these are ones we’ve already seen.” He looked up at Caspian. “Me and Jay, that is. There might not be anything new here.”

“But there is,” Caspian said, pointing to a section of the page that Gillion hadn’t noticed. “It’s called automatic understanding. Says it's an original brew of the author’s – made by your grandfather in other words.”

“It’s destiny,” Gillion mumbled. More loudly, he asked, “What else does it say?”

“That it changes what the caster says to a language of their choice. It lasts a full twenty-four hours, or until the caster drops the spell. It can be cast wordlessly; there’s a hand motion depicted.”

Gillion began copying the drawings with his hands, interlocking his fingers, then pulling them apart and facing one palm upwards while the other remained pointed down.

Nodding, Caspian glanced back at the book before looking to Gillion. “Now do the same in reverse and repeat the whole thing thrice. While doing the motion, think of what language you wish to speak.”

The instructions were simple to follow, so simple it was almost infuriating the level of effort it had taken to discover the spell, even more so that it had only taken Caspian ten days to find, but Gillion was too engulfed in his anticipation to be frustrated.

His heart raced as fast as the first time he’d held a blade, when the hilt felt heavy in his hands. The weight hadn’t changed, but he’d learned to withstand it. Now there was something new to learn, another trial to endure.

He hoped to pass with flying colours.

Nothing happened when he completed the third motion. There was no flash of light or pulsing energy. Glancing down at himself, nothing had changed. His mind was the same. He still couldn’t read the words in his grandfather’s book.

“Is everything alright?” Caspian asked, cautiously. There was hope in his eyes. It was a shame, Gillion had been hopeful too.

With a sigh, Gillion replied, “Yes. Everything’s fine, but nothing happened.”

Strangely, the genasi quirked an eyebrow, giving a slight smirk. “Nothing’s happened, you say?”

“Nothing at all. I still cannot speak Common.”

“No,” Caspian agreed, “You can’t speak Common. But that’s not what the spell does, is it?”

Gillion’s eyes widened. “It worked?”

“Indeed. Your grandfather must have been quite the wizard.” Caspian smiled and closed the book.

Pretzel leapt from the desk to Gillion's arm, burbling joyfully and climbing onto his shoulder.

“I need to find Jay and Chip and John and…” Gillion spoke without considering the words that came from his mouth, other than the fact that they were Common, not Primordial.

His excitement seeped into his movement – every part of him buzzed with uncontrollable joy.

Gillion took Caspian’s hands in his, attempting a grateful smile but instead delivering a wide grin. “Thank you so much, Caspian. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some idea,” the genasi said with a laugh. “I’m glad to have been of assistance, but it’s your grandfather you should thank, whenever you get the chance.”

Yes. His grandfather. Finn would surely still be up here, after all he'd never returned. Perhaps once Gillion had completed the prophecy, he could begin searching. Perhaps he could even enlist Edyn's help.

But that would have to wait. There were more important matters, matters of destiny and heroism, that deserved immediate attention. And, now that he could speak for himself, Gillion could follow the path Niklaus had set for him. The shortcut to saving the world.

He needed to speak with the Prince.

“I wish you luck with your trip to Joaldo.” Gillion released Caspian's hands and began walking towards the door.

“I’m sure I’ll be back here before long. Good luck with your own adventures.”

“Thank you!” Gillion called one final time from the corridor before he broke into a run. From the corner of his eye, a small pink tentacle pointed forwards, as if Pretzel were charging into war.

The Prince’s study was close by, Gillion was certain, and so his first of many goals was set: find Chip.

Chapter Text

Running through corridors, down steps, around corners, Gillion was overwhelmed by his own excitement.

You shouldn't be running like this, a choir of the Elders’ voices murmured in his mind. But how could he not run when finally – finally – he could be included, he could count as part of the group, rather than the pitiable outsider, only able to participate on someone else's terms. He could speak for himself.

The corridors blurred to mere scarlet and gold, so warm, so inviting. He'd never liked the scent of roses more.

Atop his shoulder, Pretzel chirruped fearfully.

"I'll set you down in a moment," Gillion promised in a half-shout. The frogtopus frantically slapped his neck as, in his eagerness rounding a bend, he barely avoided crashing into Marshal John.

"Gillion?" The Marshal said with a raised brow.

"John!" Gillion replied, delighted with himself. He was panting, spitting strands of hair from his mouth, but didn't care. "I can speak!"

John's eyes widened, a surprised grin spreading over his face. "You can speak."

"John!"

"Gillion!"

They gripped each others' forearms in a gesture the Marshal had explained at the ball. Gods, was that only ten days ago? It seemed a thousand things had changed. A thousand wonderful things.

"I'm trying to find Chip," Gillion said, beaming from ear to ear. "Do you know where he is?"

John's amused grin dropped into a frown. "His highness is in a meeting with Rolin."

"Oh."

Gillion had never been to Chip’s meeting room, but he knew it was reserved for the Prince's most trusted allies. It felt forbidden, one of those unspoken rules Gillion always had trouble picking up on. Did he count as an ally? Was he trusted?

The Elders had always instructed him to never interrupt a meeting unless it was of the utmost importance. If the rule carried over, then surely this was important enough.

He conveyed this to John, who nodded. The frown remained only in his eyes.

"I'm sure he won't mind an interruption."

"Excellent," Gillion made to leave before realising he wasn't exactly sure where he was going. And Pretzel still tapped at him. "John, where exactly is the Prince's meeting room? And may I leave my frogtopus with you?"

After receiving some brief directions and handing a happy-looking Pretzel over to the bewildered Marshal, the triton continued more sensibly through the castle. He tugged his hair from its plait; the strands took their chance to fall back into his face. A light puff of air was enough to dislodge them.

The meeting room wasn't far from the General's study – it made sense really, but it also made Gillion's journey far shorter than he'd anticipated.

It was easy to differentiate between the room and what he suspected to be a cupboard beside it. The door was ornate, carved with twirling patterns of brambles and roses. Faint voices were audible from within. He raised his hand to knock, yet hesitated, inexplicably. Fate took over, whispering in his ear to wait. Just as he lowered his hand, the voices grew louder, almost shouting. It was wrong to eavesdrop, but Gillion’s curiosity urged him to stay and listen.

“Less than a month ago, you were telling me to keep him here!” Yelled a familiar voice. Muffled as it was through the door, Gillion knew it was Chip’s.

The triton rested his fingertips on the doorknob, deciding the sin of listening-in outweighed his desire to. Skin prickled on his wrist, where that dreaded mark sat. He jolted away from the door in shock, but quickly shook the feeling away. Just as he turned the handle, another voice joined in, matching the volume.

The advisor spat his words. “Yes. But now, given the lack of any word from the Undersea, my opinion on the matter has changed. Perhaps yours should too!”

Gillion froze. The Undersea. A month ago. Keep him here. They were talking about him. Arguing about him. His fingers slipped from the doorknob.

“What are you even talking about?” A laugh crept into Chip's shout. A shiver crept down Gillion's spine.

“We agreed that the triton was staying as a bargaining chip until we confirmed an alliance with the Undersea. And yet we have received no word from their Elders.”

A bargaining chip? Was that all he was? A trophy to be passed from hand to hand, having no say in the matter. A worthless trophy, at that.

"If you would please speak more plainly, Rolin, it would save us a lot of time."

The advisor huffed as if it were obvious. "What I am suggesting, your highness, is that we should question the reasons a Champion would be abandoned by his people. The Elders surely know he is missing and, if they sought his return, would have made an effort to locate him. But they have not."

Yes. They have not. They have not come for you, Champion. They never intended to. You know that, don't you? Your Elders have been lying to you. And so has everybody else.

Chip's sigh was audible even from the corridor. "You're right. They haven't."

Gillion couldn't bear to hear anymore. He turned from the meeting room, walking shell-shocked down the corridor.

So this was the truth. This was why the Prince had been keeping him at arm's length, why he'd left the ball early, why he'd spent so much time in his study. Gillion was merely a token to be traded in for a greater prize. Chip had been avoiding him, because why would he assign any worth to a token?

It was plain as day now. And yet… They had danced in Whitethorne village. It had felt real, a real moment of kindness and comradery, but had that been fake too? An illusion, a way to lull everyone into a false sense of security? The Prince had been trying his hardest to only include Gillion when necessary, a way to make it seem like this was an offer of hospitality. But he'd never cared.

Gillion's fists clenched and he missed the comforting weight of his blade. Of anything that was his. The robes he wore, the bed he slept in, all of it was a ‘gift’ from his apparent captors. He had nothing. Except…

Was Jay in on it too? No. She couldn't be. She wouldn't. Would she?

A strange sensation of wetness upon his cheeks startled Gillion from his anger. He lifted a finger to touch the liquid which was…yes, it was coming from his eyes. His insides twisted as if he'd been run through with a sword. Fingernails dug crescent moons into his palms, matching the mark on his wrist that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. It was too late to back out now, but gods did he want to.

Mere hours ago, mere moments ago, he'd believed he could belong. He'd believed this could be his home. But he was just as alone as ever. It seemed to be his destiny.

————

"The Elders surely know he is missing and, if they sought his return, would have made an effort to locate him. But they have not."

Chip sighed. He was just about done with Rolin's bullshit. "You're right. They haven't. But what experience do you have with the Elders, Rolin, and their supposed wisdom? Or are you merely assuming all leaders' judgement should be trusted?" He replied, his tone ice cold. "We should trust the actions of the dying King of Edison, I suppose, who lets his poor starve while his rich grow richer? And those of the All-Port Council, who choose to remain decidedly neutral in this time of unrest? What of the noble families of Raft? Do you believe their judgement is trustworthy, simply because they are leaders? If so, perhaps you need to consider who you should be advising."

"Perhaps I should." The advisor's words were bitter and full of poorly concealed rage. He bowed. "My apologies, your highness. I was simply doing my job."

"Your job," Chip scoffed. "Your job is to offer advice, not to dictate every action I take. You have no power over me, Rolin Loffin."

From the corner of his eye, Chip swore he saw the advisor clench his fist. Rolin paused, as if to turn back and say something, but slowly his fingers uncurled and he pulled open the door.

"Perhaps it's more true that you have no power over me," he muttered, barely audibly, as he stepped from the room.

Chip, too caught up in his anger and trying very hard to fight the urge of punching the window, heard nothing.

He couldn't believe Rolin would even dare suggest that, suggest throwing someone as stranded as Gillion to the streets. Rose was the kingdom of outcasts, a fact that extended even to a Ferin, even to the Undersea’s Champion, even if his advisor didn’t agree.

It was strange though. A strange thing to nitpick, Chip thought, pacing away from the window and placing his hands on the table. A strange time to bring it up, just before the Prince was set to leave for Edison. Just before Rolin was set to be in charge for a short while. Strange. The advisor had been acting a little strange, a little too invested compared to his previous lack of any interest at all. Too invested, too confident…

Chip stopped himself. He was doing it again, thinking too deeply about things, looking for problems that didn’t exist. Rolin had gotten full of himself now he was involved again, and had taken it a step too far. That was all. He wasn’t the only one to get frustrated at Chip’s hospitality towards the Ferin and Champion, so had Lizzie and even John at first. Besides, Rolin had been chosen as the next in line to become advisor by Finn Tidestrider, and Chip trusted that man’s judgement almost more than Arlin’s.

Rolin could be trusted. Chip just needed more sleep, probably. His stomach growled loudly, breaking the room’s seriousness. Sleep and food.

He wandered over to the kitchen, still thinking about the situation with Rolin. One phrase in particular kept repeating in his mind. We agreed the triton was staying as a bargaining chip. Had they agreed that? Chip couldn’t remember his exact words on the matter, but he was fairly sure he’d not been so blunt about it. The triton – Gillion, Chip corrected himself, he has a name – was staying so they could keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn’t up to anything sinister. That was what he’d agreed to. Wasn’t it?

Feet pattering as he took the grand staircase, he remembered Abby had been annoyed with him. It was why she’d quit the advisor role – Chip had been fully prepared to hire her officially in Rolin’s place, but she’d refused. What was it she’d said again?

He’d ran from the library, moments after meeting Gillion and Jay for the first time, and found her sitting on these very stairs. He paused when he reached the bottom step, the one she’d been crouched on.

“Are you alright?” He’d asked in his usual way, not quite understanding how to approach emotional people. She glared at him. “Okay, wrong question, got it.” Settling beside her, Chip pondered for a moment. “What did I do wrong?”

“You sided with him,” she said almost immediately. “You agreed. Gillion came here seeking shelter, seeking a place to rest and recover. He’s clearly been through so much – you were there when Rudith said about his scars. Hundreds, Chip. Hundreds of scars, all of varying ages.” She paused, giving him an emphatic look. It had been concerning, the sheer number. “He needs help, but my father can only view people as threats or stepping stones. He sees Gillion as both, but the latter is far more prominent in this state. He wants to use him for his own gain, or the kingdom’s gain as he’ll phrase it. And you agreed.”

A beat of silence. It had been difficult to respond to that. “I said he’d stay. I said we would be careful and make sure he wasn’t a threat. I said–”

“You didn’t need to say it, Chip. It was obvious which side you took.”

The Prince breathed slowly, carefully. “I’m keeping him here for his own good. Just until he recovers and we can tell if we can trust him. He’s no prisoner.”

“No, but what if you do trust him? What then? Will you use him as a way to gain an alliance with the Undersea, to gain their trust, their money?” She made it sound like it was a bad thing.

Chip spoke with a raised tone. He didn’t think he needed to defend himself, especially to Abby, who understood the ways of politics. She’d been his advisor for years, what had changed? “So what if I do? That’s how politics works, Abby. It’s how the world works. No one does kind things just to be kind, it’s all about what you can get. There’s no such thing as a selfless act. We’re all selfish, Abby. I’m selfish!”

She’d looked him dead in the eyes, in a way he’d never forget, and said, “I can believe that. And that’s why I can’t be involved with this anymore.”

“Abby–”

“I don’t mind being your recordkeeper and organising bits and pieces, Aster knows my father won’t care for those things, but I can’t in good conscience be your advisor anymore. You need to get your shit together, Chip. I’m serious. Else everyone’s going to leave.” And she did. She stuck to her word.

Chip clasped his hands around his arms, holding himself for a moment.

Everyone’s going to leave.

He shook the thought away. He still believed what he’d said. Even if Gillion was a ‘bargaining chip’, as Rolin had put it, that wasn’t solely why Chip had saved him. Maybe he’d been too quick with his words to Abby. It was a kind act, saving the triton. It had been meant as a kind act. A repayment of him saving Chip. On that beach, there had been no thoughts of what could be gained.

Perhaps they could help him find Finn.

Treacherous memory. Fine, maybe there had been ulterior motives somewhere in there, but the main reason he’d saved Gillion was out of kindness, out of goodness. Nothing that came after mattered.

He was at the kitchen door by the time he’d settled that debate. He pushed it open and made his way inside, where Jay and Gillion sat in cold silence. All previous thoughts washed from his mind. Had something happened between them?

Jay glanced up as he entered and gave a small smile. Gillion had no reaction, staring blankly at the plate of eggs in front of him.

“Everything okay in here?” Chip asked cautiously, helping himself to his own portion of eggs with Earl’s help.

“Yeah, everything’s–”

Jay’s comment was interrupted by the squeak of a chair as Gillion stood from the table. Without looking at Chip once, the triton left the room. His fists were noticeably clenched. The door slammed shut.

The Prince gave Jay a look, silently asking if he should follow after. She shook her head. Chip took his place at the table, opposite Jay, next to where Gillion would have sat.

“What’s up with him?”

Biting her lip, Jay glanced over to the door. “Not sure. I figured he’d be overjoyed, considering everything, but he’s barely spoken two words to me.”

Chip paused mid-bite. “What do you mean ‘considering everything’?”

“Well, you know.” Evidently he didn’t. Jay’s eyes widened as she realised. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Caspian found a spell that lets Gillion speak Common. Well, it translates everything he says into Common, but it’s practically the same thing.”

“Oh.”

Jay nodded, pushing eggs round her plate with her fork. “Yeah. I figured he’d told you.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I swear John said he’d gone to tell you.”

“No,” Chip said, confused and a little concerned, “He didn’t tell me.” He didn’t even come to see me. Did he?

————

Gillion was sick of roses. The overbearing perfume made his stomach turn, but it was inescapable. His room smelt of roses. The corridor smelt of roses. The borrowed robes he wore smelt of sickening, disgusting roses. He'd been in the castle so long, the scent had begun to cling even to him.

Yet nothing in the castle, not even the flowers themselves, reeked more than the Prince. Betrayal had a wicked odour.

It was too soon to be in the Prince’s company, he’d realised as Chip entered the kitchen. Speaking to Jay in short sentences was one thing, but to see the cause of all his problems act as if nothing had happened was far too much for Gillion to bear. All he could do was leave, walk the corridors in a mindless wander. There was nowhere for him to go, and nowhere to escape from that sickening scent. So he simply walked.

Gillion stopped when he reached a staircase, leading up to the first floor – the meeting room on that same corridor. On his wrist, Niklaus' mark prickled again. An idea settled and the crescent moon agreed.

There were some things untouched by roses. The things taken from him on his first day. Pretzel had been returned, sure, but his sword, his armour, even his original clothes were still kept from him. He'd never thought to look for them before. But he had an idea of where they'd be.

His feet – bare of the offered boots – padded quietly up the stairs. The carpet was red. Everything was red. Except him.

It wasn't long before he reached the meeting room, before he stood in front of that carved door once again. That door was of no use to him. His attention switched instead to the one beside it, plain and unremarkable. A cupboard, he'd thought, nothing important. Only it was important. It held the very key to his redemption.

The door didn’t give out easily – he’d known it would be locked – but frozen hinges were easy to snap off. To say it was quiet would be a lie. It didn’t matter. Gillion was past the point of caring if someone found him.

He’d been right. It was a cupboard: small, cold, bare of anything except a large wooden chest. The same method from the door worked to break the padlock. Within lay a set of bronze armour, a whalebone sword and the comfortable, baggy clothes that he’d missed so much. Gillion’s hand found the sword’s hilt like they were connected by a magnetic force. It was a comfort in his grasp. This was his: purely, truly, solely his. It smelt of the sea, of power, of freedom.

The mark on his wrist prickled once more, satisfied.

He knew what he had to do. There was no insult more deserving of retaliation than deceit. And retaliation was what he’d been trained for.

Chapter Text

It was an odd prospect, leaving Gillion and Jay in Rose while he went galavanting off to Edison. Chip was conflicted. Of course, it wasn't like he would enjoy the trip. Edison was a lovely kingdom, full of wonders that could only be dreamed of, but he would likely be limited during his visit to only the castle grounds. To see that dickhead of a king. To discuss boring politics.

On the other hand, they were…friends wasn't the word. It couldn't be the word. He wouldn't let it be the word. But they were something, the three of them. Descendants of the Black Roses, whether they knew it or not. Fate would dictate they stay together.

Fortunately for Chip, he didn't believe in fate.

Still, the problem weighed on his mind as his strolled down the halls that morning. Come afternoon, he'd be setting sail upon the…well, a name hadn't been decided yet, but he'd been calling it the Millennium Chipper. Yes, it was stupid. No, he didn't care.

He'd woken early – though that implied he'd slept at all, so perhaps wasn't the correct explanation. He was up and about early, all his worries about the days to come spiralling into a terrible whirlpool. The sun hadn't even risen yet.

It was quiet, except for the storm in his head.

There was also the issue with Gillion. He should've been happy – was normally happy – especially considering Caspian's success in finding a translation spell. And yet he seemed pissed. Properly, unignorably pissed. He'd stormed from the kitchen the moment Chip had spoken. No one had seen him since then, even when Jay went to check up on him. The bedroom had been empty.

Part of Chip wondered if the triton had run away. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. It would certainly get Rolin off his ass. And yet–

Chip stopped. The ballroom was on his left: empty ever since the ball. So why were there noises, loud enough to be heard behind the heavy doors? Why was the air colder, for that matter? A chill spread down Chip's spine. He shivered.

Scraping. The sound was clear now. It was a horrible noise, like someone was sharpening a sword.

Why would someone be sharpening a sword in the ballroom?

It was stupid to check it alone, of course. It would be irresponsible. He was the Prince, soon to be the King. Putting his life in danger by peeking in to see what was happening would be reckless and downright idiotic. John would chastise him for it. So would Lizzie and Rolin and anyone sensible, really.

Chip pushed the door open, just a crack, ignoring every part of him that argued against it.

He'd assumed it was an invasion. Either that or John had chosen an odd place to train. It was neither. Which was either great or much much worse.

His gaze first landed on the walls, covered, coated, utterly concealed by ice. So was the floor and the pillars and the balconies and every inch of the large room. The ice itself was blue, radiating a similar coloured light. Magic. It couldn't be anything else.

That explained the ice, but not the scraping.

As his vision swept across the room, wondering what could've possibly caused this and how on Mana he was supposed to get it cleaned up before he left, he noticed the figure. Glowing. Dressed in bronze armour. Dragging an elaborate sword against a whetstone.

Gillion Tidestrider looked up as the Prince stepped further into the room.

"Gillion?" Chip asked, nervous laughter in his voice. "What are you doing? Jay's been looking all over for you."

The triton set down the whetstone, sheathing his blade at his back and standing, looming. Even from the other side of the ballroom, the tension on his face was clear. He said nothing. The silence dragged on.

"Did you do this?" The Prince tried again at conversation, gesturing to the frozen walls. Boulders of ice sat in each of the room's corners, enclosing the space into a ring.

"I did," said the triton, voice reverberating in a menacing choir. Chip shivered again, not just from the cold.

"Why?"

Gillion took a step forwards – his armoured boots hit the icy ground with a crack.

"Because Chip," the triton said slowly, eyes illuminated like the night they'd met. Chip was reminded of the storm that had followed. "Your lies have consequences. And now I challenge you to a duel in defence of my honour."

For a moment the air was stagnant, freezing. Their breath formed clouds. Time drew to a halt.

Then it shattered.

Chip exploded into laughter. "Okay, okay," he wheezed, gripping his knees, "you had me for a second there. Very funny Gillion. Not the best timing, but very funny nonetheless." He grinned, not sure why Gillion still looked angry. Maybe he was just really committed to the joke. "Do you reckon you could handle cleaning this up? I've gotta pack for this trip."

The scowl hadn't left Gillion's face. If anything, it had grown.

"Of course you believe this is a joke," he muttered bitterly. "Even now you insult my honour."

"Insult your honour?" So this wasn't a joke. Which made the whole thing a lot more terrifying, really.

Here was the triton who had washed to shore in the heaviest of armour, whose presence had – by all accounts – caused the storm that sank the royal ship, whose eyes glowed with radiant anger. And there was Chip. A boy who believed himself to be a prince; a boy whose lessons of self-defence had been mere formality, insisted upon by the General. A duel would be…well, it was obvious who would lose.

"You lied!" Gillion's voice rose to a shout, the ice around him pulsing with the same pale blue light as his eyes. "From very beginning, you lied!"

Chip staggered back. "About– about what? What are you talking about, Gillion?"

His heart pounded. This was the Champion of the Undersea. The fucking Hero of the goddamn Deep. Only now was he seeing that title as the threat it was.

The triton unsheathed his sword and gripped it with both hands, raising it as if to strike down – no such motion was made, thank the gods.

"Your hospitality is an illusion!" He announced, with vicious certainty. In the way the sword was lifted, it seemed to cut his face in two.

Two-faced was certainly one way to look at it. After everything Chip had done to protect this Champion, despite everyone telling him not to, this was how Gillion repaid him? With betrayal?

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Chip shouted – rage was contagious, "but I've done nothing but help you! From the fucking beginning!"

Gillion lowered his sword to his side. "So help must mean something different in the Oversea. Because where I'm from, it doesn't mean imprisoning someone until the first opportunity to trade them away!"

…what?

"I overheard what you said to your advisor."

Chip couldn't help but chuckle. It was stupid, but so was he. So was Gillion, from the look of things. A bunch of fucking idiots.

"Then you must've heard me put that bastard in his place," his words were punctuated with laughter. "You must've heard me–"

"I heard you agreeing that my use had run out!" Gillion interrupted, yelling. He just couldn't shut up. "What you said after doesn't matter, you agreed!"

You sided with him. You agreed.

How many times was Chip going to get in trouble for agreeing with Rolin?

"But what about everything else? Everything before?" Chip protested, less in desperation to 'restore his honour' like Gillion was so focused on, and more out of anger. He wasn't a bad person and he was fucking tired of being labelled as such. "The ball? The trip to Whitethorne? I fucking saved you from that beach!"

"And all the while you were plotting how you could put my titles to use. All the while–"

"No! Gillion Tidestrider's done talking. It's Chip's turn." Anger burned in his chest, an insatiable flame. "So many people told me not to take you in, not to trust you. Rolin, for one. Even my fucking sister! But I did it anyway, because that's what a decent person does. This is the kingdom of outcasts and you are welcome here – you have been welcome here this entire time."

"Yet it never felt like it." Gillion's confession was quiet, cold as the ice around them.

“I never should’ve brought you here!” Chip yelled, furious and frankly a little betrayed. He was a welcoming person. He was kind – had been kind to Gillion.

The triton’s voice had cooled now, maintaining its monotone brutality. “And I never should have trusted you.”

It was enough. Too much, in fact.

"Fine," Chip said through gritted teeth. "You want to duel? You want to defend your fucking honour? Fine! Let's fucking duel."

A grim smile settled on the triton's face. "We begin."

The slight issue of Chip not having any weapon suddenly occurred to him. Even then it was only a passing thought. The matter was swiftly resolved, with Gillion raising a hand and forging a chunk of ice beside them into twin swords. How he'd known those were Chip's weapons of choice wasn't a big deal – except it was, and when the rage had calmed perhaps he'd come back to it.

The swords floated in front of the Prince for a moment before he grabbed them. He figured they'd be cold, like holding ice cubes, but he felt nothing. Rage burned in his veins. Maybe he was immune to magic ice. It didn't matter.

Gillion struck first, lunging forward and slashing at Chip's shoulder.

The blade – was it…bone? – cut deep and hot blood trickled down his shoulder. It stung. He realised he'd never been injured in any of his lessons with John. The Marshal had been going easy, not wanting to harm his future king. Gillion, on the other hand, was out for blood.

"Fight back," the triton hissed as he took a second slash. "Fight back or this means nothing."

Chip, in his staggering state, gripped his blades tighter. There weren’t many times that he regretted not listening to the Marshal, but this was certainly one of them. He tried to remember the basics of fighting – duelling actually, for there was a slight difference. Lead with the feet, not arms, with strategy, not strength. Aim for endurance. Fuck it, there was too much and Chip really hadn’t been paying attention. Besides, it couldn’t be much different from fist fights. Those Chip was well acquainted with.

Feint left, strike right.

Once Gillion finished stalking a full circle around him, Chip acted fast – blades like extensions of his arms. Sure enough, the triton went to block the first hit and in doing so left himself open for the second. The ice sword swiped at heavy armour. A sonorous clang echoed through the room.

He’d forgotten the triton’s second advantage. The bronze armour remained undented.

Distracted by the sound, Chip had no time to react as Gillion’s blade swung down upon him, hitting his wrist with just enough power to knock one sword from his hand, but notably leaving only a small wound. Crimson still poured from Chip’s shoulder. Perhaps the triton had been off-put by how much the Prince bled.

“If this means so much to you, put your all into it,” Chip spat, switching to grip his remaining sword with both hands. Gillion made no move to attack, simply waiting. The two circled each other like animals about to pounce. “Don’t you want to kill me and restore your honour?”

“I don’t want to kill you, Chip.” The glow in the triton’s eyes dimmed as if unsure.

The Prince laughed, a grim and bitter sound. “Bullshit.”

He lept forwards, cutting at Gillion’s legs, but the triton dodged with ease. As Chip’s anger boiled, he noticed his hands were wet. It wasn’t sweat…the ice sword was melting. But he was preoccupied. That thought would have to wait.

“You’ve wanted me dead since the beginning – since you tried to throw that goddamn vase at me. That’s probably the reason you’re here, isn’t it? To kill me?” It wasn’t likely, but goading rarely relied on truth.

Gillion snarled. “You wouldn’t know, because you’ve never asked!” He lunged at the Prince, knocking him to the ground. Chip’s sword shattered upon impact.

“What. The fuck. Is going on?”

Chip and Gillion’s rage gave way to momentary confusion: neither of them had yelled out. Confusion switched to panic. If John or Rolin saw them – or gods forbid Lizzie had delayed the trip to say goodbye and walked in at the worst time… It wouldn’t be good for either of them.

It was only by luck that this wasn’t the case.

Both men looked up to see Jay standing in the open doorway, still in her nightgown. Her blue eyes were full of concern, confusion and – surprisingly – mostly fear. Chip briefly wondered if Gillion would call off the duel, now that company had joined, but no such move was made. Good. He’d hate for this fuckery to have an unsatisfying end.

“Oh, it’s no worry Jay,” Chip called out, taking advantage of the distraction and pushing himself to his knees. “Gillion’s just about to kill me to restore his honour.”

Her reaction wasn’t exactly shocking. “What!”

“I’m not–” Gillion looked from Chip to Jay, glowing eyes still angry. His vision settled decidedly on the Prince. From where Chip kneeled, the triton looked ferocious, like a creature from one of Arlin’s scary stories. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said through his teeth.

Chip grabbed Gillion’s wrist, which had gone slack in frustration. Not letting go when the triton tried to wrestle it away, he angled the sword to his own neck. He spoke slowly. “Yes, you are. Because otherwise this whole ordeal has been a waste of fucking time.”

He watched as rage, then fear, then desperation flashed through the triton’s eyes. Chip wasn’t sure how he hadn’t anticipated this. Duels were typically to the death and Chip wanted no more blood on his hands – though that had never been a plausible ending.

This was the natural outcome. Poetic justice, and all that. Everyone had always told him he trusted too easily and now was the perfect proof of that point. Fucking spectacular.

“I won’t kill you,” Gillion said. He seemed to think for a moment. It was finally hitting him, Chip suspected. There was only one way this was ever going to go. Well, two really. This one was preferable.

“You definitely won’t kill him,” Jay seconded. “He’s the fucking Prince of Rose,” she turned to Chip, “you’re the fucking Prince.” As if he didn’t know that. “If he kills you, he’ll have the entire kingdom after him.”

Chip scoffed. “You overestimate their affection for me.”

“And you underestimate it.” Jay had stepped further into the room now, making to come between the triton and prince. “They’ll kill him, and me in association, and your entire fucking kingdom will fall into ruin without a leader. The General may take charge, but she’ll be too busy dealing with your killers to notice Raft invading and then all of Rose’s legacy will be obsolete.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.”

Jay huffed in frustration.

“I’m not,” Gillion repeated, his voice a protesting yell, “going to kill him!” He shook Chip’s hand from his wrist, taking charge of the blade at the Prince’s neck. Not removing it. Taking charge. His eyes met Chip’s with earnest determination. “All that was required to restore my honour was a genuine duel. No death is necessary, and I never intended for it. Do you concede?”

Chip’s anger hadn’t yet burned out. The flame was smaller, weaker, fucking tired, but still flickered. Gillion had chosen the second option. His grudge with Chip wasn’t even worth death. Fine.

“Sure,” Chip said with as much spite as he could muster.

The blade was lowered. Gillion stepped away. Though Jay was relieved, the Prince was everything but. He’d sought a satisfying end and this was quite the opposite.

With the energy he had left, Chip rose to his feet, ignoring Gillion’s offered hand.

“Get out of my sight,” he muttered as he left, brushing off Jay’s worried questions. “Both of you.”

There had been no point worrying about leaving them behind.

————

Jay turned to Gillion the moment Chip was gone. "What the fuck did you just do?"

The triton sheathed his sword at his back casually, as if there was no issue with anything that had just occurred. "What needed to be done," he replied calmly.

"No," Jay snapped back, "I can assure you Gillion, this did not need to be fucking done." She gripped her forehead, pacing. "You just made the Prince of Rose hate both of us."

"I wouldn't go as far as ‘hate’. Bitterness is natural after a duel of this calibre; I'm certain Chip will calm once time passes," Gillion supplied, like it was supposed to be helpful.

Jay stared at him in disbelief. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"Our presence here relies entirely on the Prince at least tolerating us." She gestured to the doors, still swinging after Chip had slammed them. "I think that's unlikely now, wouldn't you agree?"

A frown crept over Gillion's face; the confidence slipped away, only briefly. "Like I said, it's natural to hold some small resentment after a fight. I'm sure–"

"Well, I'm not sure. Do you know how many people want us gone? The advisor, the General, even John as much as we both appreciate him." Jay took a breath. "When the Prince leaves for Edison, we'll be left here under the power of his advisor. John will leave with Chip, and even if he stays he has no power to stand up to Rolin's authority. Neither does Abby. The General is gone, but she’d hardly vouch for us."

A drop of water landed on Jay's head. The ice around them was beginning to melt.

Gillion's eyes widened in realisation. "We will be forced out," he said quietly.

Jay took Gillion by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "Yes. Unless we're able to make amends in the span of a day, we'll be kicked to the streets."

An idea struck. She wasn't sure how much she enjoyed it, or whether Gillion would approve, but it was worth a shot.

"Or…" she trailed off, eyes narrowing.

"I'll go to Chip," Gillion said, ignoring Jay's thinking face. "To make sure he's healed and to ensure there's no ill-will between us."

"I don't think he'll want to see you right now. Or either of us, for that matter. He just commanded us to get out of his sight." Releasing Gillion, Jay returned to pacing. "Right, I'm going to write a letter and see if I can figure things out for us. Don't do anything stupid – I'll meet you in the library in twenty minutes."

Somehow, when she sped down the corridor towards her bedroom, she knew Gillion would immediately ignore that advice. Not that it mattered. If her plan worked, they’d be gone before dusk.

————

“And you got these wounds from…”

“Falling down the stairs,” Chip said, for the second time. “Like I told you, I hit a step at a bad angle.”

Rudith made a humming noise like he didn’t believe the lie but wasn’t going to waste time asking questions. The noise was so very familiar, almost nostalgic. But Chip wasn’t in the mood to find it amusing.

“Well, that health potion should make the wound heal faster, but it might still take a day or so.” Rudith took back the now empty vial from Chip. “Your shoulder will feel a little stiff and uncomfortable in the mean time. You might have to sleep on your other side.”

Chip gave a small smile. “Thanks, Rudith.”

“No problem,” the healer folded Chip’s utterly ruined shirt and sat it on the next cot over.

The infirmary was empty, as it usually was, so at least coming for help hadn’t been embarrassing. And he’d not hobbled into anyone on his way there either. At least his last remaining shred of dignity was intact. He couldn’t say the same about his shoulder.

Once the adrenaline had run out, the pain quickly became unbearable. So, while Chip had intended to just carry on business as planned, he’d been almost in tears by the time he admitted he needed to see Rudith. The elf had been understanding, if not a little suspicious, and mostly Chip was just glad for that healing potion. The pain had transformed to a slight ache. His shoulder, though stiff, worked fine.

By some miracle, the trip didn’t need to be cancelled. Which was brilliant, because even a slight delay would’ve sparked doubts about the Rose-Edison alliance and Chip didn’t need to add another worry to the list.

Essentially, everything was solved. But there Chip sat with his unshakeable frown, dead eyes and deader heart. He’d used up all his emotions with that burning anger and now all he felt was…nothing. Empty, in a way he hadn’t been for years. The mask of humour had entirely shattered. It would take a while to reform.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, your highness?” Rudith asked, no doubt meaning some medical or magical aid. But Chip had something else in mind.

“Yes, actually. Could you inform the Marshal that I’m changing the departure time.”

“When to?”

“An hour from now,” Chip said, meeting Rudith’s questioning gaze. “But I’ll be on the ship in a few moments to…check on things.”

The healer bowed his head. “Certainly, your highness.” The door swung shut as he left.

It was better when he was alone – the emptiness, that was. Feeling nothing around people that expected you to be upbeat or at least sarcastic was draining. Silence had no expectations. It left him be.

Chip sat on a cot in the infirmary with no shirt and very little energy for the trip he couldn't avoid. He clutched Arlin's coin between his fingers, flipping it every so often. It was odd. He'd noticed back on the Big Chipper that the metal had lost its shine, and passed it off as either a shitty sign from the universe to move on, or simply an old coin ageing. But now…

It wasn't just that the coin had turned dull. Even surrounded by flickering candles, it refused to catch the light. He swore it had been gold once – not long ago, in fact – but the thing he held in his palm was closer to black.

Maybe it just needed cleaning. Maybe Chip needed to stop focusing on small pointless worries and pay attention to the big ones. Like how the fuck he was going to deal with Gillion Tidestrider.

No, he decided once the name swallowed the rest of his thoughts, not that one.

The trip. A very important trip, technically. Every few years the alliance between Rose and Edison needed renewing and, seeing as there had been no monarch of Rose for years, it had been avoided. In a few months Chip was going to be crowned king, so he figured it would be best to hold the meeting sooner rather than later. Get it out the way.

Speaking of getting things out of the way…

Chip rose to his feet. He wasn't thinking about the triton. He wasn't going to. He was focused on the very important trip he was leaving for in…well, only forty minutes from now. How time flew.

"I'll make you proud, Arlin," he whispered as he tucked the coin into his pocket. "For once."

Chapter Text

Chip should've forgiven him by now. Of course, Gillion had never been in an official duel before, not on his own terms at least, but he was fairly certain the growing dread in his stomach wasn't normal.

Jay had told him to wait in the ballroom, and to his credit he did. For a solid ten minutes he stood watching as his ice lost its glow and formed puddles on the otherwise unmarked floor. He felt bad about the mess, but it was a necessary consequence. It was all necessary, he reminded himself. All of it had been necessary.

The anger was gone. He wasn't exactly sure at what point the scowl had dropped from his face but, certainly by the point the Prince grabbed his wrist and pulled the triton’s sword to his neck, Gillion had forgiven it all.

It was what had made the Prince's demands so shocking.

He couldn't do it. Kill Chip, that was – he just couldn't. Staring down those dark eyes, seeing the clenched jaw as Chip braced for what was to come, it was too much to ask of Gillion. He wasn't a killer and he definitely wouldn't kill his friend. Though Chip didn’t seem to feel the same blossoming friendship.

Perhaps Jay was right – perhaps Gillion had ruined things. He hadn't meant to. The more he thought about it, however, the more he too feared their imminent expulsion from the castle. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek. Hair fell in his face, escaping from its prison behind his ear – he wasn't used to having it down, but hadn't the time to tie it before the duel.

Something felt terribly wrong with the world, and he had the awful notion that it was all his fault.

Unless we're able to make amends within the span of a day…

It wasn't impossible, like Jay seemed to think. And Gillion couldn't see how her letter writing would help in any way. Especially as he had a feeling her plan was to run. She was free to do as she pleased, but Gillion didn't have that privilege. Destiny commanded him to stay, to work on the side of Rose and prevent war. He couldn't leave. It was necessary, therefore, to ‘make amends’ and make them fast.

He left the ballroom and hoped Jay wouldn't be too disappointed. It was the only reaction he seemed able to cause.

Wandering the corridors again was unnerving. The last time he'd walked these halls, his fists were clenched and his mind reeling with betrayal. Now, he just wanted to make sure the Prince was okay. Emotionally and physically – Gillion was a trained warrior and based on what he'd seen, Chip was not. Hurting him had never been the plan. Gillion had thought… Foolishly, he'd believed the Prince would've received the same rigorous training. Yet the duel had been entirely unbalanced.

I could've killed him. Gillion winced, glancing up at a portrait of a monarch, crown on their head, sceptre in hand. It would have been so easy.

He turned to the wall, facing the portrait and taking a breath. Jay wouldn't have stopped me in time. I could've killed him. His mind mocked him, his internal voice twisting into a chorus of the Elders, all equally ashamed. He did his best to ignore them.

The man in the painting stared somewhere above Gillion's head. His skin was pale, his hair brown, but other than that he held no resemblance to Chip – not that he would, seeing as Chip was adopted into the family. Still, this king had a thinner face, less round and stubborn than the Prince's. More noble. There was determination in his grass green eyes. His lips were set in a stiff line, no joy tugging at their corners. He reminded Gillion of the General's seriousness, of John's straight posture, of Jay's smart clothes. Regal, was the word that came to mind. A word he didn't associate so closely with Chip.

In the corner of the portrait were a few words, written in curling letters.

“It says ‘King Benedict on his coronation day’,” said an immediately recognisable voice. Gillion looked over at John, who stood pensively at his side. “Though, I’ve been told he preferred the nickname ‘Beau’.”

“A bit like Chip,” Gillion commented.

The Marshal nodded, a smile at his lips. “Yes, I suppose. A bit like Chip.”

“Did you know him? The late king?”

“No. When I moved here, he'd already been gone for five years.” John sighed, mournfully. “Chip was only nine when he lost the Black Roses. I don't think he's ever recovered.”

The two stared at the portrait, at the King who should have still reigned. He didn't look much older than Chip, Gillion realised. Though his hair was perfectly neat and his stare held the unmistakable weight of importance, he was still a young man and, within the golden frame, he would remain that way for the rest of eternity.

It was a strange tradition, capturing youth in such a way, having an unblinking replica become your legacy.

The mark on Gillion's wrist prickled as he thought it. Odd. Yet odder still was the portrait's background. Behind Beau, a shadow formed four silhouettes. One, a stocky figure. Another with the dangling ears of a bloodhound – like someone he’d seen for a moment at the ball. The third was tall, taller even than Jay, with a bun atop their head. But it was the fourth that captured his attention. More specifically, it was their twisting horns.

John rested a hand on Gillion's shoulder and the triton tore his gaze from the painting. “Let's not dwell on the past,” the Marshal said with the tone of someone who'd done enough of that already. “There's such a bright future ahead.”

“Indeed,” replied the triton with thoughts of destiny and the black moon upon his wrist.

“Speaking of what lies ahead, I'd better get going. Lots to prepare and very little time to prepare it.”

“Safe journey to Edison.”

John chuckled, lifting his hand from the triton's shoulder. “Ay, I certainly hope for one. I'll see you in ten days.”

Just as the Marshal turned to leave, Gillion called out, “Wait, I was going to ask, do you know where the infirmary is?”

John raised a brow. “Why? You hurt yourself?”

“No, I was looking for the Prince,” Gillion replied, ever honest.

“You won't have much luck then.”

The triton's heart stopped. “Why not?”

“He's already gone.”

————

Jay drummed her fingers on the library table. She was early, she knew that, but still she would've preferred Gillion to already be there.

Her fingers were stained black where the ink had smudged. She wiped it hastily on her long skirt before remembering no one would degrade her for being untidy here. No one would even notice, most likely. It wasn’t as if they cared to look. Even Gillion and the Prince were too absorbed in their own problems to realise she’d been saying goodbye.

Not obviously, not outright. But in small actions. In smaller words. She’d slowed her lessons with Gillion since the ball, and those that she kept were hardly formal. Chip… It was easier to leave behind someone she hardly knew, but she spoke with him more, inviting him to eat with them. All of it had been a farewell, as well as a selfish ploy to give herself a few final happy memories of this place.

She’d been expecting to convince the Prince to take Gillion to Edison, and she’d leave once they were gone. That plan had died the moment she walked into the arena of ice.

Gillion would have to come with her.

He wouldn’t want to. She knew that, she understood it, which was why she hadn’t told him. He couldn’t object to what he didn’t know. And so what if he fought her for lying to him, like he’d done with Chip. It would be worth it to ensure they both got out of Rose alive, preferably before the General came back.

Glancing down at the sealed envelope in front of her, Jay recounted her plan. They would wait till the royal ship had left the dock, then Jay would steal a horse and ride them down to Whitethorne village. She'd send the letter on to All-Port and they'd travel to Crown's Wharf – the docks where Jay had first arrived in Rose. For a few nights, they'd stay in the local tavern. Once Kira had sent a ship, they'd be out. Free. It seemed so simple, and yet Jay bit her lips raw with worry.

The doors swung open, reminding her of her very first day there. Yet, instead of Julian bursting in, it was Gillion. She stood from her chair, ready to tell him everything, but the look on his face stopped her.

“What's happened?” She asked, tentatively.

Gillion shook his head, out of breath, out of words.

“Did the spell run out?”

His eyes widened, and he twisted his hands in a strange yet swift motion. A glow formed between his fingers. She'd never seen him cast before. There was something…otherworldly about it, though perhaps that was a given.

With adrenaline induced speed, Gillion returned to clutching the door as if on a trembling sea. “It's Chip,” he said, gasping for air.

“What about him?”

“He's gone.”

Early…interesting. “No matter.” Jay grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and tucked the envelope within a pouch around her waist. “That means–”

“No,” Gillion said, voice steady and clear as ice. “No, I know what your plan is, and we cannot. Not now.” Separating himself from his anchor, he moved closer. His eyes were desperate, wild. “I cannot.”

Jay's heart pounded in concern. He wants me to leave him behind. Her eyes caught on his hand gripping his left wrist, thumb touching that black mark she'd not yet managed to ask about. She watched him follow her line of sight.

“I cannot,” he repeated. And she understood what he truly meant.

————

It was mournfully that she looked down at her packed bags, each laid neatly on her bed. There weren't many of them, but there wasn't much she’d valued enough to bother bringing from home. Not many things had survived her childhood. Least of all… But it didn't matter.

Jay sighed.

“You've gone soft, Ferin,” she whispered to herself, as she knew her father would. Then, like someone else, someone long gone, “Who am I kidding, you've always been a big softie.”

She cast one final look around her room – a tiny space really, but a cosy one, far more so than her bedroom back in Featherbrooke – before grabbing her bags and walking out.

————

He was back on the water. It felt such a long time since that last journey. So much had happened. So much had changed. Chip knew he'd certainly changed, and perhaps not for the better.

“Are you ready to set sail, your highness?” John asked. He'd boarded not too long ago, bringing with him a large crate that he'd grumbled about the deckhands forgetting.

All else was ready. The air, the ship, the crew. But was Chip? He wasn't sure.

His fingers gripped the railing as he leant back slightly, tilting his head towards the cloudy sky. The sun's pale circle was barely visible through the thick layer of grey. It would rain soon, the ship's captain had warned. Chip could feel it in the air. It hung low, clung to his skin with an unnervingly strong grip.

This wasn't the sea he was used to. He glanced down at the water, grey and frowning. Its stillness could be mistaken as calm, but Chip understood it was merely waiting. For what, he couldn't be sure. It may have been a storm, or the clouds could part and reveal a beautiful sunny day. The latter seemed unlikely.

The Marshal still awaited an answer. Chip waited too, but in the end only one word would suffice.

“Yes.”

Moments later the ship was moving and the Prince stood alone at the bow. John was busy distracting Ollie, knowing that Chip needed peace but not understanding why. He still hadn't told anyone about the duel. Mostly because he didn't want to think about it, let alone say it aloud, but there was also a part of him worrying that if he told someone, if he confessed it, Gillion would be put at risk.

The triton clearly did not value the Prince’s safety, or even his life, but Chip couldn't return the favour. He didn't quite understand why he cared. It wasn't worth dwelling on.

Instead he thought of Jay. Jay who had stood up for him. Jay who hadn't followed after, who'd stayed with Gillion. Jay whose loyalties were confusing at best, contradictory at worst. Jay who, throughout all of it, reminded him so heartbreakingly of Drey.

In thinking of Drey, his mind slipped to Arlin. And that was too much.

The waves lapped cautiously at the side of the boat, exploring the new visitor. Chip cast his gaze forwards. He refused to watch the castle that wasn't quite his home shrink away into nothingness. He had never understood how Lizzie could leave so frequently without struggle. Though, there were many things he didn't understand.

But none of that mattered. The ship cut through the sea like a dagger through skin. Chip looked to Edison and tried his best to forget all else.

————

Down in the heart of Rose, a blade was twisted deep, waiting for the perfect moment to be retrieved. It had waited so long, and would gladly wait longer till the time came to spill the blood it was owed.

The Blade sat in his office, ignoring the drip from the ceiling. His feet rested on the stolen desk; he scraped a speck of dried blood from his jacket with a fingernail. He always waited, but in that moment he was expecting something specific. A message. A sign to begin.

Loudly, a rap sounded against the door. “My lord?” Called a voice from outside.

“Come in,” said the Blade.

A short woman stepped in, though she did not always look that way. Changelings were useful to have on your side. Presently, the Messenger was a gnome with a shock of red hair flowing down her small frame in a long braid. She held a folded note, signed with the image of a peacock feather.

“He wrote, my lord,” the Messenger informed. She passed the note to the Blade's snatching hands. He unfolded it slowly, though his fingers itched with urgency.

Near black eyes scanned the swirling font in mere moments. He smiled, though it was far from sweetly.

“The board is set.” The Blade rose from his chair, tucking the paper into his pocket. He didn't care to take notice of the Messenger’s clear curiosity, instead drifting towards the door. When he spoke, his words were quiet, almost private. “Now, the games can begin.”

Chapter Text

It was about halfway to Edison that the weather turned. Not quite a storm, but the wind whistled a vengeful tune as the ship swayed. The sea convulsed and, like spittle from the lips of an old sailor, rain soaked the royal vessel and all who stood on its deck. Even down below, amongst the barrels and crates, the damp managed to invade. Puddles were born from the deckhands’ footsteps; the wood that made up everything in sight was soft and uncomfortably wet.

Fighting back nausea as their crate once again slid with the ship, Jay wondered not for the first time how Gillion had wordlessly convinced her to stowaway with him. She looked at him, pressed close in their cramped quarters, and shook her head. It was the look in his eyes, she decided. The unfortunate combination of determination and naivete had won her over, just as it had when they’d first met. Would the rest of their friendship involve more of these impossibly ridiculous situations? Somehow, she found she would be alright with that.

They hadn’t spoken since they’d convinced John to let them hide in a spare and conveniently large crate – partly out of necessity, the crew came and went past them frequently, and would certainly hear, but there was something else too. A separate fear, more abstract. Gillion was so sure the plan would work; he needed it to work. But Jay…well, she had her doubts. The silence kept reality at a distance. If she never acknowledged the flaws in his plan, perhaps they did not exist.

Still, it had become quiet below deck with the change in weather, and Jay feared she’d go mad if the hush lasted a moment longer.

“Gillion,” she said in a whisper, “I don’t think I can stay crouched like this for another few hours.”

Her feet had gone numb a while back, and the tingling sensation was slowly creeping up her legs. The crate could only fit them both if they crouched, rather than sat, so unfortunately they had no choice.

The triton didn't respond. It had little to do with the magic that translated his words, though. Ever since they’d left, Gillion was as cold and unresponsive as a block of ice, eyes giving off a slight glow as he peered through a small hole in the crate. Not once had he turned to face Jay or offered her any kind of gratitude – or anything really. He'd not moved, let alone uttered a word.

Jay tried again. “So, what's the plan for when we get there? I mean, there's not exactly a subtle way to leave a crate and jump ashore, but I'm guessing you have it figured out.” It was less a guess and more a hope.

Still he said nothing, but turned to her and pressed a finger to his lips, pointing the other to his ear. Hush, he seemed to convey, listen. The frogtopus on his shoulder made the same motion. Jay rolled her eyes, but obeyed.

Footsteps. Loud, thumping footsteps drew nearer and nearer, creaking their way down the stairs to the lower deck. Her heartbeat drummed in harmony with them, till finally the steps halted just beside the crate. Jay slowed her breathing to prevent panicked gasps. Trembling, she steadied herself with the wall of the crate, fingertips pressed hard against the wood.

“Of course, captain,” a voice boomed. Muffled as it was and as fearful as she found herself, Jay couldn't place whether she recognised it. Another voice called in the background, but this she hardly heard at all. “Yes, I'll check on his highness in just a moment.” A pause. “The boy's with Earl; he's in good hands.” Then, “Yes, captain.”

The far off voice disappeared, and Jay held her breath. She could practically feel her heart in her throat: a choking lump, beating in its panic.

“Psst.”

Huh? Jay's brows drew together, the confusion dissolving her fear.

“Jay, Gillion,” the voice said quietly. “It's Marshal John.”

Relief flooded into Jay's chest like water breaking from a dam. Her heart hadn't yet got the memo that everything was alright. It still pounded against her ribs. “Boy am I glad it's you,” she whispered.

He chuckled lightly. “I wanted to let you know, we'll reach port in two hours.”

“So soon?”

“It's closer than you'd expect, and the sea’s been treating us good.” A crack of thunder. “Well, mostly.”

“And the Prince?” Gillion's voice was raspy from disuse, but Jay could sense there was another reason. The desperation in his eyes glowed particularly bright. “How is he?”

John paused for a moment, seemingly thinking. Or it was simply so bad he didn't dare say. Yet his words confirmed this false, “He's fine. Quiet, and moody as the rain clouds, but he's alright.”

It wasn't difficult to catch the relief in Gillion's eyes. The glow dimmed a little, sending the crate into near blackness. Pretzel made a sound of fright as her surroundings darkened. Jay withheld a giggle – though she couldn’t help but adore the creature, this was hardly the time for whimsy and amusement.

“He hasn't…” John trailed off, and Jay could imagine the corners of his eyes wrinkling in consideration. “He's not talked about whatever it is that's happened. Until you found me, I didn't even know it involved you two.”

“It doesn't.” Gillion said firmly. “Jay has no part in this besides helping me.”

Jay huffed a quiet laugh. I wouldn't be so sure of that. But she didn't say it aloud.

The Marshal continued, ignoring Gillion's comment. “Either way, he's not said a thing about any of it. Not spoken about anything but the visit, and even then he's barely strung a sentence together. Whatever it was that happened, I've not seen him this shaken since– since ever, really. Except perhaps when I first began working in the castle, just after the–”

“John, I'm glad you've told us, but there's something a little more urgent than Chip’s feelings that we're concerned about,” Jay cut in. As much as she appreciated John, she didn't particularly want to be discovered due to one of his long stories. “How are we going to get off this ship when we reach Edison?”

“I–”

“John?” Called a voice that made Jay's eyes widen. “John, are you down here?” She hadn't even noticed the patter of footsteps, neither, it seemed, had John or Gillion.

“Your highness,” the Marshal greeted loudly, no doubt in an attempt to warn the crate-dwellers. There was no need, of course. Chip had a very recognisable voice.

“There you are,” the Prince said with a laugh. He was laughing? “I've been looking all over. Ollie thought you'd gone swimming with the sharks.”

“Not quite.”

Jay didn't want to listen. She wasn't supposed to – eavesdropping had always felt wrong, especially in this context – but there was little choice. It wasn't as if she could burst out and tell them to move their conversation somewhere else.

She could hear the smile in Chip's voice as he spoke, “Well, no matter. I wanted to thank you for bringing Ollie along.” Ollie… Jay didn't recognise the name.

“He's my ward. It's my duty to watch over him, and I can't exactly do that from across the blue. Not without an impressive telescope, at least.”

The Prince hollered in laughter. “Why have you kept this humour from me, John? Hm? Since when were you funny?”

“You wouldn't know,” John retorted, though without malice, “seeing as you never listen to what I have to say.”

Gillion wriggled about in the crate. Jay couldn't blame him, nothing about the situation was comfortable, yet, when he knocked an elbow against her chest, she had to shove a fist into her mouth to contain a yelp. Still, his movement had displaced some of the crate’s abundance of dust, and the particles drifted their way ever so slowly towards Jay. Her eyes widened. Gods no. Not like this.

“Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. The kid seemed lonely before but he's having the time of his life out here. You know, he reminds me of–”

The tickle of dust could be contained no longer. Jay sneezed, terribly, awfully, and most importantly, loudly. All fell silent afterwards. Not a rat dared squeak, not a gull cried. Gillion's stare was embarrassingly understanding.

“John,” Chip said slowly, horribly slowly. “Who. The fuck. Is in that crate?”

John's voice was hushed, “Chip–”

“John,” the Prince repeated, anger creeping into his tone. He spoke through his teeth, an almost hissing sound. “Who's in the fucking crate?”

It was Gillion who lifted the lid. The stowaways revealed themselves, cautiously. Jay's face was sure to be red with humiliation.

For a moment, no one spoke. Chip's gaze slowly dragged from the Marshal to the awkward two. His jaw was dropped, eyes wide. Shock lingered in the muddy brown, yet it was accompanied by a distant anger. An anger that quickly came to the surface. Not breaking eye contact with Gillion and Jay, Chip said, “Please tell me you didn't know they were here. Please tell me, Marshal John, that you didn't sneak people onto the royal ship while the fucking Prince was aboard!”

“Just let me explain.”

Chip turned his attention to the desperate Marshal. “No! I think you've surrendered your right to fucking explain! You are supposed to protect me, that's your job. Yet you figured it was a good plan to let stowaways on my ship! One of whom tried to fucking kill me!”

At this, John's expression shifted to confusion. “What?”

“I didn't.” Gillion said, quietly. “I did not try to kill you, Chip.”

The Prince's eyes were full of raging fire. “Get out.”

“Chip,” Jay tried, voice calm as she could manage and full of the sweetness her mother implemented when Jayson Ferin was angry.

The Prince glared at her, jaw clenched. “I said, get out!”

“Head upstairs,” John said quietly, glancing back at Jay and Gillion. “The kitchen door’s below the helm, you can wait there.”

“Oh, now you're directing them where to stay are you? Now you're the fucking prince of this vessel, are you, John?”

The Marshal seemed unshaken by Chip's outburst. He nodded his head towards the stairs. “Go on. It'll be alright.”

Jay and Gillion followed the orders, stepping out of the crate as the Prince continued his screaming.

“Alright! Alright? You're one to fucking talk, you've just endangered your Prince's safety. I could have you fired. I could have you fired!”

Biting her lip, Jay led Gillion up the wooden steps. The shouts grew quieter as they reached the deck, but the burning shame and worry in her gut remained. When the door shut behind them, Marshal John's reply was entirely muffled. They walked to the kitchen in a daze, ignoring the curious looks of the deckhands. It was Jay who knocked on the rosewood door. Gillion was frozen, eyes glossed over as if he weren't quite there.

It was childish, Chip's response. Childish and horribly out of control, and yet he couldn't be blamed. Jay still didn't quite understand the specifics of what transpired between him and Gillion – her and John were similar in that regard – but could tell it had shaken the Prince. Of course it had, he’d had a sword put to his throat. Gillion was shaken too, though it seemed to be more from the consequences than the duel itself. And Jay… She was conflicted. Her plans to leave had become so clearly impossible, but the situation she was left with was less than desirable; stuck between two warring sides, it was almost like she was home again, watching her father and Ava get into one of their fights that shook the very foundations of Featherbrooke Manor. Jay tensed her jaw. There was perhaps no worse time to think of her sister.

The door swung open before her mind could truly take a dark path, and Earl poked his wrinkled and bald head from behind it. “Heh?” He grunted, face contorted in confusion.

“It's a long story,” Jay supplied as she ran through all the explanations that would make some semblance of sense. “The Marshal told us to wait here.”

A particularly loud shout came from below and simultaneously thunder cracked in the distance. Earl seemed to weigh his options for a moment before gesturing for them to quickly head inside. They did as instructed, Jay pulling Gillion by the arm.

“Sit down and start explaining,” the old man demanded.

————

“–And so now we're stuck here and his highness is not particularly happy.” Another scream of anger from below punctuated Jay's end to the story. Earl nodded, eyes crinkled in thought.

Gillion was only barely paying attention. The Prince's words kept repeating in his head, taunting and vicious. Get out of my sight. Then later, Get out. I said, get out!

Sighing a breath, the triton stopped the wetness falling from his eyes with the flick of a finger. It felt weak, and this was no time for weakness. Instead, he watched. Jay was chewing at her bottom lip again, brow furrowed. “Earl…” she trailed off, looking worriedly at Gillion then back at the old man. “Chip was really cross with John. He kept going on about firing him and I don't think I could bear causing him to lose his–”

“Oh yeah, that.” Earl chuckled, smiling fondly. “His highness,” he said mockingly, “likes to threaten things like that when he's mad. Don't worry, he won't go through with it. Got too much of a conscience for that shit.”

Jay looked horrified. “That's…terrible!”

“It's fucking hilarious,” Earl corrected. “Though he soon learned not to pull it on me.”

“But it's just rude!”

“Nah. Anyways, hush. You'll wake the boy at this rate.”

The fourth figure in the room shifted beneath thin blankets. He was tucked neatly into a cot of sorts, which itself was tucked into the corner, and did not wake. Earl had explained it nonchalantly when Jay asked – the boy had been a stowaway, like Gillion and Jay were now, but was taken in as the Marshal's ward. So easily, it seemed, had Ollie been accepted by the Prince. Not Gillion. That, he supposed, was different. Perhaps if he'd been more like Chip, Gillion would've been greeted with open arms instead of secrets and lies.

He shook his head slightly. That matter was resolved. If it wasn't, the duel had been for nothing, and Gillion refused to admit that he'd ruined his chances at friendship for nought.

With a creak, the door slowly opened. The triton turned and smiled at John's presence. He nodded to the Marshal, and John replied in same.

“Has his highness gotten over himself yet,” Earl asked, “or is he still yelling like an infant.”

“Neither,” John replied. He rubbed his face, clearly exhausted. “He's sulking somewhere.”

Jay's eyes were wild with fright and concern. “I'm so sorry, John. We never should have put you in this position.”

We, Gillion noted, was the wrong word. It was his decision and therefore all of this was his fault. He shouldered the burden with ease, adding it to his already extensive pile. Such was the life of a chosen one. Such was the life of Gillion Tidestrider.

John shook his head, patting Jay's shoulder reassuringly. “It’s not a problem. Besides, I'm glad you're here. He'd be unbearable elsewise.” He chuckled. “That, and you would’ve enacted that escape plan of yours.”

The comment was not as favourably received as John perhaps expected. Gillion’s eyes darted up just in time to catch Jay’s muscles tense and the fear in her eyes flash to shock. He was confused himself. Of course, post-duel there had been a moment when Jay seemed to want to run, but John wasn’t there for that. He didn’t even know the full extent of what happened. How could he find out about a plan that Jay hadn’t even vocalised?

“My what,” Jay said, incredulous.

“Your escape plan,” John repeated. “The one you’ve had as a back up ever since the General arrived.”

That long? Gillion thought to himself.

Seeing that still no one understood, the Marshal continued, “You wrote a letter to your ‘friend’ in All-Port the day after the ball. I took it to Whitethorne village, as you requested, and it was a Betty day. She read it to me.”

Jay was frozen, her breaths shallow and panicked. “You shouldn't have… That's my private business!” Her worry translated to anger.

“You were going to leave?” Gillion’s voice seemed small amongst the panic. He hated it. Even more, he hated the pitying and apologetic look Jay gave as her only reply. It was true then. She had been planning to go, and it was only at fate’s kind design that the duel prevented her.

“It's fine,” John tried to reassure her, “I didn't tell anyone.”

Under her breath, Jay muttered, “You're telling people now.”

John corrected himself, “I didn't tell Chip. Or Lizzie, for that matter. Besides, if you haven't left yet I presume that plan's gone out the window.” He was right, Gillion hoped, though the way Jay refused to meet his gaze wasn't encouraging.

A strange sort of tense silence hushed those in the kitchen. John lowered himself into a chair opposite Jay, cast a glance at the boy in the bed, then promptly rose again.

“I better– uh– tell the captain what’s going on.” And he left.

Earl returned to whatever cooking he’d been busying himself with before being pulled into the drama, leaving Gillion and Jay with nothing to talk about. Difficult as it was to admit, Gillion hadn’t exactly thought this far ahead. Destiny would do all the hard work, he’d believed – he still believed – but it was taking its sweet time to kick in. Two hours until Edison kingdom. He wondered if they would make it that far.

Time passed slowly, dragging its heels with the reluctance of a guppy. Hour one was spent in the kitchen with Earl, Jay and the sleeping boy; no sound was made, nor did Gillion move, even when Jay mumbled something about fresh air and left for the deck. Hour two followed in a similar fashion, until the kitchen door swung open, and a drenched brunet stumbled in.

“Chip,” Gillion began, but he hesitated. Words were so difficult. Emotions were harder.

The Prince looked at him with dead eyes, devoid of all but bitter rage. They stormed like the weather outside. “We're within sight of Edison,” he muttered. His hair – straight and dark from the rain – dripped slowly, each strand like an icicle. His pale shirt clung to him, almost transparent. He looked…he seemed… Gillion could only stare. Droplets of freezing water trailed down Chip's flushed face. Gillion agreed with his previous assessment. Though a prince, Chip didn't seem royal. And yet…

Standing slowly from his seat – body numb from the lack of movement – Gillion gave a nod. His heart pattered in his chest. Chip nodded curtly in reply, then turned and was gone. A few moments passed before Gillion followed. His cheeks were warm.

When he'd passed across the deck before, mostly dragged by Jay, he hadn't noticed the scenery much. His mind had been elsewhere engaged; his eyes unseeing. Now, emerging from the otherwise calm kitchen, Gillion took in the full extent of the weather. The storm wasn't as extreme as the one he'd cast on the night he met the Prince, but the waves thrashed and the sky crashed and the wind howled in excitement. Thick black clouds swirled overhead, mirroring a whirlpool. Eyes following to the middle, Gillion realised the storm was centred on the island they were approaching: Edison.

Edison had a strange silhouette, marked by towering spires and a second level held stable by similar spikes. These thin, blade-like needles were a metal that shone each time the lightning stuck. No… Gillion's eyes narrowed, peering at the sight. They didn't simply shine; they were lit up from within. His vision trailed up the thin columns and, as they connected with the island's second level, they met with further spikes that reached into the clouds. Lightning flashed a brilliant white, hitting one such spire. Gillion watched the energy travel down the spires, till it disappeared into a building on the lower level. It was fascinating. He stared again as the lightning struck a needle much closer to their ship – it jolted, and he flinched, but traced the glowing light beneath the water as it too joined with the island.

“They're harnessing the energy of the storm,” Jay said, appearing at his side with eyes full of wonder. “I've heard of this, but to see it in person…” she trailed off and both gazed at the scene in awe.

Edison, the kingdom of lightning.

————

The royal ship glided into the dock – a smoky harbour bustling with life – just as the storm began its grand finale. A single bolt of lightning hit the uppermost spire, then branched out to join all the others, forming a web of energy above the kingdom. Before Jay could utter a single “wow”, the energy flashed a brilliant blue and raced down the lightning rods with a loud crackle. She couldn’t help but feel it deserved some sort of applause, yet the citizens on the docks, and the crew retrieving things from the ship, didn’t seem to agree.

Gillion stood beside her, as he always seemed to, and was mumbling something to the frogtopus atop his shoulder, which again was not an uncommon occurrence. From the way he glanced up at the kingdom surrounding them every so often, Jay could assume the conversation centred on Edison. It was where her mind was focused, at the very least. She took in the scent of salt and spices, following her nose to a small market area nearby, and let her gaze travel around the port with distant worry. They hadn’t thought this far ahead. Chip wasn’t talking to them and they were in a place they’d never been before, not quite knowing what to do. This was a meeting about the alliance, to be discussed between the leaders of Edison and Rose and whomever else they trusted – it seemed unlikely that Jay and Gillion fitted into that category. So what were they there for?

“Right,” exclaimed Marshal John in his bellowing way, clapping Jay on the shoulder with more force than he perhaps intended, “these lovely gentlemen here are going to escort us to the palace.” He was pointing at a row of guards neatly dressed in purple uniforms. Each wore a golden badge engraved with a lightning bolt striking through a crown. The royal symbol of Edison – Jay recognised it from her studies.

“And…we're going with you?” She asked hesitantly.

He laughed, like it was a joke, then took in the way Gillion leaned forwards, waiting for the answer, the way Jay gnawed at her lip. His voice was clear and full of compassion, “Of course.”

There were two carriages: one intended for the Prince and the other for his attendants. The guards would follow on horseback. Wordlessly, Chip climbed into the first, Ollie clambering in after. John, Gillion and Jay piled into the second – a personable guard with a twinkling eye helped Jay into her seat, and she blushed as he gave an exaggerated wink. Yet, when they began moving, she decided if she hadn't already hated carriage rides, that journey would've convinced her against them forever. These carriages were odd, not pulled by horses, instead a sort of independent train cart, speeding along rails powered by the recent storm. It was marvellous, a true wonder of engineering, and she would be entirely thrilled if not for her stomach’s regretful attempt to claw its way out of her throat. Nausea bubbled as hot magma might, deep in a volcano. John quietly pointed out how pale Jay had grown, following this by asking if she was alright. She could hardly respond, too busy trying to keep down the eggs Earl had fed them all.

The electrified carriage was fast. It whipped around bends faster than any horse could dream of, leaving its passengers falling about like dolls. Except, of course, Gillion, who sat perfectly still as if there were no movement at all. Unlike all his other peculiar mannerisms, Jay had trouble believing this was simply ‘an Undersea thing’. More likely he’d been trained to keep his balance even in tumultuous situations – he was a soldier after all, a trained Champion. Whenever she remembered that fact, it unnerved her, but she was quickly unsettled in a far more physical way as the carriage came to a swift stop and she fell entirely onto Marshal John.

“We must have arrived,” he said, stating the obvious.

Very respectfully and with thankfully little acknowledgement of the embarrassing circumstances, John helped Jay to stand. Gillion was already up and alert, Pretzel mimicking the head movements of some kind of ninja, sweeping the layout. Jay chuckled at the sight, but instantly stopped when the carriage door slid open. The same charming guard held her hand as she disembarked – Gillion and John uttered something about ‘ladies first’ which was a load of gender roles bullshit but she’d accept being the priority – and once again he winked. Under his breath, he murmured, “Dominic Vespertine, m’lady. And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” She smiled and slightly shook her head. It wasn’t the time; they hadn’t the time. He pressed a finger to his lips, understanding the need to be hushed, then returned to the rigid position his colleagues took, standing back as John and Gillion stepped out. Cheeks growing hot, Jay turned to face what she had assumed to be the castle, and yet…it most certainly was not.

A crystalline tube was the best way to describe it. An ornate thing, which very much stood out from the grungy surroundings, accented with golden swirls. One of the guards – not Dominic, who now seemed to be pretending nothing had occurred – stepped forwards and pressed part of the detailing: a golden leaf. The crystal door slid around till the tube opened up.

“You want us to go in there?” Jay’s eyes widened, incredulous. She glanced up – the tube climbed high into the sky, disappearing into the clouds. “No. Absolutely not.”

Someone sighed behind her; Chip pushed past the trio, Ollie darting after, and the two walked right into the fancy tube. The guard pressed the leaf-button again and the door slid shut. For a moment, nothing happened. Jay looked over to John and Gillion, who seemed equally perplexed.

“Is something supposed to–”

Whoosh! The Prince and Ollie shot upwards, vanishing from sight before Jay could manage a gasp. Cogs whirred in her brain; her eyes darted to the thin wiring running up and down the tube. Where the two had stood, a circular platform rose to take the place of the previous. Aha. Not quite as terrifying as she'd first believed, then. Simply a mechanism, powered by lightning, which lifted platforms up the tube at rapid speeds. It was incredible – the whole kingdom was incredible.

John patted her on the shoulder again, this one a far more eager motion, and he strolled up to the tube. “My turn, I suppose,” he said, trying to mask his clear excitement. The guard pressed the button once the Marshal stood within, then up he went, fast as anything.

As Jay stepped forwards, someone stopped her, gripping at her arm. She turned to see Gillion, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. Pretzel, too. “Don't make me go in there,” the triton whispered. “Please.”

Jay glanced at the guards, her eyes asking, and Dominic shook his head. “There's no other way, Gillion.” She bit her lip, then attempted a smile. “Come on, it'll be okay. I'll hold your hand.” He nodded and followed her to the tube, cautiously stepping in after her. They both sucked in breaths, waiting. Then the guard pushed the button. And they were off.

Surprisingly, the journey was less sickening than the carriage ride. Perhaps because the engineering seemed more carefully done – more money had been spent on it, as demonstrated by the fancier design. The tube was made of transparent crystal, allowing them to look out on the kingdom below. It wasn't a particularly pretty sight: poorly built houses, crowded streets, air filled with smog. Before she could wonder why so much gold had been used on this device rather than improving the lower part of the kingdom, they shot through the clouds and her question was answered. The upper level sparkled with gold, silver and crystal structures. Suddenly the split made sense. None of the wealthy wanted to have to look at the struggling parts of the kingdom. This way, they could live their lives and pretend there were no such places. It was that, rather than the movement, that made Jay feel sick to her stomach. Still, she kept to her word and held Gillion's hand the entire time, though it was all of thirty seconds.

The platform stopped in a similar structure on the second level – this time detailed with emerald and sapphire, as well as gold. Before the crystal front opened, Gillion smiled at Jay, silently thanking her for the support. Pretzel gave a nod of approval. They stepped out, meeting with John on the other side. The Prince and the boy were nowhere to be seen.

“They– well…” John gestured to another set of tracks, on which sat a very embellished version of the electrified carriages. Only one. “I think his highness is in a rush to get settled for the night.”

That, and to avoid Jay and Gillion. She couldn't blame him, really. She wouldn't want to speak with them either. Still, as the storm clouds cleared and revealed a darkening sky, painted with streaks of orange and pink, she also understood that travel was exhausting and made for a wonderful excuse. Oh what she would give for a hot bath and a thick duvet. But sacrifices had to be made.

She turned to John, practically feeling her determination burning around her like a blazing fire. “I am not getting into one of those things again.”

“But–”

“Ever.”

Beside her, a few guards struggled to hold back their laughter. Even Gillion's shoulders shook with silent chuckles. John grinned. “Then we'll take the scenic route.”

They strolled at a leisurely pace down the golden streets of Upper Edison, guards marching behind them. In the dim evening light, the place glowed like stars. Haunted by the contrast of the two levels, Jay pretended to not think it beautiful, instead keeping her gaze trained forwards. No one spoke. She imagined they all wanted a moment of quietude, and was only too happy to provide. Her mind drifted in many directions, thinking of Chip, of the General, of Kira and the letters, even briefly of Dominic and his attempt at flirtation (which was certainly what it had been, right?). Most of all, she thought of her sister. Ava had never been as interested in fiddling with mechanisms and magic as Jay, but she watched with a fondness only found when observing your loved one enjoy themselves. If they had been there, if the two had walked these streets together, Jay knew Ava would be diligently listening as her baby sister tried to figure out all the tech they'd encountered. Her heart ached knowing it would never happen.

Before long, Gillion nudged her arm with his and Jay noticed the towering silhouette before them. Edison Castle stood tall, as spiked as the rest of the kingdom, with turrets breaking through a higher layer of clouds. It shone silver as a lake at midnight, reflecting the rising moon’s pale glow. Now this was a castle. This was what she'd expected upon her arrival at Rose: a grand, enchanting monument that brought Jay back to her childhood and the fairy tales May Ferin would read to her daughters. A small smile graced Jay's lips.

They kept walking until they reached a gate of thin white bars that could only be made of ivory. More guards in violet uniforms unlocked this gate, standing to attention as the guests arrived. A fretful air genasi met the trio as they approached the castle’s grand, and open, doors. His skin was a pale silver and seemed to shimmer, like a breeze full of stardust, even without him moving; a white, cloud-like puff of hair sat atop his bespectacled head. Until the distance between him and the group closed, he constantly adjusted his glasses and lilac dress suit with what could be assumed was nervous adrenaline. A slight sense of dread settled in Jay’s own stomach.

“Greetings, greetings,” said the genasi in a half frantic, half enthusiastic tone. His features were forced into a rather unconvincing smile. “You must be the Marshal of the Prince’s personal guard.” He gestured to John, who nodded diligently, though panic flashed in his eyes. It was odd to hear John’s role said aloud. Jay had almost forgotten he held such a rank. “And then,” the genasi turned to Gillion, quickly bowing much to everyone’s confusion, “the Champion of the Undersea, of course, along with his translator, Miss Jay Ferin.” He spoke as if reciting lines. It was immediately obvious that Chip had already introduced them.

John cleared his throat. “Yes, greetings to you as well, Mr…”

“Garrieth Watts, how very kind of you to ask.” Goodness, was Edison Kingdom truly so…segregated? “But there’s no time for the usual niceties. It’s late and you’ll be wanting to be shown to your rooms–”

“Apologies for our late arrival,” John interrupted, much to Garrieth’s dismay.

The Marshal seemed happy to carry the conversation, and Jay had no issue with it. From the way Garrieth spoke, she assumed he believed Gillion unable to speak Common – which was technically true – but the triton made no move to correct him. In fact, Gillion had been quiet most of the evening, ever since Jay’s plans to leave had been announced, and that seemed unlikely to change.

Some brief conversation took place between John and who Jay presumed was a butler, about the reasons for their delayed arrival and how it was no problem actually, but she paid no attention. Instead, she watched Gillion with an all-consuming guilt. He had taken Pretzel from his shoulder and now held her in his cupped hands. He muttered something in low Primordial that Jay couldn’t quite catch, but Garrieth’s sudden clearing of the throat diverted her focus once more. Gillion too looked up to see what was happening.

The air genasi seemed quite distressed by this point, and clasped his hands together tightly. “You’ll be wanting to be shown to your rooms,” he repeated, voice strained, “however, I must regretfully inform you that there has been some slight error of communication, leading to a most pressing issue.” Jay’s face paled. Of course. “You see, we were only expecting three guests…”

Chapter Text

The butler was annoying. Chip had decided it the moment he met the man, who wore a smile like it fit too tightly on his face. He liked Garrieth even less when the dilemma came to light.

“Is the Marshal not joining us?” Asked the air genasi, hovering beside the Prince and fruitlessly attempting to be useful. Beyond arranging that Ollie be sent to bed – a job which had been assigned to a friendly enough woman – Garrieth hadn't done a thing to demonstrate why he was helpful. It was a mystery why he had been hired.

“He and the others shall be with us shortly,” Chip had replied, not thinking much of it. Yet Garrieth paled to an even paler shade of moonlight.

His voice trembled as he spoke. “The others?”

And that was when Chip had realised the issue. Between his discovery of the stowaways and that exact moment with Garrieth, he hadn’t been able to send word to Edison alerting them to the sudden change in plan. Internally, he sighed, then screamed all his anger out, then tore off his stupid uncomfortable jacket and threw it on the ground – or perhaps at Garrieth. Externally, “Yes. Did my letter not reach you? Two others have joined my visiting party: the Champion of the Undersea, Gillion Tidestrider; and his dutiful translator, Miss Jay Ferin. They too have business with the King of Edison, and so our paths collided.” The lie unfolded easily enough. He was a master at them, according to Gillion at least.

“Oh dear,” Garrieth practically squeaked.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, we believed we were expecting a party of three, and so that is how many bed chambers have been prepared. To have another two ready for this evening would be…impossible.” The genasi uttered the final word as if it were a true atrocity. Chip was reminded of how sheltered Upper Edison really was. All that panic over bedrooms… He internally shook his head.

Externally, he put on an understanding smile. “This is a large, grand castle, and I presume it contains many more than three guest rooms. Could you not simply allow the use of ‘unprepared’ chambers?”

Garrieth reacted as if Chip was suggesting they sleep in a puddle outside. “Gracious, no! We can have more rooms readied for tomorrow, but… I simply cannot think of what to do, my most sincere apologies, your highness.”

“Call me Chip,” responded the irritated Prince, “and I can fairly easily come up with a solution. What lounging furniture apart from a bed do these rooms contain? A chair, perhaps?”

“Um– Yes I believe there are chairs, as well a chaise lounge–”

Chip clapped his hands together. “There we go, then. Ollie shall have his own room; I shall share with the Marshal; and the Champion and his translator can do the same.”

Again, Garrieth looked shocked. “But–”

“It will only be for one night, Garrieth, as you said. We shall not blame you for such an unforeseen miscalculation.” In fact, Chip would hardly sleep at all, so the shared rooms wouldn't be any bother to him. As for Jay and Gillion…well, he didn’t particularly mind how they found it. They were the ones who had snuck onto his ship. “Now, if you would be so kind as to show me to my bedchamber.”

As they walked through the halls of Edison Castle – Garrieth ahead, muttering to himself in shock, and Chip trudging behind – it became immediately obvious how much grander the palace was than Whitethorne. At home, he didn't often think of the poor financial situation, except when handling business, but it was impossible to ignore now. Coating everything in gold and lavish scarlet only fixed the surface level problems, only gave the appearance of wealth. Edison was the real deal. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings – so tall they scraped the heavens, and painted with gorgeous detail – and Chip bet no one had ever pondered the perks of selling them. The corridors broke off in what seemed to be a thousand directions, each corner marked with a marble pillar. Strangely, despite the castle's great height, they only climbed one staircase before Garrieth stopped a little further down the hall.

“Your room, your highness.” He bowed a little, then pushed open the gold-accented door. “I trust it will be to your liking.”

Chip gave a tight smile and, not even looking, replied, “Yep, it's lovely. Make sure to greet my companions as they arrive, and that'll be all, thank you.” He made to shut the door, then paused. His eyes narrowed. “Garrieth, you've not said a single word about King Edison since I arrived.”

The butler shifted, his eyes darting about. “I can leave, if your highness would like.”

“I already said, call me Chip. And that wasn't a response.” A pause, empty yet undeniably full – of what, Chip couldn't be certain. Nerves, of course, but there was something deeper. Perhaps determination, on both ends. “When will I be meeting with the King?”

Garrieth’s cloud-like hair turned a dark grey – if Chip wasn’t mistaken, a flash of nervous lightning lit it from within. “The King is…” He broke off, glancing down the corridor as if to check who was watching. Chip followed suit, but no one was there. “Unwell,” Garrieth finished hurriedly.

“Right, but I'll still be seeing him, won't I?”

“Well–”

“Garrieth,” Chip said firmer, pulling on his memories of Arlin’s rage – never directed at him, of course, only to deserving nobles. “I have travelled across the sea for this visit, one which has been planned for months. Do not tell me that after all of this, I'm not to meet with the King.”

It was not only Garrieth who panicked in that moment. This was a highly important meeting, and would reinforce the alliance between Rose and Edison – an alliance which had been dwindling ever since the death of King Beau. Without it… War with Raft was approaching. If a few Raft warships could tear Lizzie's ship in two, and slaughter nearly all of her crew, it was certain that Rose would not survive even a single battle against a full fleet. Not without Edison, at least. He couldn't return now without their confirmed support, not unless he wanted to become even more of a disappointment.

He'd have to write to Rolin.

The butler stammered out something like “He'll– You'll– um,” before Chip held up a hand. He was too tired for this.

“Tomorrow,” he said, simply. “We can talk about it tomorrow. For now, I need rest.” And by rest, of course, he meant he needed to pace around his room and think everything through for a few minutes.

Garrieth nodded, bowed, nodded again, then dashed away as another flash of lightning struck within his hair.

When the door slowly shut, Chip released an exasperated sigh. If he was asked to make a list of all the terrible things that had happened that day, it would be difficult to find a scroll long enough. Was it only a few hours ago that he'd been standing in the frozen ballroom, face to face with the triton who seemed to hate him? As he thought of it, rage came to a slow boil in his stomach. He caught himself, stopped the fire from burning too hot. One breath followed another, till he was calm enough to take in his surroundings.

It was the grandest bedroom he'd ever seen. Certainly, it put his red monstrosity of a room to shame, with sea green bedding and a delicate silver chandelier hanging above. A rug padded his every step, and he kicked off his boots, feeling he was ruining the space with his inherent filth. Curtains the colour of pale cream were held back by silver ribbons, allowing rays of sunlight to warm the room. It should've been relaxing. And it was, in a way, but mostly Chip was struck by how disappointed he would be once he returned home. His calloused fingers brushed the bedsheets, finding them velvet-soft. Was this growing dissatisfaction what Jay had felt upon her arrival to Whitethorne? Raft was known to be frugal, not wasting money on luxuries, but other kingdoms were not. They were supposed to be richly decorated, full of people who adored their leaders – or at least pretended to – and places of wonder. Rose was different. But for an outsider to expect one thing on arrival then receive another…

Chip lowered himself onto the bed that he would likely never sleep in, and remembered the land below – the lower district that Edison nobility tried so hard to ignore. This wealth, this luxury was at the expense of half the kingdom. The workers suffered so the wealthy could adorn their homes in silver and gold. Whitethorne Castle was not the stuff of fairytales, but at least his people could afford more than scraps.

Insecurity resolved, he pulled a sending stone from his pocket and recorded a message for John.

“Something’s not right here. The staff are being cryptic about the King, but apparently he's ‘unwell’. Try to avoid the subject for now. I'll be back at dawn. Take the bed.”

And he disappeared into the castle, shutting the door silently behind him.

————

Why Garrieth was so worried about the rooms, Gillion couldn't be sure. But then again, his training had involved sleeping in all sorts of uncomfortable situations, so perhaps he wasn't the fairest test of Oversea manners. To make up for it, he offered Jay the bed, and would've taken the strange looking bed-chair – which Garrieth had called a chaise lounge – if not for her adamance that they could both fit comfortably in the large bed. Pretzel was certainly pleased by this arrangement, hopping onto the mattress and chirruping as she bounced.

In his youth, Gillion would have joined her – especially as he was still getting used to the Oversea gravity – but he restrained himself. Garrieth had bowed to him, as if the Chosen One was a title worthy of deference and not just a burden, as if Gillion himself were something respectable. The Elders would've told him to fulfil this expectation, to make it true, and he obeyed.

Jay stood in the window, gazing out at the city beyond the castle. He didn't blame her – it was incredible. Nothing in the Undersea could compare. And yet she still gnawed at her lip, seeming uncomfortable.

“Is everything alright, Jay?” He asked quietly. For a moment, he believed she hadn't heard, but she sighed and turned to face him.

“This place… It's spectacular.” She sighed again, shaking her head. “They know nothing of struggle, up here. But down below, the air is choked with smog and the streets are coated in dirt. Since I was young, I heard tales of the advanced technology of this kingdom and imagined how perfect life here must be. Upper Edison doesn't disappoint but…it doesn't feel right.” She gestured to the deep blue of the bed, the golden furniture, the metal spires that protruded throughout the city. “I thought it would be kinder here.” This final statement was quiet, barely a whisper, a thought aloud rather than a conversation.

She was right, or so Gillion assumed. The Elders hadn't spoken about the land above the sea, except to declare them as enemies. He hadn't even left the palace much, had never been allowed to roam the Undersea freely. It seemed he'd been living in a bubble, separated entirely from the reality of the world, and he was only just beginning to notice.

Lights flickered outside – stars and the glow from windows sparkled together, a harmony of nature and mankind. The world was a wide place, he was learning. Full of things he'd never imagined. It always pushed beyond his expectations, always reached further than he'd dreamed. Jay had dreamed of it too, it seemed, but hers were met with disappointment. In all the wideness and greatness of the world, it wasn't perfect. He supposed that was his purpose: to perfect it. Rise or fall to bring unity. Niklaus had said there would be a war between the kingdoms of the Oversea and Gillion would have to prevent it, but perhaps unity meant more than peace. Perhaps it was the kindness Jay had expected.

He looked back at her, the lights from the world glimmering in her eyes, and smiled. “It can be kind. There is kindness. It may simply lie beneath the surface.”

Jay’s hands released one another from their deadly grasp, and the tension fled from her face. “You're right. And that's what this alliance meeting thing is all about I suppose.” She moved past him, collapsing beside Pretzel onto the bed. “Thanks, Gillion.” Then she frowned.

“What is it?”

A chuckle. “Well, I don't know. I suppose it feels odd to still call you by your full name.”

Gillion tilted his head to the side, confused. “How so?”

“Oh right, different culture.” Jay sat up, pondering. “In the Oversea, when people become friends, they sometimes shorten each others' names as a form of affection. A nickname, it's called.”

“Your name can't be shortened, though.”

“No. Some can't.”

“That doesn't feel fair.”

Jay laughed, throwing her head back. Her hair, long since released from its ponytail, flowed like gentle seaweed. “It doesn't matter, really. If it makes you feel better, people sometimes elongate names instead. My mum calls me Jay Jay, for instance.”

With a nod, Gillion slowly realised where the conversation was headed. A smile lit his face. “And you want to give me a…‘nickname’?” A thing that friends did, she'd said. After the incident with Chip, it was nice to have his feelings of friendship reciprocated.

“Mhm. What about…Gill?” Then she chuckled again, “Fitting for a triton, I think.”

“Gill,” he repeated, testing how it felt in his mouth. “I think I like it.” And he did. It was new and strange, but so was the rest of the Oversea. Despite how the Elders would chastise him, he found himself growing more accustomed to the land. He shook the last line of the prophecy from his head.

“Well then, Gill,” Jay said, grinning. “Now that we're all settled, I'm going to check on John. See whether he needs saving from the Prince.”

“I'll see you soon?” he asked, remembering what she’d indirectly confessed on the ship. But she wouldn’t leave now, surely. Surely?

“I'll see you soon,” she promised.

The door shut gently behind her, and Gill turned to his oldest and tiniest friend, who blurbled a question, crawling to the edge of the mattress.

“You're right, Pretzel. I think I'm going to be in rather a lot of trouble when I return to the Undersea.” Not home, of course. He hadn't known it until just that moment, but the sea had never quite been his home. It had happened so quickly, and the world was still unfolding before him, but Gill smiled to himself. Maybe home wasn't a place. Maybe it was people. Maybe it was friends.

————

Fire. So much of it. Burning, smoky, blindingly bright. The whole house reeked of ash and soot and smoke. Jay stood frozen as Featherbrooke Manor collapsed around her.

Her heart pounded like a war drum. Duh dum. Duh dum. Duh dum. Duh dum. It echoed in her ears, not helping her state of panic. Flames crackled. Beams above split and fractured, flakes of wood falling beside her. Her childhood home was crumbling. She faced a portrait of the house’s inhabitants: Jay, Ava, and their parents. It drowned in flames in an instant, Jay's smiling face disappearing last. Ruined. It was all ruined.

A scream broke through the orchestra of destruction. Ava. Eyes wide and wet with hot tears, Jay turned to face her sister.

“Jay,” they cried as the fire licked at their ankles. “Jay, you have to do something! Don't just stand there! JAY!”

Jay tried to move, tried to rush towards the only light in the darkness of her life, tried to reach Ava in time, but her feet wouldn't move. “I'm sorry!” She sobbed as her sister burned, red hair melding with the flames.

Another shout. “How could you!” Gillion yelled, and Jay's brows furrowed.

The scene shifted, the fire died out, and she stood in the ballroom of Whitethorne Castle. Bitter wind gnawed at her cheeks; she pulled her dressing gown tighter. Ice clung unforgivingly to the blood-red walls, and blue-tinted sculptures stood frozen on the marble floor, their faces contorted in fear. Gill held a sword of the crystalline material, sharp as glass. His eyes glowed lightning-bright, harsh and full of unmistakable power.

“How could you!” He repeated through clenched teeth, but he wasn't talking to her.

Beside him, the Prince wore a rusted crown, each point lit with tall flames. His expression was startlingly blank as the fire engulfed his hair – the stench filled the air and Jay coughed back a gag. Neither noticed that she was there, and her words died in her throat.

Chip stayed silent, but a wide uncanny grin spread across his face. The flames spread, pouring down his cheek as if a liquid. His skin dripped like melting wax. He raised twin blades and the two charged at one another. The battle didn't last long. Fire may have triumphed over ice, but Gillion was armed with more. A flash of lightning accompanied a note of ancient Primordial, and the Prince lay charred on the ground. Ice swallowed him; he joined the other sculptures, frozen in his death.

It was then that Gillion turned to Jay. His eyes were wild, within them an untamed madness, an anger as old as the sea itself. She fell to her knees screaming, then woke.

Her breaths escaped in pants; her skin was soaked with sweat. A nightmare. She could never be free of them. Her heart still pounded, duh dum, duh dum, duh dum. Beside her, Gill slept, his frogtopus curled on the pillow by his head. He was no monster, not at all like her dream, but she'd rather not be reminded of the horrors her mind had concocted.

Outside, another storm had begun. Rain drummed against the window and the wind blew with fierce passion.

Gently, carefully, she climbed free of the heavy duvet and pulled on a silk dressing gown – the one she'd found in the golden wardrobe. There'd been no slippers, but she'd gotten used to walking barefoot at night. She gave Gillion a final glance before escaping into the corridor.

It wasn't cold in the halls, not like in Whitethorne, nor was it dark – warm air wrapped around her like a blanket, and candles flickered ‘hello’ from their sconces. She'd never known comfort like this. In the brutally efficient buildings of Raft, the most luxury she'd witnessed was soft mattresses and colourful clothing. Rose had taught her of quaint beauty and comfort, but Edison – or at least the upper district – was something else entirely. She crept down the long corridors in utter awe.

It was only when she reached a fork in her path – turn left, or take the stairs upwards – that she realised the risk of getting lost was much higher than at Whitethorne. The castle had been confusing to her at first, but she'd learnt the layout soon enough. Edison Castle was gigantic in comparison – it was almost the difference between a rowboat and a warship. Without guidance, she could very easily lose her way. Still, she wasn't yet ready to return to the bedroom, so she settled down on the bottom step of the skywards-reaching stairs.

In honesty, she'd anticipated a nightmare. There had been enough fuel for thought that last day, making it almost too good to be true – at least, for the dark part of her mind that constructed those terrors. Personally, she didn't particularly like them, but it seemed she got little say in the matter.

The last one had been no different from the rest, at least to begin with. There was often fire, Featherbrooke Manor frequently featured, and always, without fail, she lost her sister. Grief worked its hardest when she slept. While she was, as usual, shaken to the core by Ava's screams, it was easy enough to move past it, to pretend it didn't sting like a thousand stab-wounds. It was the second half that bothered her. Chip and Gill… She'd known them for such a short time – albeit, almost a month, but it had taken far longer to grow close with Kira – so their appearance in her dreams was concerning. Why would her mind think to use them to scare her? It was strange.

Gill, she almost understood. They'd spent much time together – earlier that night, she'd called him a friend. But Chip was a mystery.

The more she thought of her nightmare, however, the hazier it grew, till all she could remember was the usual: fire, family, sister, death. And then Chip and Gillion.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Jay glanced up the staircase. A man dressed in the purple uniform of Edison grinned down at her. In the light of the lantern he held, she recognised the tan brown, freckled face of the guard who'd helped her from that carriage the day before. He'd told her his name, but for the life of her, she couldn't recall it.

“The miss from the carriage,” he said with laughter in his voice. “I hoped I'd run into you again.” Then, glancing down at her dressing gown and bare feet, “Though, perhaps under more appropriate circumstances.”

Jay flushed red, but quickly regained composure. “The circumstances seem perfectly acceptable to me.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. Dominic. She remembered now. “Then they are to me as well.” He paused for a moment, almost awkwardly formal.

“Sit.” Jay patted the stair beside her.

He nodded, the lantern's glow twinkling in his eyes, and lowered himself onto the step. “So, what brings you to the corridors this late at night?” He asked, conversationally.

She shrugged. There was no point in concealing it. “Night terrors.”

“Ah. Bad one?”

“Just strange mostly. They all follow a format but this time…well, it was different.”

“How so? If you want to talk about it, that is.”

“I would but, uh– It's slipped away from me.” Jay laughed, tucking her legs close to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

Dominic laughed too, a jolly sound. He seemed the sort who laughed often, who found plenty of joy in life. It was a good trait to have, one she’d always envied. Her sister had laughed a lot. But she’d been thinking of Ava far too often in the recent days, and it wouldn’t do to dampen the mood with further thoughts or memories. Instead, managing a brief smile, Jay hugged her legs tighter.

“So, I’ve told you my name, but somehow you’ve managed to hold out on me so far. Any plans to share, or will I have to start guessing?” Dominic asked with a grin. He set down his lantern between them and the flame danced all too familiarly.

Jay tensed. “You won’t like it.”

“It can’t be that bad. I once knew a guy called Rothbart, but he never let it get him down.”

She managed a chuckle. The fire in the lantern flickered, threatening to go out, then regaining its strength. “Jay,” she said, quietly. “Jay Ferin.”

There was a pause – she stopped breathing. Then… “It's nice to meet you, Jay.”

Every muscle had been taut, strained in anticipation of some retaliation – the shock alone let that tension drop. With a name like hers in a place like Edison or Rose, friendly reactions were not common. She was in enemy territory, after all. And sure, Chip hadn't cared, but Jay was beginning to realise he was an outlier. There were lots of responses. Some, like Agatha, had turned nervous; others – Earl – narrowed their eyes in suspicion. Then there was the General, who seemed to reflect the view held by the entire populace of Rose when she reverted to hatred. (Gillion's opinion did not count, for obvious reasons.) Jay bore it with all the grace she could manage. For the elephant in the room to not be addressed at all…

“I–” she couldn't put it into words. “You–”

Dominic cocked his head, lines of thought creasing his forehead. “I’m supposed to hate you? Seems a bit unfair, doesn't it? I mean, you're here, in a land directly opposed to the values held by your family, standing beside two of Raft's biggest threats.” A shrug, then a humourless laugh. “What more can you do to prove you've moved on?” And somehow, he'd managed to say exactly the thoughts that had been whirring through her mind the whole time. Was she so untrustworthy, even when she was betraying everything she'd been taught? Her shock melted into relief. He understood.

“Exactly,” she said in a near whisper. Any louder volume would surely have woken her from the dream – for that’s what she realised it was. Dominic Vespertine was her subconscious’ way of saying sorry for the horrors it dragged her through each night. As far as apologies went, it was a good one. She let all her worries from the day – which were otherwise ever present thanks to her lips’ stinging rawness where she’d bitten at them – disappear. That was what dreams were for, after all. The good ones at least. All that mattered in that moment was the half smile gracing Dominic’s firelit face, and the stray locks of ebony-black hair he brushed back into place. A blaze, warm and gentle, burned in Jay’s chest, and she noticed it with distant familiarity. It was exactly how her mother had described feeling about a young Jayson Ferin.

The thought was so unexpected, it snapped her out of the moment. Her fingertips dug into the flesh of her thighs and she tightened her self-embrace. She couldn't bear to think of her mother, alone in Featherbrooke Manor – both daughters gone, her husband ever busy. It was all Jay could do to not take the first ship back home. But home meant facing her father and his inevitable disappointment. His voice boomed above the other thoughts spinning in her head, Never forget, Jay, that you are a Ferin. The power of the Solar Mother courses through our veins. Nothing will ever change that. It had been intended as a comfort, but looking back it was difficult to see it as anything other than a threat. The one thing her father and General Lafayette would agree on was where Jay's loyalty should lie.

She thought of her sister, who wore the family name with pride, who followed the path laid out by her predecessors. Ava had died on that path, yet Jay would dare veer from it? She would deny her own flesh and blood?

You are a Ferin. A daughter of the most powerful family in all of Raft. A runaway. A traitor.

How could they all be true? Jay took a shaky breath. She might've not been able to escape the Ferin name, but for a moment she could be free of her father's judgement. Until, that is, he decided she was doing something stupid and dragged her back home like a misbehaving child. Or would she be forgotten, like Drey, leaving her mother with nothing but an absent husband and an empty house? Another breath, this time to stop the tears which threatened to spill. Crying was only permitted when alone, to hide any vulnerability. Ferins were strong. Ferins didn't miss their mothers and sisters or sob beside a near stranger simply because they were homesick.

Fortunately, if Dominic noticed her shift, he didn’t mention it. She rested her chin on her knees and stared out into the corridor. For a moment so brief she might’ve invented it, a shadow of something moved in the distance. It was out of sight soon enough, and she presumed it was merely another guard.

Dominic cleared his throat, and her attention snapped to him like a magnet. His smile had shrunk away. “I’d– uh– best be going. My shift ends soon.”

“Right.”

They both rose to their feet in almost amusing synchrony, dusting down their clothes. Neither knew quite how to part. Did he expect her to say something? Was he going to disappear back up the stairs, or escort her back to her room? Eventually, Jay stuck out an awkward hand. Amused, Dominic shook it.

“It was nice to meet you, Jay Ferin,” he said, another smile quickly taking the last one’s place. “I hope I’ll see you sometime soon. Perhaps even tomorrow, if I’m lucky.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Perhaps.” That was of course assuming the Prince didn’t have both her and Gillion killed first. Or sent away, at least, whether to Rose or somewhere further. Tomorrow: a land where consequences reigned.

Though she returned to bed, sliding in beside Gill who had not moved except to roll over, sleep seemed further than ever. She lay awake for what seemed years, but eventually her consciousness slipped and she disappeared into the realm of dreams. And what horrible dreams they were.

Chapter Text

Chip began the letter to his advisor just as he always did: curtly.

Rolin, he wrote,

I imagine you’re reading this from the luxury of your favourite chair, watching the sun slowly rise above the glorious sea, basking in the glittery gold sheen the world gains when I am out of your hair. It is with great joy I shatter that reality. You see, while I would love to take a holiday just as you are now, I’ve got shit to do (you’ll forgive my profanity, and that’s not a prelude to some bullshit excuse, it’s a command)...

Pushing Rolin’s buttons, even from across the waves, was far too amusing a hobby – Chip found himself halfway down the provided sheet of paper before he got to the point.

I’m experiencing a bit of trouble in paradise, as it were, and since you’re my advisor I figure I should probably get my advice straight from you. Something’s wrong with King Edison. I don’t just mean he’s a classist twat who would greatly benefit from being hit over the head with reality a few times. Something’s seriously wrong. The staff claim he’s ‘unwell’ and they’ve so far shown no signs of allowing me to meet with him. I engaged in a little sneakery – as you might call it – but couldn’t discover anything beyond the corridors being constantly monitored by guards, two of whom stand watch all night outside the King’s bedchambers. As you are well aware, this alliance is vitally important and returning home without its renewed conformation is simply not possible. It would be terrific if you could recommend a course of action – one that I can modify before implementing, of course, for you know I have a slight issue with following orders.

Also, ensure you keep me updated on the happenings in Rose, as we’d agreed upon. I’d ask literally anyone else, but unfortunately you’re the only one who fits the bill.

Glaring at you via the sun,

Chip

P.S. No, I’m not going to sign it with all my titles, my wrist already hurts from writing this much.

Once content with the message itself, Chip only faced the problem of its delivery. He didn’t trust the Edison staff, and was quite certain they returned the sentiment – as of yet, he believed no one had seen his ‘sneakery’ but he couldn’t be sure. Seeking an outside source would only spark further mistrust, plus he’d have to contend with the fawning nobles that he’d managed to avoid the day prior. But, if the Marshal left the palace, no one would pay him any mind. More than that, they might even spill some secrets.

No sooner than John had left their shared bedroom – which Chip had returned to in the dead of night, finding the chamber much more pleasant in the dark – the Prince grabbed his bandana and followed after. The plan was fairly simple, as far as plans went. He’d trail John till the breakfast room, where the Marshal, Ollie, Jay and Gillion would eat. Chip, on the other hand, would continue on down the hall, leaving through the front entrance. As John, he’d ask one of the guards stationed there for directions to the nearest post office, claiming to be sending word to family in Rose, then let the Dolphin Postal Service work its magic while he wandered the city, listening for gossip. It was so easy, even he would struggle to mess it up.

Indeed, the first step went smoothly. If the Marshal noticed Chip shadowing him, he didn’t show it. What Chip didn’t take into account was his own lonely self.

He couldn’t help it. Laughter leaked from the breakfast room as John entered, and Chip froze by the doorway, just out of sight. Within, some sort of cutlery war seemed to be taking place, Gillion and Ollie sparring with butter knives whilst Jay fired breadcrumbs at them from a spoon-trebuchet. Their giggles echoed through the otherwise silent halls. John’s arrival sparked a temporary ceasefire, until Jay launched a spoonful of jam and the whole thing started up again. A smile teased Chip’s lips. Despite his facade of sarcasm and playfulness, it had been a long while since he’d joked around with people he cared about. Reu– Lord Price’s betrayal had sentenced the childish, trusting boy he’d once been to an exile parallel to the lord's. Now he was the Prince who lurked in doorways. Unnoticed. Unhappy.

Except someone had noticed him. The small, pink frogtopus sat atop the table, ignoring the battle before her in favour of something more intriguing. Chip wondered what Pretzel thought of the cowardly prince, what thoughts sat behind those gleaming black eyes. He decided he didn’t want to know.

With a shake of his head, he told her to keep his presence a secret, and it took all his strength to tear himself from that doorway before his gaze inevitably drifted to Gillion.

He marched down the corridor, transforming into the Marshal, knowing damn well had he left any later the embers of anger towards all in that room would have died. And if rage left, what would remain but poisonous guilt? No, guilt was not something he could bear. Not yet. So he carried on as if nothing had changed. Years of lying made it easy enough to deceive himself.

The plan continued as smoothly as it had begun – ignoring the minor hiccup of distraction – and soon enough Chip stood waiting in the post office.

In front of him in the queue were two tiefling women, identical enough to be twins, who’d been murmuring all sorts of nonsense amongst themselves, and before them, a man who looked an awful lot like Julian was grumbling to the yuan-ti at the front desk about some issues with his parcel’s delivery. Over the years, Chip had become a fairly skilled eavesdropper, yet nothing had caught his attention until…

“Do you know what Beth told me?” Asked the first tiefling, though her tone implied it wasn’t so much a question as a beginning to a story. The second tiefling apparently did not know, and said as much. “She said she’d seen a ship with a blue flag in the dock, when returning from travelling.”

Chip’s ears perked up.

“A blue flag?” The second tiefling said in a pathetic attempt at a whisper. “A ship from Raft then?”

“Yes, Lousia. And she’d heard from Michael – you know, Philip’s brother – that he’d spotted men dressed in blue and white navy regalia around the same time!”

“Well, if they were here for his majesty, I’m sure they didn’t leave too happy.”

“That’s exactly what Beth said! And Michael replied that they’d been complaining about how ridiculous this kingdom is.”

The second tiefling, Louisa, scoffed – Chip rolled his eyes. “What can they mean, saying a thing like that, Madelaine! How perfectly unkind!”

“They couldn’t handle our society, I’m sure. You know how depressingly bland Raft is.”

“I do! More so than most, I daresay – you remember that officer I was seeing a few moons ago.”

They quickly returned to their previous gossip, but Chip didn’t particularly mind. He’d heard all he needed to, enough to come to some very concerning conclusions.

Firstly, it seemed common knowledge that the King wasn’t receiving any visitors. Was the general consensus that he was ‘unwell’ or were the populace aware of some other reason? Furthermore, if his condition was known, why had Chip not been made aware? He let this particular matter rest a moment, as the second was far more alarming.

Raft had sent soldiers to Edison.

It was fair to speculate, as Louisa had, that they’d sought an audience with the King, yet left upon realising this wouldn’t be granted. Combined with the alleged sightings of Raft’s Navy in All-Port, the conclusion was obvious: they were seeking allies, specifically in kingdoms with ties to Rose. Lizzie was right, as she so frustratingly often was. War was brewing.

His remaining moments in the post-office were clouded and fuzzy, but he knew he’d sent the letter off before he darted out onto the street. Each step he took was closer to a tumble – this being the first time he’d transformed into John, who stood significantly taller and broader than Chip – still he forged ahead. Where was he going? The gods only knew. He just needed to keep walking, because maybe constant motion would distract him. Maybe he could ignore the very real danger. Maybe he wouldn’t have to write another fucking letter to Rolin.

Familiar voices snapped him from his thoughts. Jay, Gillion, and…one he didn't know. Headed this way. Shit. They would know they'd left John back in the castle. Chip scrambled into an alleyway, ducking into the shadows just as they passed.

They were laughing. He didn't know why he was surprised – they had been before, after all, and joy tended to last a while. Somehow he'd expected the whole world to change in the last few moments, but of course it hadn't. And it turned out, he hadn't changed much either, because despite the risk of being found out and the pain which bloomed ripe in his chest, he couldn't help but watch them. The boy in the doorway.

“Stop it!” Jay managed between breath-stealing laughter. Her hair flowed freely down her back in coppery curls, and her sage frock just brushed the paving stones as she playfully shoved the mysterious man beside her – a man dressed in the uniform of a guard. “It's not my fault the Primordial words for clothes and horses sound so similar!”

The guard grinned. “But it is your fault that you were adamant Gillion had meant to say horses.”

“I would've looked stupid if I hadn't!”

“Would've?” And Jay erupted into another bout of cackles.

Gillion was smiling beside them, and as Chip's eyes landed on him, the Prince's heart jumped between anger and guilt and something he couldn't quite place.

Since the storm the previous night, the clouds had cleared and glorious sunlight prevailed. It lit the triton’s coral crown like a halo. Champion of the Undersea. The Chosen One. He'd never looked the part more than then.

Notes which reminded him painfully of the day at the beach – when Gillion had saved his life, and he'd saved Gillion's in return – spilled from the triton like a fountain of song.

It was a good thing – Chip thought, to distract himself from whatever summersaults his heart was attempting – that they were playing along with the only-speaks-Primordial and totally-honest-about-why-we’re-here bit. The guard certainly seemed convinced, looking to Jay for a translation, which she quickly provided.

So this lie they're fine with, he grumbled internally, knowing even then he was being ridiculous. Of course, knowing something and admitting it were two entirely different things – Chip had spent his whole life getting out of admitting when he was in the wrong, and he didn't plan to stop just yet.

It didn't matter anyway, because the three had soon passed by and Chip, as Marshal John, could step freely from the alley and return to the palace. Which he did. And he was quickly given the perfect opportunity for distraction. Which he took.

————

Gillion was not known for his brilliant plans. Champions didn't need plans, after all, they had prophecies to follow and orders to fulfil. When he did make plans, as the impromptu trip to Edison highlighted, they were very poorly thought through. For starters, he and Jay had only brought the clothes on their backs – though Jay would chime in that at least she'd brought a jacket. Gill wouldn't have wanted to bring along any of the borrowed robes anyway. Instead he simply wore the clothes he'd first arrived in. Which were…slightly tattered from the first storm, then the fight with Niklaus, and all that followed.

Thus began the quest for clothes, as Jay had playfully dubbed it. She joked it would appeal to Gillion as a Chosen One and, though he raised a brow at it, admittedly it did. ‘Quest’ sounded a lot more exciting and noble than ‘shopping trip’. Which was what John had named it the moment the suggestion was brought up, in the midst of the breakfast war. He'd decided not to come with them, instead staying with Ollie. A certain someone else, however…

Ultimately, the quest was successful. They'd even found a shop run by a friendly tortle, who'd found Gill some comfortable Undersea-style clothes. It would be useful, he thought in the moment, for when Chip inevitably kicked him out of Rose. But that didn't bear worrying about. Not yet, at least.

He'd thought they would return the moment their quest was fulfilled, but this was another matter on which he was entirely misguided. Jay and the guard – “Dominic Vespertine,” Jay whispered to Gill before they met with him, “doesn't it just sound so…” (she’d not been able to put a word to it, instead letting out a muffled squeal) – walked ahead as they wandered the town. Oddly, though he wasn't technically involved with the conversation, Gillion didn't feel isolated in the same way he had in Rose. He'd chosen to linger behind, rather than been forced. At any moment he could rejoin the two and be invited in easily, and though Dominic did not speak Primordial, he was very patient and seemed determined to involve Gill. It was…refreshing.

And Upper Edison was truly magnificent. Crisp air filled his lungs and rays of warm sunlight blessed his skin. The sun goddess: Aster. Never before in the Oversea had he been so reminded of her presence. She seemed to watch over his every step, guiding him forwards. He wondered what the Elders would think. After all, they clearly favoured Lunadeyis over her ethereal counterpart.

The Elders aren't here, said a voice that sounded both like Niklaus, who'd been invading his thoughts often in the recent days, and his sister, which was unusual. You don't have to follow their orders anymore.

An unsettling thought, one which he quickly brushed away – so many thoughts were taboo that morning – in favour of watching Jay and Dominic.

There was something about their attachment to one another he couldn't quite understand. Jay was laughing more often, her eyes bright as the sky above, and Dominic couldn’t seem to look away from her. He almost thought to ask, but was stopped by Dominic's abrupt pause. Passersby were forced to swerve around their obstruction of the street.

“Is everything alright?” Jay asked, obviously confused.

The guard looked back at the other two regretfully, though still smiling – he never seemed to stop, lips always curled upwards. “It’s entirely my fault. I’d completely forgotten until now.” He sighed. “I’ve got to go back to the palace. They’re rearranging shifts and I really can’t miss it.”

“Oh, that's alright,” Jay said with an unmistakable undertone of disappointment, though she tried her best to hide it. “We'll probably stay out a while longer. I'll see you…”

A flash of movement in the distance drew Gill's attention from the conversation, which continued easily in his distraction. The figure darted down a conjoining street. He thought he'd seen…but it was impossible. There was no way for her to be there. He very suddenly wished he hadn't left Pretzel with Ollie, needing her judging eyes and slapping tentacles to snap him out of whatever stupor he'd fallen into.

Gillion shut his eyes – it had been a trick of the light, surely – and took a slow breath. When he opened them, the figure was long gone. He smiled. Just as he suspected. All was well.

He turned back to Jay and Dominic and his face fell. They weren't there. His eyes scanned the scene, for they couldn't have gone far, but they were nowhere in sight. And it wasn't only them who had disappeared. The streets of Upper Edison were empty, silent, still. Then they too vanished into nothingness. Void. Like the realm between dreams and the waking world; like the darkness found behind eyelids. Everything was…nothing. Until it wasn't.

The first thing he realised was that his eyes were closed. So maybe he'd just made up the whole thing. But no, because secondly, he was breathing water.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes only for his heart to stop. The palace. He was back in the palace, in the Undersea. His whalebone training swords hung on the wall just as he'd left them; his armour sat at the foot of his bed, like he'd discarded it after training. A lump formed in his throat. For a moment, he tried to calm his rapid breathing, but defaulted to inhaling through his nose – water gushing down his nostrils, burning more than he could've predicted, incidentally did not help his panic.

It was all a dream. All of it. Rose, Edison, the Oversea. Jay, Chip, John, Caspian, all of them, all of it, everything. Not real. He was back. He was back. He made it all up. His limbs ached from training; his heart pounded.

Gill thought he might cry, but no tears came. Of course they didn't, he was fucking underwater. Even as he thought the curse, he flinched. The Elders would reprimand him for it. They always knew somehow. They always knew. He was back.

The door opened – it carried ripples through the water, pushing Gillion ever so slightly backwards. Shocked by the movement, for he'd only just grown used to the air and gravity of the Oversea, the smallest nudge sent him rocketing into his bed frame. There was no crash. Sound worked differently. He'd forgotten. But he was back.

“Gillion?” It was almost ridiculous how immediately her voice soothed him.

“Edyn!” He cried out, propelling himself towards her and nearly knocking her over. “I missed you.”

She laughed, an echoing melody. “I was barely gone two days!” Typically, a few weeks passed between visits. Gillion could only think of one time he'd seen his sister so frequently. The final visits before…

It's not real, said a voice he wished he could forget. Niklaus spoke with amusement, as if he found it funny Gillion hadn't realised the truth. Just a memory, Champion. An important one at that. Do try to stay focused.

Gill looked at his sister, really truly looked at her. Hair as green as his own, but much longer, was tied in a braid, flowing down her back. A pale purple starfish clip held back any locks which threatened to escape their imprisonment. She wore simple clothes, all in white and purple, shifting with the water. She looked tired. Weary. Utterly exhausted. Though she smiled, dark circles shadowed her eyes. When she wrapped her arms tightly around him, it was as if she would never let go.

He gazed up at her face, then gently peeled away from her. She needed to know. “I won’t ever see you again.”

It was almost funny how quickly those words had been proven true, how Gillion still almost choked on them.

Edyn’s grey-blue eyes went wide. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

“I failed. And now I won’t see you again.” He swallowed, the taste of saltwater nearly unfamiliar on his tongue. “In three days time, the Elders will decide my punishment. I already know what it will be.” He’d been so certain. So certain of everything. How quickly he’d been proven a fool.

It was the first time he’d seen desperation so plainly on his sister’s face. “They can’t– won’t! The agreement…” She clasped at his hands, her eyes scanning them as if they held the answer. “The agreement was I could see you. It motivates you, that’s the whole point!”

But couldn’t she see? Wasn’t it obvious? “The Elders are well aware of what motivates me.” Gillion hadn’t realised until then how matter-of-factly he’d said it. Like he was reciting a line. But then his voice broke. “It’s not the visits, Edyn, it’s the time between them. Why else do you think you’re forbidden from seeing me more regularly? Your absence is my motivator, because I know that if I impress them, they’ll let me see you again. But I… Well, I’ve failed.”

A small silence allowed the words to sink in. He may have experienced it before, but realising how utterly worthless he’d become remained startling, eye-opening. Then, as soon as it had settled, like a layer of doubt within his stomach, the feeling washed away. In its place, determination ruled. He would prove himself to the Elders. He’d withstand whatever punishment they doled out, and do so with a puffed chest, knowing soon enough he could re-earn their respect.

That is, if they ever respected you at all, chimed in Niklaus, unhelpfully. He was wrong, of course. Gillion Tidestrider was the Chosen One. The Elders had to respect him. It almost went without saying.

“This is fixable,” said Edyn. At the time, Gill had been far too focused on the rekindled purpose in his chest, to notice the glimmer of ambition in his sister’s eyes. She nodded to herself, and he could only wonder what had gone through her head in that moment. “Three days, you said, until the trial?” He confirmed and watched the cogs turn in her head. Hand on his shoulder, she smiled. “Everything will be alright, Gillion. I’ll see you in a few weeks, mark my words.”

And then she didn’t.

“Shut up, Niklaus,” Gillion muttered to himself.

“What was that, Gill?” Jay asked. He blinked, back in the present. It was too bright, too loud. And Edyn was, of course, gone. So was Dominic, though Gillion could just about spot him disappearing into the crowd, walking in the direction of the castle. Jay was smiling at him, and he realised he’d only been gone for a few moments. She didn’t know anything had happened.

Gillion was barely sure of what had happened. All he was certain of was Niklaus’ message. You said your sister’s absence motivates you? Then be motivated. I’ve given you the tools to fulfil your prophecy, to win back your Elders’ respect – if that’s truly what you wish. I am guiding you. So get to it, Champion.

There had always been a weight on Gill’s shoulders. He’d felt it for as long as he could remember, but in the previous few days, personal matters had taken the priority. When had he earned that privilege? When had he started believing he was more than a tool of fate? Niklaus didn’t speak again, but his old words were a taunt: you will bring the two kingdoms together in peace.

Get to it, Champion.

Jay was still waiting for a response. He swallowed. “I need to tell you something.” She cocked her head. “About the circumstances of my duel with Chip.”

————

“John!” Chip said, clapping his hands in mimicry of his father. “Perfect timing. I need to talk to you.”

The Marshal allowed himself to be led into the bedroom some poor staff had spent the morning preparing for Chip, only hinting at the numerous comments he could make through a raised brow and amused smile.

“Shut up. It's important stuff.”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t want to discuss anything important with a traitor who helped stow-aways, now would you?”

The twinge of guilt in Chip’s chest reminded him of the previous days’ events. “Look, I’m sorry John. I should never have spoken to you like—”

“Don’t sweat it,” the Marshal laughed, clapping a hand on the Prince’s shoulder. “I knew you didn’t mean a word of it. You’re allowed to be angry, you know. You’re still a kid.” Chip decided to ignore the potentially insulting implications of this, taking a win where he could get one. “Besides, it’s not me who deserves an apology.” This too Chip ignored.

“I wanted to talk to you about the King of Edison,” he said, rather bluntly. The smile vanished from John’s face. “Clearly we’ve been misled about the nature of this visit. We should have met with the King by now, or at least been given the details of when we’ll be confirming the alliance. And yet I can’t even ask about it without the staff going silent.”

John nodded. “They told you he’s ‘unwell’?”

“Yes, then I arranged to speak with Garrieth today.”

“And have you?” “Not yet. I’m going to look for him now, but I wanted your opinion on what we should do.” Chip wasn’t sure which the Marshal was more shocked by, that Chip was asking for his thoughts, or that he’d referred to them as ‘we’.

John turned to gaze out the wide windows, resting a hand on his cheek in thought. “You’ve written to Rolin?”

“Unfortunately. Just sent it this morning.”

The Marshal made a sound to show he was listening, then turned. He took a pair of spectacles Chip had only infrequently seen from his pocket and perched them carefully on his nose. “Should we tell General Lafayette, she might–”

“NO!” Chip shouted, surprising even himself. He cleared his throat. “Uh, no,” he amended. Slowly, John’s look of shock disappeared. Chip sighed, lowering himself onto the bed and nearly sinking into the mattress.

“Right,” said the Marshal, voice wary. “So I suppose the best thing to do is wait for Rolin’s reply. In the meantime, you can meet with Garrieth and I will see if the staff will talk to me. Maybe Dominic will know something…” As John trailed off, thinking, Chip latched onto the unfamiliar name.

“Who’s Dominic?”

“Hm? Oh, the guard who Jay and Gillion have befriended.” John chuckled. “Emphasis on the former, if you know what I mean.”

Chip didn’t, but that wasn’t what he was concerned with. “A guard, you say?” Someone with access to more of the castle’s secrets, perhaps.

“Yeah, and a good lad too. Very jolly.”

“Speaking of lads,” Chip cut in before John could talk his ears off, “how’s Ollie doing?”

The Marshal smiled fondly. “He’s possibly the happiest boy I’ve ever met, so he’s doing absolutely fine. When he’s not with me, Jay and Gillion have been watching over him, and he dotes on them. His only complaint is wanting to see you more often.”

“All the more reason to wrap up this Edison business.” Chip truly wanted to spend more time with the boy, and was determined to show him around Rose when they returned. For the moment, though, the Prince’s focus was on solving this mystery.

He dismissed John with a smile and a second apology, and continued on with his plans. Garrieth, as it turned out, was nowhere to be found and when, under the cover of darkness, Chip returned to sneaking about the castle, he was met with further disappointment. The following day brought similar results, as did the next, and the next. Yet, on the morning of the fourth day in Edison, Chip received a letter back from Rolin. Though, perhaps calling it a letter was an overstatement. It simply read:

Your royal highness,

I am saddened to hear such news. Perhaps, in remedy, your trip could be extended by a few weeks, to ensure you are able to meet with the King of Edison once he has recovered from his illness. All is well in Rose.

Your faithful servant,

Rolin Loffin

The advice was worse than Chip had expected. It was utterly unreasonable to suggest an extension of the trip: firstly, it would overlap worryingly with his coronation; and secondly, the people of Rose were not stupid, they would quickly assume there was an issue with the alliance meeting if Chip did not return at the expected time, and no doubt they would blame any problems on their beloathed Prince. Not only was it unreasonable, it was obviously faulty – something that Chip hesitated to seriously attribute to Rolin. The man was insufferable, but not stupid, not deliberately unhelpful. So the letter was worrying. Add that to the list of things Chip had to contend with.

Really, it wasn’t surprising that after reading the letter, Chip retreated to his temporary chambers and collapsed onto the bed. Sleep snatched him at its first chance, and you know what? He was fucking grateful.

————

There was some progress made in winning Chip over. He’d actually sat to eat breakfast with him that morning, which Jay had been happily surprised by. Sure, he’d never actually spoken to anyone but John or Ollie, and had barely even looked at Gillion, only making eye contact with Jay once, but it was progress nonetheless. Even if he had disappeared as soon as he’d received a letter from his advisor. It was a shame, as Jay was going to ask after Abby, but no matter. She had the afternoon with Dominic to look forward to, so nothing could dampen her day.

He smiled radiantly at her when they met by the castle gates, and offered his arm like a gentleman. She’d giggled – embarrassingly – and accepted. Now they strolled through Upper Edison, laughing at each others’ jokes and sharing stories from their pasts.

Dominic, it turned out, was the youngest of four brothers, all of whom had served the crown in some way. It was only natural for him to follow in their footsteps. Jay had squeezed his arm, for the thought seemed about to extinguish his eternal joy, and told him she understood. And she did, truly. All her family joined Raft’s Navy; it was the way of things. Her path had been chosen the moment she was born, as had her sister’s.

“The difference between us, I suppose,” Dominic said slowly, stopping to process his words. Jay looked into his glittering eyes and waited. “Is that you got out. You chose freedom, you chose to choose. I’m still here, living someone else’s plans.”

There was quiet for a moment and a cool breeze brushed past them, lifting Jay’s hair like tender fingers brushing out the knots. She thought of her sister, how they’d died for someone else’s plans. Of her father, how someone else had forged him into a fierce warrior. Of her grandmother, who perhaps was the ‘someone else’. Then of her uncle, and how he’d escaped. Her mother had too, in a sense, though perhaps she’d never been trapped in the first place. Jay released Dominic’s arm, instead taking his freckled hands in hers. He looked down at them, smile almost amused, then up at her.

“You don’t have to be,” was all she said. Because if anything that’s what being in Rose had taught her.

She might have been weighed down by the Ferin name, might always be. People may look at her with fear or suspicion or hatred. Everyone could expect things of her, but that didn’t mean she had to deliver. Instead of being pulled in a hundred directions at once, she could ignore all the tugs, all the expectations, and simply do what she wanted. It seemed so obvious, but it was still fresh, still almost unbelievable.

Dominic kissed her. Slowly, he closed the space between them, tilting his face upwards to align with hers. She met his soft mouth with her own. It was the gentle touch of petals, the first notes of birdsong, the faint glow of sunlight as dusk swept away the day. Then, smiling into her lips, he ever so carefully pulled away. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, fingers interlocked. In synchrony, they breathed and sighed.

The world had melted away and, while still distant, it began to return. Voices of Upper Edison’s citizens drifted through the wind – one particularly loud child wailed about something unimportant, and the mundanity of it all had Jay laughing softly to herself.

They stepped away from one another as reality made its presence known. Jay smiled, but her heart skipped a beat when she noticed the way he was watching her. Where could the line be drawn between admiration and adoration? In the hazel eyes of Dominic Vespertine, as it seemed. It wasn’t unpleasant to be the subject of such attention – in fact, the rosy colour her cheeks took on suggested quite the opposite – but it was a surprise. She’d known him only four days, after all. Still, her smile remained until he spoke.

“Run away with me.” His voice was nearly a rasp, like stone broken down to something rough.

“What?” Hers was still breathy, still soft.

“Run away with me,” he repeated, pressing his lips together in what seemed to be uncertainty. Uncertainty in the request, or in her response? “We can forget our names, forget the expectations we’re supposed to meet.” In his eyes burned glittering hope. “We can be whoever we want.”

Jay sucked in a breath. Her hands were still wrapped in his; she resisted the urge to let go. “Where would we go?”

She almost regretted saying it, the way his face lit up. “Anywhere. Maybe All-Port, or somewhere else utterly neutral, utterly free. Anywhere we like.”

“And what about everyone we’ll leave behind?”

“My family has all but given up on me. This job was the last ditch effort to win the affection my brothers receive so easily. I couldn’t care less about leaving them.” Then his expression shifted, softened. He regarded her with the tender understanding, the calm she’d come to expect from him, rather than impulsive dreams. “But I know you have your family, and your friends from Rose…”

“I–” She so wished to say yes, wished she could do so without guilt, without regretting it for every day that would follow. Four days ago, she almost certainly could have. She was about to, before the duel she’d only recently understood interrupted. Now things were different. Or were they? She had no clue. “I don’t–”

“You don’t have to decide now,” he said in a rush. As if he realised couldn’t bear an immediate rejection – which Jay wasn’t even sure she could give. “Think about it, then in two days if you meet me at the docks – where you first arrived here – I’ll know you’re coming with me.”

Two days… Two days to decide her future.

“You’re leaving either way, aren’t you,” she realised, almost somberly. “If I say no…”

“We might never see each other again,” he finished.

With a sigh, “Dominic…”

“I know. It’s a lot to ask. Just think about it, okay? I promise I’ll understand either way.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and they waited like that for a moment. Waiting for what? Neither could say. Perhaps for things to change again, or for them to return to exactly how they were before they’d left the castle.

Of course, when change was wanted, it never came. And so they broke apart, feeling something inside prepared to shatter.

Jay’s heart ached as they walked back. Neither one could bear to speak, clutching at each others’ hands like lifelines. She almost hated him for ruining the moment. It wasn’t her first kiss, but her first true connection, the first time someone had so clearly understood her. But then, how could she hate him?

The real question: was she willing to leave everything behind for him? Or more aptly, would she keep running from her fears?

Chapter Text

Outside, another beast of a storm was raging. Monstrous fists hammered at the windows as it roared in foul curses. Jay couldn't sleep. A day had passed since the conversation with Dominic, yet it still twisted and turned in her mind, until she sat up in bed and decided rest was beyond her.

Instead, she chose to wander the corridors, careful to avoid the places Dominic was likely to be. She hadn't yet made up her mind, and didn't want to face him with another “I'm not sure”. If she was honest, she didn't want to face him at all. Or anyone else. Hence wandering alone through the castle. Hence the general alarm and slight annoyance when she spotted a familiar figure ‘hiding’ in the shadows (he wasn't particularly good at it).

“Chip?” She had to squint, but she was fairly certain it was him. Then he stepped into the candlelight. “What are you doing here?”

The Prince glared at her. “None of your business,” he muttered, spite sharpening his words.

Choosing to ignore that – else she might’ve punched him, and that wouldn't lead anywhere good – Jay posed the obvious question. “What the fuck are you doing sneaking about the corridors at night like a thief? Are you a thief?”

“No!” He gasped as if it were a joke. “And frankly I'm offended you'd think so.”

Jay wasn't amused. “You’ve not answered my question.”

“Nope, and I don't intend to.”

“Great.” She tucked her plait of fiery hair behind her shoulder, hopefully signifying she meant business. “So you're still keeping secrets.”

Chip scoffed, his brows raising like he thought this whole thing was absurd – which he probably did. Men in power, Jay thought to herself with an eye roll, they're all the same.

“I'm a prince! Some of my secrets have to stay secret. This is one of them.”

“Fine.” Jay folded her arms. She didn't like the way Chip leant against the wall, like he couldn't give a damn about anything. Maybe she was reading too much into it. But then she remembered the way he'd spoken of politics to the General, all those moons ago, the way he so easily ignored her and Gill, like they meant nothing to him. Her rage was a fire, burning hot in her stomach. She found it an adequate distraction from the all-consuming doubt. “So what about your reasons for avoiding me and Gillion? Do they need to stay secret?”

He had the decency to look uncomfortable. “You know perfectly well what reasons I have,” he mumbled.

“No,” Jay said slowly. “I don't. I know what caused it, no thanks to you. Gillion told me all about your stupid duel. But that doesn't explain why you're acting as if we don't exist.” With a sigh, “There's a very simple solution here.”

The Prince regained some of his confidence, though it translated to a childish strop. “And what's that, oh great one?”

“Just fucking talk to him!”

She didn't understand how it could be any more obvious. Each time she'd spotted Chip in the doorway (he wasn't as subtle as he thought), a part of her hoped he'd finally understood. But no. He always ran away. And Gillion was left with that broken look in his eyes, thinking he'd done something wrong. (Technically he had, but Jay could only deal with them one at a time. Chip was the easiest for now.)

“It’s so clearly a misunderstanding, but you have to talk about it!”

“A misunderstanding? He tried to kill me, Jay, I don't know how I could've misunderstood that.”

“He didn't though, did he? He just responded to a problem the way he was told to. You insulted him, and he, as the Undersea taught him, replied by offering an outlet for his anger. An honourable duel.”

The candles beside them flickered as Chip scowled. “I wouldn't call it honourable. He–”

“–didn’t try to kill you! For the last time! And if you ever imply Gillion's dishonourable again, I'll punch you right in your royal face. He might've hurt you, but that's because he was hurt. And you know what, I would've done a lot worse than start a duel if you'd implied you only kept me here for leverage.” Not to mention what her father would have done, if he ever found out. But that was hardly relevant. Everything Chip said only added more fuel to the fire of her anger. How dare he…

“I never said I was–”

“But you implied it,” Jay interrupted, knowing what he was about to say. “The issue was never whether or not you intended to keep him hostage, though it might be a good start to confirm either way, seeing as you still haven't. The issue is that you hurt him, he tried to solve that, and now you're avoiding him like the plague. How is it anyone else's fault but yours?” She let out an exasperated sigh as the flames in her chest burned brighter. “Look, I understand the duel upset you. But all you have to do is tell him that, with actual words, and apologise. It's really quite simple.”

Chip was staring at her, like her hair had caught fire.

“And sure,” she continued, waving her hand as her voice grew louder, “you've got other stuff going on that's causing you grief. I know all about how you arrived to the throne, how they call you the ‘bastard prince’. Your removal from the Rose lineage means the people don't trust you, but you need to prove yourself to them even if you don't actually want to be Prince – don't lie, I've seen it. Believe me, I understand!”

Perhaps her hair was aflame. She could almost feel it crackling, feel the heat warming her. Like a dragon, she released the fire into the world. Anything to free herself of it.

She was shouting. Her voice matched the howling wind. “You've got pressure from the people around you, which means you're pressuring yourself. And it's difficult to live up to other people's expectations, because you quickly realise how ridiculously far-fetched or contradictory they are. All the pressure means you're either insanely stressed all the time and overthinking every tiny action you take, hoping no one will criticise you; or maybe you're the opposite and you just stop giving a shit. They'll find something to nitpick either way so why bother? Why try?

“And then you realise both of those situations only make you feel worse and you turn to hatred – hating yourself, everyone around you, even the whole fucking world for putting you in that situation. People who mean well might come along but you expect the worst and then aren't surprised when they too have something to say, and you wish they would leave you the fuck alone because you've just lost your sister!”

Her hand shot over her mouth. Tears pricked at her eyes. She hadn't meant to…

Chip blinked at her. Once. Twice. Three times. Jay's heart thundered in her chest. One beat. Ava. Two beats. Ava. Three beats–

“Sorry,” her voice was quiet now, a stark contrast to the shouts that had ripped from her throat. She needed to leave. Needed to run. Needed to get away. Ava. Ava. Ava. Duh dum. Duh dum. Duh dum. Duh dum. Her eyes burned. The corridor was closing in, dark walls pushing close together. “I should go.”

She turned to flee – get out, run, go, go, go – but Chip grabbed her by the wrist. Looking behind her, vision blurry with tears, she saw the compassion on his face. And it nearly killed her. Ava. Ava.

“No,” he said, matching her hushed tone. “No, you don't need to apologise.” Cautiously, he released her. She stayed, watching him, and drawing her hand to her chest. “I'm the one who should be sorry. You're right, I– I shouldn’t have kept secrets from you and Gillion. Not ones involving you, especially.” As the confession left his lips, Chip’s eyes grew dark with shame. His expression was pleading, desperate, and so very sorry.

There was silence. Her breaths seemed as loud as gunshots. Ava… Jay sniffed. “So? Why are you avoiding us?”

“I think you know why.”

And she did. She could read it on his face as plainly as words on a page. First, anger had burned in his eyes. Now, it was pain that shrouded his face. Dark rings beneath his eyes marked sleepless nights; his smile was melancholy, tinged with regret. Jay knew. She understood. For the moment, that was enough.

Swallowing the lump in her throat and wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, she asked, “And what are you really doing wandering the corridors at night?” Perhaps it was a similar reason to her own, but she suspected otherwise.

His searching eyes confirmed it. “I’ll tell you,” he said slowly, “but we can't talk here.”

————

“So let me get this straight,” Jay said, sitting cross-legged on Chip’s untouched bed. “The King of Edison is apparently unable to meet with you for the alliance confirmation, and your immediate response was to sneak around at night searching for information?”

Well, when she put it like that… “I spoke to Garrieth first. No one was willing to tell me anything. And then there was talk of Raft soldiers here.” Chip paced back and forth as he spoke, gesticulating with each word, two habits he’d likely picked up from Arlin.

“Right, well that’s a different issue. We can address that once we’ve returned to Rose, but for now the alliance is the most pressing matter.” Chip hadn’t anticipated how easily Jay would settle into serious political discussion. She was surprisingly unfazed. But of course she’d been raised by Raft’s Vice-Admiral, so really it made sense. Perhaps her potential was wasted as a book-keeper.

“And how would you suggest dealing with it?”

“Other than playing at being a spy?” The eyebrow raise she gave made him think she and Lizzie would be good friends. Or maybe they’d fight a war more epic than the tales of Aster and Lunadeyis’ feud. Who could say. “I’d suggest confronting the King outright.”

Chip groaned. “Why is confrontation your solution to everything?”

“Because that’s how life works buddy boy, get used to it.” A grin stretched across her face, revealing dimples where tearstains had once stuck.

He was glad her mood had improved, and this new version of Jay Ferin was far more fun than he’d believed she could be, but her words still swam in his head. You've just lost your sister. He thought of Lizzie, then, and how he had lost her, in a sense.

But he was snapped back to the present when Jay continued, “The main issue, I suppose, will be actually getting to the King. You said he's got guards stationed outside his room?”

Chip cleared his throat. “Yeah. Two of them who stand watch all night.”

“Hm. Alternating shifts would've been ideal but–”

“Wait! Your plan is to sneak in?” He interrupted, incredulous.

She stared at him like this was obvious. “Is there a way you'd prefer? Official methods clearly aren't going to work, so we've got to be a little more direct about it. And don't act like you're above it, I literally found you slinking about the corridors.”

And it was then Chip realised he had, in fact, terribly underestimated Jay Ferin. It sunk in his stomach with all the weight of guilt and regret and the sucker punch of realising he’d been such an idiot. She’d yelled at him a few minutes before, and he was just now wondering if that’s what he’d needed all along. Maybe it took her hurtfully accurate accusations to set him right. Maybe having someone around who’d yell at him even if he was royalty, rather than give dull lectures, was vitally important.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, with a slow nod. “About everything.”

Jay smiled. “Then we’ll make our move tomorrow.” A pause. Then the fresh glimmer of determination in her eyes was slightly worrying. “And you’ll apologise to Gill.”

Chip didn’t even try to protest, knowing it would be futile. “I will. I promise.” Just maybe not yet…

————

The morning arrived brilliantly, with the sun blazing hot, even through the curtains of Gillion’s room. Summer may have been approaching its close, but the weather hadn’t quite got the idea. He pulled aside the curtains and stared at the droplets of rain the last night’s storm had left behind. Everything felt painfully slow, distant, unreal.

Get to it, Champion.

He missed his sister. He missed his home. Gods, he even missed the Elders, if that was possible. They would at least be able to guide him through this mess. Sure, they’d be angry with him for his deal with the Sea Witch, but Gill was beginning to realise he hadn’t been given a choice. There had been powerful magic in that room and he wasn’t strong enough to resist its compulsion. Another failure, whispered an unhelpful part of himself. But he couldn’t change the past, so there was little point regretting it. Self-flagellation could come later, once the prophecy had been fulfilled and he was free from its burden. If he ever wanted to see his sister again – and by the gods he did – he needed to do as Niklaus said and get a move on.

There came a small tap on his shoulder. He hadn’t even realised Pretzel was there.

“Sorry, girl,” he said, letting her crawl onto his hand. She frowned at him then made a confused sound. “No, it’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m alright, I promise.” The stare she gave was piercing. He huffed a laugh and raised his other hand in mock surrender. “Alright, you’ve caught me. But I do promise you don’t need to fret.”

Pretzel’s company was a small comfort, at least. And it was almost time for breakfast, if he was reading the clock correctly (he’d just about gotten the hang of it, though was still adamant that it was far too complicated), so he would see Jay soon. She’d seemed so out of sorts at dinner… He hoped rest had cheered her up, for he needed her jokes and laughter.

“Let’s join the others.” Gill returned Pretzel to his shoulder with a smile.

The others… His friends. He had friends now. Wasn’t that incredible? Jay and John and even little Ollie. Of course, there would be the looming empty seat at the head of the table where Chip should’ve been. And sure, shame and guilt and anger would rush back every time his eyes brushed over it. But he was lucky to have gotten even this far. Chip… Well, Gillion could work on it.

On his way to the breakfast hall, Gill mumbled a conversation with Pretzel, telling her all about what had been going on the past few weeks (she, naturally, was appalled she hadn’t been informed or else she would’ve used her bad idea veto several times). As he neared the stairs, however, a sudden shock at his wrist made him pause to wince. Pretzel chirruped her concern – this being a consequence of something she’d been unable to veto.

Gillion’s gaze dragged downwards till it settled on the black crescent moon upon his wrist. Thanks to his new clothes, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the mark, but he’d managed to tie a slip of spare navy blue material around it. The solution was temporary, he told himself at first, yet days had passed and he didn’t seek an alternative. Now, the band had slipped, leaving his wrist bare.

The mark hadn’t changed. He wasn’t sure if he had expected it to, but nonetheless it remained exactly the same.

If he was honest, Gillion understood very little about the mark. It seemed obvious that it acted as a brand, proving he had been led astray. And though the repeated bursts of pain hadn’t warped its image, they certainly had warped Gill’s understanding of his deal with Niklaus Hendrix. The Wish Doctor’s role as a guide seemed to involve more interference than he’d first believed, and was becoming invasive rather than helpful.

Today’s sharp sting was worse than the usual itch. Clearly whatever choice Niklaus wished to influence was important, more so than previous times. Gillion ignored Pretzel’s complaints and took in his surroundings.

He stood in an empty hallway. Beside him, several doors lined the walls. It was quiet, aside from Pretzel, as to be expected this early in the morning. And yet… A triangle of light escaped onto the dark hardwood, fleeing from one of the doors, which was left slightly ajar. Quiet voices spilled into the corridor, and immediately Gillion recognised the Prince. A jolt of panic struck as he remembered the last time he’d eavesdropped on Chip. He took a slow breath. Maybe this time he could help it go differently.

Pretzel seemed concerned when he approached the door, but quickly settled when she realised what he was doing. Before he could regret it, Gillion swung open the door. A comfortable-looking lounge was revealed within. His eyes skimmed the surroundings, focusing instead on the gathering of his companions. And Chip.

“Gill,” Jay greeted with surprise. She wore the same clothes as the previous night, which struck him as odd, but she certainly seemed more relaxed. Beside her on the emerald green sofa, Marshal John beamed invitingly.

Chip was sitting at the other end of the room on an armchair. He turned his head away. Gill tried to ignore it.

Perhaps sensing the tension, Jay spoke again. “Have I missed breakfast?” Gillion shook his head. “Brilliant, I'm starving.”

She's deflecting, said Niklaus, voice clear as day. The sudden message made Gill flinch and he was certain Jay noticed. This is your way in.

He sucked in a breath. “Were you having a meeting?”

It was direct. Blunt. His preferred way of conversing. And yet, he usually held back, usually kept those sorts of questions to himself. Gods knew the Elders never answered them. But he was done with blind compliance. If no one was going to tell him what was going on, he would make them.

“Um…” Jay’s eyes darted between Gill and Chip, the latter of whom stared stubbornly ahead, as if he hadn’t heard the question.

“We were,” John answered. He shifted awkwardly in his seat. “But, uh–”

“You can't tell me?” Gillion guessed. The silence was enough of an answer. He turned to leave. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

Just as his fingers brushed the door handle, “Wait.”

The voice was reluctant, grouchy, and groaned in frustration the minute it spoke. When Gillion looked back, he met the Prince’s guilty stare (and tried to ignore the proud smile finding its way onto Jay's face).

“We could use your help,” Chip began. Then, when Jay cleared her throat, he sighed and added, “I could use your help.”

It was difficult for Gill to hide his grin as they began to explain.

————

Chip's plans were simple, Gillion's of questionable logic, but Jay's? Jay's were elaborate, accounting for every possible outcome. It was reassuring. And, approaching the royal chambers, Chip needed all the reassurance he could get.

The hallways in Edison castle were sensibly laid out. Three corridors led directly to the King's bedroom, allowing him multiple exits should he ever need to escape. Today, however, there would be no option to flee.

At Jay’s order, they formed three groups. The first – Marshal John and Pretzel (because of course the frogtopus had to be involved) – would take the centre corridor a little ahead of the rest, and cause a distraction. By the time group two – Jay and Gillion – arrived, the guards would be long gone and the door to the King’s bedchamber easy to break down. Chip, in a group all to himself, could then sweep in and speak to King Edison without any fear of interruption as the rest formed a blockade. It was almost too complicated, but he went along with it, just glad Ollie hadn’t been involved. The boy was enjoying an early night, while the rest of his party committed potential crimes.

It was all going to plan by the time Chip arrived. Except of course…

“Unhand me, you… you… fiend!” Garrieth spat, wriggling to free himself from Gillion’s grip. But the triton was strong, and restrained him with little difficulty. It was rather amusing to watch. “This is treason! I will have you know–”

Gillion’s hand slowly moved to cover the butler’s mouth.

“Oh, shut up, Gary.” Jay rolled her eyes and turned to Chip. “You ready?”

“Uh…”

“You better be, ‘cause we’re only able to give you about five minutes, then the guards’ll be back and we’ll be fucked.” She laughed at Chip’s widened eyes, nudging him with her elbow. “Don’t worry so much. You’ve got this.”

“Yeah… It’s only talking to royalty…via breaking and entering… I do that all the time…” But, despite his mild last minute regret, Chip pushed open the door to the bedchamber. Jay gave a final thumbs up as he entered.

Inside…was a study. Piles of papers littered the desk; dust had long since settled on each surface. Regret turned to dread, pooling cold in Chip’s stomach. The King may have been unwell for some time, but this room had been untouched for months. Chip walked through the study like he was in a dream, treading water. Each step was cushioned by a dust-ridden carpet.

At the room’s end stood another door, painted with storm clouds and bolts of lightning. It creaked as it opened.

Then there he was, in the doorway to King Edison’s bedchamber. It was just as luxurious as he’d expected: golden furniture; a chandelier of rubies and emeralds; bed sheets dyed with the rarest of blues, beneath which a lump moved. A small lump.

Now, Chip wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting from the bedroom of a sick king, but it had involved more…sickness. The side tables were clear of tissues and handkerchiefs; there was no musty stench, in fact, the windows were open and fresh air blew into the room. And the lump beneath the bedcovers…

“Your majesty?” Chip’s uncertain voice broke the eerie silence. “It’s Chi– I mean, Prince Christopher of Rose.” He stepped forwards. The floorboards moaned in complaint. “I’m here to discuss the alliance.”

No reply. The lump ceased its wriggling, perhaps hoping to create the illusion of deep sleep.

Another step forwards. “I understand this is unorthodox, but truly the subject is important beyond rules.” At his sides, Chip’s fingers tapped restlessly together. He drew in a breath. “To put it bluntly, if this alliance isn’t confirmed, my kingdom is left vulnerable. You may not be aware, but Raft is amassing great power, and if they are given the opportunity, invasion is imminent.”

Beneath the sheets, the King squirmed. Fine. If that wasn’t enough to force his hand, Chip would find another way to get through to this elitist, self-centred bastard. “If Raft takes hold of Rose, they will, for the first time, share a border with the Undersea. I’m sure you can see as well as I that this will provoke a world war. Should Raft and the Undersea go head to head, no one will be free of the consequences. Not me, not you, not even All-Port.”

The movements continued, with the shape that was certainly King Edison making his way towards the head of the bed. Chip remembered Jay’s point about directness.

“This alliance may be the only thing keeping our kingdoms safe!” He blurted out.

Rich blue sheets collapsed like a waterfall as the King sat up. Chip stopped breathing.

A golden-haired boy, not much older than Ollie, blinked at him with bright green eyes. His small frame shook, lower lip trembling as he asked, “Is that true? Is there going to be a war?”

And Chip was nine again, clinging tightly to the hand of his sister as he was told the fate of the Midnight Rose. He’d looked up at Lizzie – though she’d only been twelve – with hope, with the desperate need for an anchor. But she was just as lost as he was, tears welling in her round eyes. He remembered the way Roofus looked at them both, face tight with such agonising pity as he explained the inevitable. King Beau was as good as dead. Arlin, his promised successor, was gone too. With no direct heirs, no close family, the crown’s burden fell on two grief-stricken children. Two kids who barely even understood what it meant to be royal.

Lizzie refused. Her abdication was finalised two weeks later. Her ship left not even a month after they’d lost everything. She was training to be a soldier, to serve her kingdom, to follow after Arlin just as she’d always longed to. It took a long time before Chip stopped blaming her, stopped despising her choice to leave, to leave him.

He moved to the royal suite on his tenth birthday. The room seemed red with blood. He barely slept. And when he did, the nightmares…

Everything had changed so quickly, and he had been so alone. The weight of it all was crushing, even now. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t–

Chip staggered back, knocking some vase or other from a dresser as he clung to it like a lifeline. The kid was still staring at him, hair switching from gold to brown, then back, again and again and again and he was a mirror, and he was Chip, and he wasn’t. And everything was wrong. And there was nothing he could do. And…

His vision was blurry. Was that normal? He couldn’t remember. They were dancing in the ballroom, Arlin twirling Lizzie about like she was a princess, and Chip was chasing them. No matter how fast he ran, how loudly he cried out, they kept moving, farther and farther away. Someone grabbed at his arm, yanking him back. He tried to shove them off, but they were unrelenting. Lizzie and Arlin spun into nothingness. Gone. Gone. Gone.

“Chip!”

Cold water splashed his face, and he sat up with a spluttering start. “Lizzie?”

The figure by the bed winced. Red hair… It took a moment for the world to come into focus. He was in his bedroom, in Edison castle. Jay stood at his side. Darkness lingered behind the drawn curtains, so at least a few hours had passed.

“Jay, I–” he leant back, melting into the pillows. He had to admit, they were frighteningly comfortable. “I don’t remember what happened.”

“You passed out,” she said, matter of factly. Her face was creased with worry, her lips bitten and bleeding. “It was just as the guards came back, actually. They helped us carry you here with, uh, a stern warning.”

“A warning?”

“Well, apparently breaking into the King’s bedchambers doesn’t constitute treason if the actual King of Edison isn’t in there.”

The actual… Chip rushed to sit up. Jay moved to grab his arm, but hesitated.

“That kid,” Chip said slowly, his head spinning again. He took a breath. Then another. “He’s the Prince, isn’t he?”

Jay nodded. “The younger one. Prince Leon.” She sighed, perching herself on the bed. “Garrieth explained it all, once we’d made sure you were doing alright. Apparently, King Edison has been dead for almost half a year.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, and they decided not to tell anyone because… Well, he didn’t explain that part brilliantly. Something about keeping up a reputation or maybe something about alliances? Either way, it seemed stupid.”

A public funeral was held for the Black Rose Court at Daphne Palace only a week after Chip first heard the news. King Beau’s death was shared even before then.

“So who’s been leading all this time? It can’t have been…Leon.” Chip struggled with the name, a lump forming in his throat.

“No, it was his older brother, Prince Felix. But he is away on business in All-Port, a meeting arranged before his father’s death. It apparently couldn’t be cancelled for the sake of ‘appearances’, or some such thing.” Jay smoothed the bedsheets with her hand. “The plan was to sign the documents in advance, then feign illness when you arrived and simply have you sign them alone. Garrieth was in charge of the whole thing.”

This wasn’t surprising. And, Chip thought, the plan could probably still work. It would have to.

Rubbing his face with his hands, he exhaled all the doom and gloom he’d gathered. He was grateful for Jay, he truly was, but really he needed his sister. Lizzie would be able to handle this all with no problem. Sometimes he wondered if she would’ve made a better monarch than him… But this wasn’t the time.

“We’ll have to go ahead with it then,” he said, feeling utterly exhausted.

Jay turned in surprise. “We will?”

“Like I said, the alliance is vitally important. As long as the papers are signed, the rest barely matters.” He sighed. “We can only hope Felix makes a better King than his father.”

“And then what?”

Chip raised a brow. Surely it was obvious. “Then we go home.”

The words melted into Jay’s skin, and she shivered. Her eyes became distant, staring off into some far away realm. “Home,” she repeated, almost like a question.

“Back to Rose,” Chip clarified. “Likely in a few days, or sooner if possible. I don’t like leaving Rolin in charge, and I’m sure Abby would be glad to see you again.” Plus there would be the coronation in just over a week, but he was trying not to think about that. Parties and royal visits he could just about handle, but to have everyone in the kingdom watch as his fate was finalised… Let’s just say, he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Jay rose from the bed, and Chip was snapped back to reality.

“Are you alright?” She’d been acting funny the whole time, but he (rather selfishly) had imagined she was just worried about him. Now, it seemed there was something else at play. Not for the first time in the past few days, he regretted not getting close with Jay the moment she arrived. Perhaps then she would’ve divulged what was bothering her.

As it was, she gave a hurried nod. “I have to… I have to go.”

Chip’s brows drew together in concern. “Okay. Well, let me know when you’re back, I want to talk with you about something.” A beat of silence. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

She was already at the door, and didn’t look back as she mumbled, “I don’t know.”

Then she was gone. Chip lay back in his bed, folding his arms over the covers and sighing. It had been a rough day. A rough week, actually. But maybe things were looking up. He’d done the first confrontation, now there was only one last thing to resolve.

It was a shame, really, that Gillion didn’t come to see him. It gave Chip the perfect excuse to ignore his promise. The next morning, he would wake and speak to Garrieth, maybe even Gill if he was feeling particularly remorseful. For now, the past week of sleepless nights finally caught up with him, and he drifted into a well-needed slumber.

And if he dreamed of crowns and storms? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Chapter Text

It was late. Perhaps too late, Jay worried as she took an electrified carriage down to the docks. Though the high-speed travel did not suit her, and she loathed even regular carriages, there was no other way to arrive in time. Dominic had said the ship left at eleven o’clock. The clock in Chip’s room warned she had twenty minutes.

She realised Chip likely thought she was mad for running out, but frankly she’d only known the man for a month and he’d done so much weirder shit than that. Like, for example, deciding that he’d resolve all his problems by being quietly (or sometimes loudly) angry about them, rather than actually doing anything. But this wasn’t the time to think about Chip. Or maybe it was. The Prince had let her in, after all. Had given her a home when he had every right to deny one. Was she a bad person if she left that behind for a man she’d known not even ten days?

And Gillion… Could she leave him, not knowing whether Chip would stay true to his word and apologise? Gods, how had she found the most emotionally constipated boys to befriend?

The carriage came to a rattling halt. This time, Jay knew to brace herself and successfully avoided being flung into the wall. Cold evening air bit her cheeks as she shoved open the door and entered the night.

She found Dominic by the water.

“Jay!” he exclaimed, face lighting up like the moon above and extending his hands to clasp hers. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming, but I knew you wouldn’t make a decision without at least saying goodbye. And you’re here!” His joyful eyes searched her face and seemed concerned with what they saw. “Are you alright?”

“I–” The word caught in her throat.

A single lamp lit the two of them, specks of dust floating through its glow like moths. The sea behind them lapped gently at the waiting ship. None of it could distract from the slow, excruciating fall of Dominic’s smile. Though descriptions of heartbreak had always seemed hyperbolic, Jay felt hers crack anew. There were few people who could claim that reaction. Dominic… It was a surprise. To mean so much to her after a week or so was nothing short of miraculous. And yet…

His voice was hushed, as if saying it quietly would make it less real. “You’re not coming with me, are you?”

Jay swallowed the fire in her throat, feeling it burn at the pit of her stomach. Call it what you will – regret, guilt, embarrassment – she felt it all the same. Her skirts flapped in the light wind. She shook her head in confirmation. “I’m not.”

If Dominic’s disappointment worsened, he hid it well. He regained his usual contentment, though his smile was tight and reserved. Looking down at their entwined hands, he asked, “What convinced you to stay? Did you uh– did you speak with his highness of Rose about the General’s threat?”

“No. He still doesn’t know.”

“Then you’ve determined to resolve the issues between the Prince and the Champion?”

When Jay once again shook her head, he looked understandably baffled. “I think they could work it out on their own, given enough time.” She sighed. “The only person who’s convinced me to stay, the only person I would ever make such a decision for is myself. Dominic, I’m sick of running from my problems. I ran from my family, from my home, and promised to do something with my life. To…at least live it. And I thought I was, but now I’m wondering if I was just waiting for a reason to leave. Maybe it sounds stupid, but I think I would’ve tried to run even if the General hadn’t threatened me. But I owe it to myself, and the boys to some extent, to try. Running now would be to give it all up. I just– I can’t.”

He looked up at her with those big hazel eyes. Curiosity sparkled within them.

Biting her lip, Jay held his hands to her chest. “I can feel it in my heart. I have to stay.” Gillion might’ve called it destiny.

“And I have to go,” he said, not quite defeated but certainly deflated.

From the ship, a call for the final passengers was made. Dominic glanced away at the gangplank, and when he turned back his eyes were crystalline with tears. He pressed a quick kiss to Jay’s knuckles, clearly intending it to be the parting gesture, but she refused to end things so depressingly. She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly, sweetly, conclusively. When they separated, he was smiling again.

“I’ll never forget you, Jay Ferin.”

Said to the wind, as he rushed away: “Nor I you.”

Dominic boarded the ship, leaving behind the life he never wanted and journeying to lands beyond imagination. He would be happy, she thought. Soon enough he’d find another to share his adventures with. Maybe he would remember her. Or maybe she’d fade into distant memory, a flickering candle drowned out by the world’s warm fire. Either way, she felt certain that Dominic Vespertine would have no trouble finding his home.

And Jay? She returned to her own. After all, there was still much work to be done.

————

Signing the alliance confirmation turned out to be rather anticlimactic, after all that fuss. Chip and Garrieth met the following morning, when the Prince was well-rested enough to think clearly. Honestly, if he’d been sleeping properly the past week, bursting into the King’s bedchambers wouldn’t have sounded like such a good plan. But that was yesterday. Now, Chip scribbled his signature on the document Garrieth provided, just below that of the true King of Edison: Felix.

“Well, I suppose that’s that,” declared the butler once the deed was done.

Chip nodded absentmindedly. One less issue to worry about, he supposed. But there were many more, some more appealing than others. Setting down the quill, he remembered something John said a few days back – or possibly just the day before, everything was blurring together. Anyhow, John had mentioned Ollie wanting to spend time with Chip…and Leon seemed awfully lonely…

Like all of Chip’s great plans, the idea fell into place as swiftly and indelicately as a boulder crashing into the sea. A mere hour later, he was traipsing through Upper Edison followed by two pre-teen boys, a mother duck leading her ducklings.

“I had no idea there was an ice cream parlour so close to the castle!” Leon exclaimed, crunching the last bites of waffle cone.

The young Prince was excited by every shop they passed, and seemed determined to try all the food he could. In the short while they’d been together, he and Ollie had become instant friends, despite the few years between them. It was heartwarming to watch. Chip knew all too well how it felt to be swamped by responsibility at a young age. Any relief he could offer brought him comfort.

Ollie flailed about his wooden sword, which he’d refused to leave without. Apparently spending time with royalty, and the few lighthearted combat lessons from John had instilled him with a sense of heroism. “And it was run by a knight!”

“I don’t think Mr Marlow was a knight, buddy,” laughed Chip.

“He looked awfully like one. Big muscles, scary eyebrows and a battle scar! Definitely a knight.” Before Chip could splutter a laugh at Ollie’s outlined knight requirements, the kid paused his sword swinging, a pensive look on his face. “I think I’d like to be a knight.”

And Chip could almost see it. The late summer sun beaming down on Ollie, whose mousy hair was tucked behind his pointed ears. Sword raised, left hand dramatically upon his hip, all the kid needed was some armour (and a few more years of life) and the dream wasn’t unreasonable. John wouldn’t mind training him, and maybe even Lizzie could provide some tutelage. Then on Ollie’s eighteenth birthday, Chip would give him a shining blade and the title: Sir Oliver of Rose. He smiled at the thought.

What had Chip wanted at Ollie’s age? It would’ve been three years since he’d been named the heir. He’d probably just wanted his family back. But this wasn’t the time to think about that.

“If I were really a king, I could knight you,” Leon mused. He nodded in solemn thought. “Maybe one day I will.”

“Wouldn't that be something!” Face glowing in awe and excitement, Ollie rushed up ahead towards the palace, thrusting his sword into a pristine bush. Leaves scattered in the breeze.

Chip let his eyes flutter shut, smiling at the continued babbling. Warm rays of light held his face like comforting hands; the calm street was filled with the wind’s gentle breaths, the sky's beaming grin. Peaceful. The word hadn't been applicable in weeks, maybe even months. He found himself wishing the moment could last forever. Hoping the peace would follow him back to Rose in the coming days.

Leon's quiet voice came as a not unwelcome interruption. “Could we go out like this again tomorrow?”

There was recognisable hope in the question. Chip had felt something like it back in his youth, tentatively asking if he could visit Whitethorne village more often, or if Lizzie could stay a few days longer. As much as he hated to dampen that hope, like others had before him, the answer could only be one thing.

“No, I'm afraid.” He'd already arranged for them to leave the following day, and conveyed this apologetically. Leon's face fell. Chip couldn't stand it. “But I'm only a day's travel away. If you ever need anything or want someone to talk to, you're welcome to write to me or Ollie.” This seemed to brighten both boys’ moods.

The two skipped happily into the palace together, chatting about how often they would write, settling on every two days. Behind them, the Prince followed, silhouetted by afternoon sunlight.

Before the boys could run off to the training hall to play knights again, Chip took Leon aside (Ollie seemed content fighting a glorious battle with a wall).

“Listen.” Memories of disaster handled alone by a younger him flooded into Chip's mind as he rested a hand on the boy-prince’s shoulder. “Alliance notwithstanding, if you need a friend, just call for me.”

Leon nodded, young eyes wide. He looked up at Chip like he was a god walking the earth and, not privy to the angelic lighting, the Prince felt his stomach twist. Was he a role model? What a terrifying thought. He hoped from the bottom of his heart Leon didn’t follow in his footsteps. If the world contained one less selfish, lonely bastard, it would be a better place. Perhaps, then, Chip wasn’t qualified for giving these kids advice… But it was too late. Leon and Ollie beamed brightly then rushed inside. Chip followed, shaking his head, not quite sure who the gesture was directed towards.

The halls of Edison Castle echoed with the excitable shouts of kids playing. A sound Chip hadn’t heard in a long while.

Heading to his bedroom, he rubbed at his face. They were returning to Rose early the next morning, and he couldn’t help but feel the time away had been wasted. Most of it he’d spent sulking around like an angsty teenager (which wasn’t an inaccurate description). All the important things had happened in pretty short succession.

If Beau or even Arlin had been in charge, they would’ve sorted the alliance on the first day and never needed to bother with fallings out.

He sighed and stopped before entering his room. Technically, there were things to be packed: clothes, toiletries, the shit John pestered him about in the days before they first left. But it sounded like lonely work, and he’d spent too much of this trip alone.

When he sauntered into the drawing room, he was greeted with a cushion to the face.

“Oh my gods, Chip!” Jay exclaimed, rushing over and attempting to disguise her giggles. “Are you okay?” Behind her, Leon and Ollie burst into a chorus of laughter.

He smiled, and his raised, pointing finger only offered a mock telling off. When the excitement had worn off and the boys returned to their play fighting, Jay’s brow furrowed. She must’ve noticed the melancholy in Chip’s eyes.

In a quieter voice this time, she repeated, “Are you okay?” As she placed a hand on his shoulder, Chip offered a weak thumbs up.

“I’m fine. Guess I’m just ready to go home.”

She nodded, understandingly. “Me too.”

Her face scrunched in indecipherable emotion, and for a moment Chip thought she was going to start crying. Then she did something even more surprising. She hugged him. Warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, and his eyes widened. She rested her chin on his shoulder, like the action was natural, easy. Hands hovering awkwardly over Jay’s back, Chip couldn’t recall the last time he’d been hugged. Lizzie had halted all affection years ago, and she was never around anyway. John, Abby, Julian: they were all his employees, technically. Embracing seemed beyond their relationship. But Jay…he employed her too, but there was something different. Something in their chests, beating in synchrony, called out to each other. They were the same. If he hadn’t known it before, he knew now.

When she released him, her eyes narrowed. “Have you spoken to Gill yet?”

“Gill?” he asked, having never heard the nickname. He raised a brow, and Jay rolled her eyes.

“Answer the question.”

“I haven’t really had the chance yet.” A slight warping of the truth, but it wasn’t far off reality. Chip hadn’t had the chance, largely because he kept finding excuses to avoid the interaction. Apologies weren’t exactly his strong suit.

“Bullshit.” Jay grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the door.

“What are you doing?” He tried to free himself to no avail, laughing in both amusement and confusion. “Are you gonna force me to talk to him, or something.”

“Yep.”

He sighed, supposing he had promised. “Fine. Lead the way, then.”

————

Gillion was lost. Well, technically he knew exactly where he was – hiding in an alcove along the hallway where his lonely bedroom waited – but there was a difference between knowing where he was and knowing where he should be.

According to Niklaus, according to his destiny, this was where he belonged, for the time being. This was his way to fulfil the prophecy. This was his fate. So why did everything feel wrong?

He’d done it all right. Or at least he thought he had. He’d reshaped himself to fit into this strange and unfamiliar world, but even that wasn’t enough. Each time he thought he was getting closer to winning the Prince over, he was discarded again. For once, yesterday, he’d been included in the plotting, the plans for Rose’s future. But he was alone, forgotten, once more.

In his temporary bedroom, Pretzel waited for him, but he couldn’t bear to face her. Couldn’t bear to tell the only reminder of his sister that he’d failed yet again. It seemed an endless cycle. He tried so hard, then fell even harder. Perhaps the Elders were right about him. How could a Champion fail so many times? How could he have been chosen? He was worthless.

And now he'd resorted to hiding, knees bundled to his chest, like he'd done back in the Undersea. Who was he hiding from? The world, his own feelings, but especially the owner of that voice.

“Gillion?” A loud sigh followed the call. “Jay, I don't think he's around here.”

“Well he wasn't in his room, and he's got to be somewhere.”

“Maybe he's in the dining room?”

As their voices grew quieter, Gillion crept out of his hiding place. The hallway, slightly frightening in its grandeur, was miraculously empty. He headed in the opposite direction of the dining hall, finding a wide balcony at the corridor's end. It too was enormously grand, with the pure white stone carved in elaborate designs along the balustrade – lighting bolts chasing one another through clouded skies. The balcony itself stretched the length of a small room, and Gill made his way to its farthest edge.

He'd been on the surface for just over a month, and still marvelled at the morning sun. Soft yet ethereal light glowed down upon him, warm and comforting. The Undersea was a place of coldness; here, sunlight ruled.

Resting his elbows on the balustrade, Gillion stood and breathed. Things were quiet. He knew quiet. They were old friends. Silence had followed him throughout the palace in the Undersea, like an Elder in itself, watching over him and ensuring he kept up his posture and never crumbled. Silence was oppressive, breathing down his neck, never giving him a moment alone. But quiet… Quiet was gentle, forgiving. It held him while he waited for his wounds to heal. It reminded him of Edyn.

Warmth and quietude…both were in short supply in the Undersea, but here they seemed endless. Though, he would’ve preferred to encounter less of the latter. Even now he couldn’t escape loneliness.

Just as his eyes fluttered shut, “Gillion?”

He didn’t need to turn around, truthfully he fought against the impulse, but he did anyway. Chip stood in the doorway, dressed in his typical white shirt, this time with the top few buttons undone. Where it was exposed, his pale skin had turned a faint red. A similar colour could be found along the bridge of his nose. Sunburn. Jay had warned him of it, saying it was only a problem to those lacking the common sense to prepare against it. Chip didn’t seem to notice it.

The Prince bit his lip nervously, a habit he must’ve picked up from Jay, and offered a small smile. “I saw the doors were open, and I– Well, I guessed you might be out here,” he explained. “And here you are.”

“Here I am,” Gill repeated.

They’d not spoken properly since the duel, or really ever. It showed.

Chip cleared his throat, crossing the balcony till he reached Gillion’s side. He too leant upon the balustrade and stared out at the horizon, possibly as an excuse to not meet the other’s eyes. Gill didn’t blame him.

When Chip coughed again, Gill guessed the Prince had something to say, and he was quickly proven correct. “Look, I– I’m not great at this shit.” Gillion raised a brow. “Talking to people, I mean. Sure, I can put on the mask of respectability and pretend well enough, but deep down I’m still the pickpocket orphan who was plucked from the streets and made royalty. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Gill snorted. That much was clear.

“Sometimes–” A pause. “Okay, a lot of the time, I end up saying things that hurt people around me. And with the royal status thing looming above me, no one really challenges me on it. Not…physically anyway. Both you and Jay have reminded me I need to be fought on things. So, thank you.” Then Gillion looked over to find Chip watching him, brown eyes catching the sun like amber as they squinted with emotion. “I promise I wasn’t planning on holding you hostage. It was Rolin’s idea, the bastard, and I never would’ve let you become a trophy. But I shouldn’t have hidden it. You should’ve been part of those conversations from the beginning, not finding out by accident. I handled this like a right dickhead.” He sighed, voice sincere. “I’m truly sorry I hurt you, I swear it was never my intention. I’m just…not great at being open with people.”

Quietude returned, this time impatient and stretched out. Gillion swallowed thickly.

“I don’t believe I’m great at that either,” he admitted.

Things were different up here, strange and new and warm. It was a bigger change than he’d anticipated, but perhaps that was a good thing. When he’d first arrived, he’d held himself with pride, confident in his destiny. Now… How could he be sure of anything? The world was much wider than the Elders had taught. But part of him, behind all the fear and uncertainty, was excited to learn about it, to experience everything the Oversea had to offer. And to do it with Jay and Chip.

“Thank you,” he added after the short pause. Chip looked confused. “For the apology. Thank you. And I’m sorry for duelling you.”

Chip shrugged. “No biggie. Frankly, it was cool as fuck, looking back. I mean, all the ice magic, and what was that bone sword!” He laughed as if that very blade hadn’t torn into his shoulder. In remembering it, Gill winced. How had he let anger drive him? But it was done now. And Chip sounded almost…in awe? “You were on fire. Well. You know what I mean.”

Gillion didn’t, but he was getting rather good at inferring. A compliment, he guessed. “You weren’t so bad yourself. You certainly nicked me a little.”

“Pfft. Well, I’ll do a little more than nick you next time. Not,” Chip corrected immediately, “that there’ll be a next time.” Gill nodded his agreement.

For a moment, they basked in the sun, which rose slowly from behind the kingdom. He could almost see the burning yet elegant hand of Aster raising that fiery ball higher and higher, looking down on the world below her. Gillion wondered what she thought of him and his newfound company. Strangely, he didn’t care to come up with an answer.

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable when we return to Rose?” Chip asked. “Like, I don’t know, moving you to a different bedroom or getting you new clothes–”

“I’d like to be included.” The words fell from Gill’s mouth before he could stop to consider them. “More often,” he added as an amendment. “And…it would be nice to have a better view of the sea.”

By the time all the changes were arranged, hope had returned, bright and joyous, to Gillion’s chest. It wasn’t a fresh start, not exactly, but it certainly felt like a new beginning. Perhaps it was foolish to think this way. Perhaps he was allowed to be a fool this once.

A knock sounded against the open doors. “Hi,” Jay said with all the uncertainty that could be expected. “Everything alright over here? John was asking after you both, but I could always come back later…”

“Everything’s fine. We’ll be down shortly,” Chip answered, smiling. “Why don’t you join us? The weather is–”

But Gillion didn’t hear the rest.

Lightning. He couldn’t remember its feeling, but read of the jolting, burning agony. How suddenly it came. How jarring it was. Supposedly, there had been a storm on the day of his birth, the strongest of the year. So powerful its high winds and tendrils of light stretched deep into the Undersea, with a bolt striking a tiny babe, still warm from the womb. He was never sure if he believed it. Even a baby touched by the gods would surely have wept and felt some pain. But it was a sign of his destiny, so it had to be trusted.

Now, he trusted it even less.

A shock of pain, swift and strong as electricity, struck his wrist, travelling through his veins in fiery torment. If it was even close to the sensation of lightning, the stories must have been lies. For Gillion not only wept, but fell to his knees, eyes blurred by tears.

Just as suddenly as it had arrived, the pain vanished.

Gill ignored the concerned questions from Chip and Jay, who, once he’d wiped the water from his eyes, he could see knelt beside him. Instead, he ripped the strip of fabric from his wrist, revealing Niklaus’ mark. Distantly, breathy gasps filled his ears. All he could do was stare down at the crescent moon. Once black, now white as lightning.

It took a while for his ears to stop ringing, for his thoughts to come through in a tidal wave.

He looked over at the two beside him, their faces stricken. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Just as Chip had sworn not to hide things, Gillion’s darkest secret reared its ugly head. And he’d been so hopeful…

It was this that sparked the grim laughter in Gill’s voice when he said, “I have a confession to make.”

Chapter Text

Mortality’s a funny thing. Near all in Mana reaped its rewards and saw punishment in its boundaries. The few who never did, the gods and goddesses watching from above, were entirely other: emotionless as the ebbing tide and raging sun, separate from the world yet ever curious.

Mortals felt. Immortals prevailed. But those who knew the workings of the universe questioned the less than miniscule grey area between those extremes.

If not broken, mortality could always be stretched.

Differing life spans were not unusual, of course, but those which found unnatural length? They were met with startling consequences. Dampened feelings, weakened constitution, uncontrollable power. And, in some cases, a penchant for obsession.

Niklaus had thought of only one thing for centuries and – as he sipped the scarlet bubbling liquor from his glass, not tasting a single drop – his focus, his work, the story he'd followed since before its conception came to a shaky beginning.

For the first time in uncountable years, the smile gracing his perfect face was nothing but genuine.

————

Gillion stared blankly at the open book before him, turning a page every few moments like a machine. After he'd explained everything to Chip and Jay, he felt a burden slip from his shoulders and shatter on the ground. It felt…wrong. Like revealing his struggles made him weak. He left the shattered pieces behind as Jay dragged him away from the balcony.

It seemed Edison Castle was home to a rather extensive library, with automatons waiting to serve – more slender and bejewelled than Alphonze, the helmsman, but still reminiscent of his design for he too was forged in Edison. Jay had set the two of them down at a crystal table and begun ordering the mechanical staff to bring books on relevant topics. Her list of keywords was lengthy, to say the least. By the time they'd carried over everything they could find, several tall stacks of leather bound tomes stood between Gill and Jay. She pulled one from the pile and started to read. He could only copy.

The work was tedious, and all he could focus on was the apathy infecting his soul. It was as if his body, so shocked by the extreme and sudden pain, decided to shut off all feeling to prevent a repeat of it. But this nothingness was stronger than simply physical sensations.

Gill felt numb.

Jay sat frantically flipping through pages and discarding books just as quickly as she opened them, but he seemed encased in a bubble of slowness. Time ebbed and flowed like a transcendent god, simply observing. He wondered how Aster and Lunadeyis could stomach it. Already he was so sick of standing apart – now he had no other choice.

The mark on his wrist nearly glowed in its whiteness. He slammed his arm, wrist down, on the table. He would not witness it.

Double doors pushed open as Chip burst in, out of breath and sweaty. It was a hot day.

“Have you found anything yet?” he asked, rushing to the table and sitting beside Jay, who moved aside a pile of books so Gillion could see. After all, he may as well watch. It seemed all he was good for.

Jay cleared her throat; the books she'd gathered were all coated in similar layers of dust, which shuddered into the air upon being shifted. “Technically, no.” She dragged over a book left open on one double page spread, pointing with a freckled finger to an illustration of a crescent moon. “This says the mark on Gill's wrist – the specific stage of a moon he used – is commonly symbolic of corruption.”

“Well,” Chip said, “that much was kind of obvious.” And Gillion hated to hear it spoken of so lightly. “He doesn't exactly seem like a good guy.”

They – Chip and Jay, that is, for Gillion was resigned to not talk of it – had taken to calling Niklaus Hendrix by pronouns alone, with the italics more than verbalised. It was as if they believed speaking his name would invoke his magic in some way. Gill couldn't be bothered to argue on it.

“That's the other thing.” Jay bit the inside of her cheek. Not for the first time that day, Gillion wondered if he was damned. “I can't find a single mention of his name anywhere. He's not even referred to by any of the titles Gill mentioned…though ‘Desire Daddy’ brought some interesting results. It's like–”

Chip finished, “Like he doesn't exist.”

They stayed with that thought for a moment, and seemed to turn it over in their heads as if rotating meat above an open fire. Gill could have gone mad, he supposed. Had there been no physical evidence of Niklaus’ existence, he imagined they'd settle for that conclusion. It was a lot easier to call someone insane than it was to believe the improbable.

“N I K,” Jay spelled out, eyes darting to the sketch she'd made of Gillion's worst sin. “Presumably a shortening. I searched for ‘Nik’ too, but no reference ever mentioned ‘Hendrix’.”

“Could it be a false name?”

“Why would he give Gillion a false name? He was hunting in his own territory – all the power in that room belonged to him. There was no need for fake names.”

“Then, what? He's never been written about ever? Seems too powerful to have avoided attention this long.”

“Exactly. So maybe he's powerful enough to have removed all reference to him.”

They were back to talking as if Gill wasn't there. He supposed it was difficult to blame them for it – it wasn't as if he gave them much to work with – but it hurt nonetheless.

Eventually, it was settled that they'd resume the research when back in Rose. Gillion said nothing.

While he and Jay rushed off to the library, Chip had spent his day elsewhere, presumably preparing for the upcoming journey back. Said journey, the following morning, was the antithesis to their arrival. All gathered in the ship’s kitchen, with the ambient clanging of pots and pans as Earl taught Ollie some cooking basics. Jay and Chip muttered constantly to one another like confidants. Gillion swirled his glass of orange juice, forming tiny waves and whirlpools, and pretended he had some control over his life.

The sea was similarly apathetic to the royal ship cutting through it. They arrived back in Rose before nightfall.

Abby and Julian greeted them at the dock, joining in the whispered conversation with ease, while John ruffled the excitable Ollie’s hair. Gillion lagged behind, till Jay noticed and linked her arm with his, including him by default but still including him. A momentary smile lifted the corners of his lips.

The smile faltered when they reached Whitethorne Castle and he saw a familiar short figure standing in the doorway. Rolin.

The halfling looked nothing like his daughter, which even after seeing him before Gillion couldn’t help but wonder at. Not just in his pale skin, wrinkled face and greying hair, but also in his mannerisms; he clutched his hands together with shaking nervousness, and yet there was something bitter in his eyes. It was a bitterness Gill was familiar with. Pure ambition. It was unnerving. But, as Rolin scurried down the steps and towards Chip, Gillion watched the glint of power-lust disappear from the advisor’s gaze.

“Your highness,” he greeted, bowing a little, then turning to the others he offered a halfhearted smile before immediately looking away. “We have much to discuss…perhaps we could step inside?”

Gillion let his eyes shut. It seemed he was destined to sit in another library for several hours.

He was, of course, surprised when Chip replied with an abrupt, “No.”

“But, your highness–” Rolin began again, stammering through his words, eyes wide, before he was interrupted.

“Whatever you wish to tell me, you can tell us all.” Chip brushed past the advisor, then glanced back at him with a commanding look. “Only once we're all fed and rested. It's been a long few weeks.”

For a moment, Gillion had forgotten Chip’s change of heart – well, perhaps that was an optimistic description of his apology, but Gill had little else to be optimistic about. As the group walked into the castle, the faint hum of familiarity welcomed them with a gentle tune, and Chip looked back, smiling. He glanced at Rolin, who’d taken his place at the rear of the gathering, and spoke in a lowered voice.

“I hope that’s alright.” Head turning between Gillion and Jay, his eyes looked nervous. “You wanted to be included, so…”

“It’s perfect, Chip. Thank you,” Jay replied, touching a hand to his shoulder. Gillion echoed the sentiment, and from the orb at his waist, Pretzel nodded approvingly.

Suddenly holding a finger up, eyes newly bright and excited, Chip grinned at Gill. “I need to borrow you for a moment. You don't mind, do you, Jay?”

When she agreed that she didn't, Chip grabbed Gillion by the wrist and began pulling him through the castle. They journeyed to the guest quarters upstairs and, much to Gill's confusion, passed his room without a moment's pause. Just as he was about to comment on it, his hand was released, and abruptly he felt like he was missing something. A few flexes of his fingers shook the feeling out and he turned his attention to Chip.

The prince wore a stupid grin. Wide as the ever-flowing sea, alive as blooming flower buds. Gesturing to a door at his right with outstretched arms, he said, rather excitedly, “Ta da!”

“What–” Gillion started to say, raising a brow, but Chip held up a finger to stop him.

“Don't say anything. Just go in!”

Cautiously, Gill approached the door (which, in itself, was nothing particularly interesting) and wrapped his hand around the handle. Chip nodded his head, urging him to continue. There came a satisfying click as the door unlatched, and slowly it creaked open.

Summer evenings were fascinating to Gillion. There was something about the extended sunlight which seemed wrong. Like it broke some unspoken rule. He'd never known the gods to act like that – the Elders had refused to teach of it. Even now, after staying so long on the surface, he marvelled at Aster's mischievous light, which poured through the wide windows, unashamed. Grey clouds were outlined in a ring of ethereal glow, as if they were angels of a sort, and the sun rays bounced off each rippling wave.

The sea.

Gillion stared out at the sea, a deep, warm feeling settling in his stomach. There it was. His home. In that moment, it didn't feel so far away. He could almost touch it.

Tears pricked at his eyes and he couldn't contain his beaming smile.

“Do you like it?”

Gill turned to Chip like he was mad. “It's incredible.”

The prince shrugged in false modesty. “Well, you did say you wanted a room with a sea view.”

A…room. He hadn't noticed, too distracted from the living painting outside, but before him was a lavish bedroom, decorated in deep-sea blue and kelp green and pearly white. Taking a step in, Gillion's smile only widened, his cheeks nearly aching though he hardly cared, when he recognised the distinct style of the Undersea. A tapestry woven of coral and seaweed hung over a bed with a seashell studded frame. Frosted sea glass formed a chandelier above, glittering in the light.

Pretzel, upon spotting a glass tank filled with miniature Undersea houses and a small kelp forest, dove from her ball at Gill's belt and wriggled across the floor towards it.

“I…don't deserve this.”

The words came out before Gillion could stop them. His hand circled his marked wrist, as if citing the reason.

Chip pulled a face, eyes riddled with confusion. “What are you talking about? Of all of us, you definitely deserve a little comfort.”

“This didn't cause you any trouble, did it?”

“Pfft. ‘Course not. This room has been here for longer than I can remember.” Chip tapped the doorframe, smiling at it like they were old friends. “Really, I should've offered it to you sooner, but… Well, it doesn't matter. I take it you approve then?”

There weren’t enough words to express the extent of Gillion’s “Yes,” but Chip seemed to understand.

But… “I wonder why a previous monarch had a room styled like the Undersea,” Gillion thought aloud. He dragged his eyes along the colourful tapestry, which seemed to depict a triton cresting from the sea, long hair flipping dramatically. A far more glamorous arrival than his own.

“I reckon it was Finn’s idea, as a way to welcome the Undersea dignitaries that never showed up. Though, Drey always said it was a far more selfish reason than that.”

Gillion blinked. Turning to face Chip, he found the prince’s demeanour nonchalant, as if the answer had been obvious. A strange feeling like déja vu gurgled in Gill’s belly. “Finn?” It was difficult to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Finn Tidestrider?”

For a moment, it could’ve been a coincidence. Then a familiar spark lit in Chip’s widening eyes: the spark of an accidentally uncovered secret.

Had Jay been there, perhaps she would've told Chip off, or at least drawn another apology from him. They were supposed to be past secrets now—they’d promised. Gillion would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed, but with a life full of disappointments, he now understood the difference between good and bad intentions. Sighing with all the exhaustion rushing through his blood, Gill smiled at the anxious-looking prince.

“You knew him?”

Relief flooded into Chip’s face. “Yeah. Yeah, he was– Let me show you.” And the prince grabbed Gillion’s hand, dragging him back into the corridor. They didn’t stop till they reached a familiar portrait, then turned to face a similar one on the opposite wall; the late King Beau stared just above them, as if disapproving of Chip’s boyish excitement. Gill frowned.

Not noticing the strange tension between fish and painting, Chip gestured to a silhouette in the portrait’s background. This time, Gillion realised, the figures were different – well, three remained largely the same (a stocky form, followed by one with bloodhound-like ears, and a third who was significantly taller). The fourth, however, was entirely new. Instead of curling horns, the silhouette was distinguished by their long flowing hair and rather ridiculous hat. It was the hat which Gillion recognised.

“Finn was Beau’s advisor,” Chip explained, still pointing to the depiction of Gill's grandfather. “It’s funny, cause he’d be deadly serious, then Arlin would come in and complain about some prank Finn had pulled and they’d both laugh their asses off. And there'd be no in between.” He smiled fondly, and Gillion had the uncomfortable realisation that Chip knew his grandfather better than he ever had. “I still don’t understand why he hired Rolin.”

Incredulously, Gill laughed, “He hired Rolin? My grandfather, the prankster?”

“Me and Liz reckon it was part of a big plot that never played out.”

“What do you mean ‘never played out’?”

The moment Gillion asked, he knew he shouldn’t have said anything. Chip grew quiet, clasping his hands together and looking down. “Finn and the rest of the Black Rose Court went missing at sea when I was a kid. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you about him. After talking to Jay about her uncle…”

Gill remembered the day she was teaching him the Common terms for family members, and she’d told him all about her sister and uncle. In turn, he’d spoken of Edyn.

It became apparent then, the two of them staring at the painted silhouettes of their strange trio’s relatives, that the three of them meeting was truly no coincidence. Chip’s adopted father, Arlin; Jay’s uncle, Drey; Gill’s own grandfather. Destiny had brought their families together more than once, perhaps even more than twice. So, as Chip continued with his explanation, Gillion’s gaze flickered between the portrait and the bone white mark on his wrist. Maybe…

“…I’m sorry, Gill. There’s so much I should’ve told you, but–”

“Who’s the other silhouette?”

Gillion’s question cut through Chip’s attempted second apology, leaving the prince blinking in confusion.

“What?”

Gill pointed to the horned figure in the opposite wall’s portrait. “Do you know who this is?”

A minute passed and Chip stared at the silhouette, eyes narrowed. If he was honest, Gillion half expected Chip to claim it was still Finn. Perhaps he was seeing things. Perhaps the day's travel was getting to him. And yet…

“I'm…not exactly sure,” Chip said, scratching his chin. “I mean, I know Beau had an advisor before your grandfather, but I can't remember their name.”

It should’ve been reassuring to learn he wasn’t going mad, but the sinking feeling in his gut distracted from it. Gillion nodded slowly. “Do you know anything about them at all? What happened to them, why Finn took over their role?”

Chip drew his brows together. “I think there was a falling out, but again I don’t really know. No one ever mentioned them around me, that’s for sure.” The absurdity of the questions seemed to settle in then, for he turned to Gill with a curious look. “Why do you ask?”

He hadn’t been sure before. In fact, he was hardly ever sure of anything. But in that moment, Gillion would’ve sworn it on the gods’ names.

“Because that’s Niklaus Hendrix.”

————

Thump. Thump. Two books dropped onto the wooden table, side by side. Jay had aimed for a neat stack, but she supposed that was difficult when throwing volumes from the highest shelf. She clung to the ladder with one hand, tracing leather spines with the other. Even with her new organisation system, it was bloody difficult to track down any books that had the slimmest potential of mentioning Niklaus Hendrix. The ones she did find – the ones she read from front to back, hunched over the table for hours scouring each page line by line – never even came close to referencing him. So, by this point, she'd lost her enthusiasm.

“What is it exactly you're looking for?” Abby asked. Glancing down, Jay wondered how long the halfling had been at the base of the ladder. “You never did say.”

“Uh… Just something I heard about in Edison,” she replied, because they hadn't yet come to a decision on whether they'd tell people. It was Gillion's choice, really, and he'd slipped back into his old passive existence, so she imagined they wouldn't decide for a long while.

“Hmm.”

Jay descended the ladder and stretched her aching muscles. As it turned out, the combination of bad posture and utter stillness wasn't good for her body. Who knew?

She gripped the edge of the sliding ladder, ready to push it along to the next few shelves, but caught herself longing for literally anything to interrupt her search. And if that wasn't a clear sign…

“You know what,” she said, turning to Abby. “I think what I'm really looking for is a break.”

And that's how, a few minutes later, the two found themselves sitting in the kitchen, sipping at what Earl had proudly called ‘the good stuff’. They'd changed into more comfortable clothes – Jay in a loose dandelion yellow shirt and beige trousers, while Abby wore a flowy white dress. Both let their hair down.

After swigging the last of her drink, Abby slammed the glass down on the wooden table, the loud thud signalling Earl over for a refill. The record keeper puffed air out the corner of her mouth. “It's not that I don't really appreciate the boys–”

“Of course not!”

“–I mean, Chip and John are just sweethearts, and Julian…well, you know about me and Julian. But it's so fucking refreshing to have another girl around.”

Earl raised a brow as he set down the fresh drinks.

“Oh,” Abby waved her hand about, a little tipsy by that point, “you're an honourary girl, Earl, but you know what I mean.”

As the chef walked away, shaking his head, Jay couldn't help but giggle. Shit, maybe she was tipsy too, but who really cared. After dedicating so much of her time to fixing other people's problems, she deserved to sit back and be selfish. Besides, she'd just broken up with a guy. Cut a girl some slack.

She swilled around the amber liquid, staring off into the distance. “Yeah, I guess there aren't many others in Chip's bizarre inner circle.”

“It's you, me, General Lafayette – who did not respond well to my offer of girl time – and maybe the Beast Sisters.” Abby counted on her fingers, not even surpassing a full hand (the Beast Sisters counted only as a half finger, for they too were disinterested in Abby's offer, she explained).

It was a relief, honestly, to hear someone else complaining about the general. Still, Jay didn't want to let the subject sit too long. “Maybe if there were more of us, shit would actually get done. Properly.”

“Tell me about it. Chip's decided my father isn't allowed to plan royal events anymore, which is fair enough except that he decided I'd be a much better fit. So now I'm swamped with coronation preparations.”

“How long have you got?”

“A week. Because my stupid dad decided to move the date forward, and the stupid prince didn't dare change it.”

Seven days until Chip was crowned king. Jay shook her head incredulously. If she'd been put in charge of an entire kingdom at nineteen, she doubted it would've gone well. But there were no other options and, if Raft truly were planning a war, Rose needed all the stability they could muster.

The conversation drifted along like a meandering stream with no particular hurry to reach its destination. They trailed through topics of all sorts, bonding over shared experiences with bad fathers and boy problems, till both were slurring their words and their drinking had slowed. Earl had left hours ago, leaving only them and the starlight pouring through the few kitchen windows.

Jay was half-asleep when Abby let out a snorting chuckle.

“What?”

“I was just thinking,” the halfling managed to say, speaking at a snail’s pace.

Snails…why did they move so slow, anyway? Probably their big ass shell things, weighing ‘em down. Jay laughed at the thought of carrying her home on her back, and sure she probably would slow down too. If, that is, she could carry anything in addition to that horrid burden.

Abby repeated, “I was just thinking,” snapping Jay from her own derailed thoughts. “You never did share any Primordial poetry.” Her hand waved floppily, preluding the imminent question. “Come on. What's your favourite?”

“Don't have one.”

Maybe if she was less drunk, less (emotionally and physically) exhausted, Jay would've thought through the next few moments even the tiniest amount. Alas.

“Why not? Y’said they were good.”

“Pfft. They're reallllly shit. Worse than shit.”

Brows furrowing, Abby turned to Jay with nothing but confusion. “Then how come you learned Primordial?”

Jay shrugged. “One of the more random navy lessons.” She yawned, eyes watering.

“Huh.”

“It was real great drinking with you, but I may collapse on this table if I don't go bed right fucking now.” She tapped Abby on the shoulder in a sloppy attempt at affection as she left, then waved, then traipsed through the halls till she finally found her bed. Face first onto the mattress she fell, her brain empty of thoughts.

Only when she woke the following morning did the truth of what she'd admitted sink in.

Seven days till the coronation. Four till General Lafayette's return. Oh gods was she royally fucked.

Chapter Text

“Where’s John?” had been the question on Chip’s mind all morning. He ran about the castle, asking the few staff they could afford to employ and no doubt severely irritating them. But it was important. Or at least, Rolin said it was. The advisor was keen to discuss the latest goings on in Rose, and Chip’s determination to include everyone meant the whole ordeal was vastly more complicated to organise. Again, this was according to Rolin. Chip didn’t understand why they couldn’t just drag everyone into a room and talk, but what did he know? He was only the future king, hardly worth listening to.

So, after finally receiving some useful instructions on how to find the marshal, Chip rushed into the courtyard expecting to pull John away from whatever he was doing and bring him to Rolin for a pre-meeting discussion. Instead, he stopped in the doorway, reverting to old habits.

It was no sunny day. Clouds obscured the typically bright summer sky, but it almost didn’t matter. Gillion looked just as majestic in the solemn greyness. He’d tied his hair into a short ponytail, preventing it from interrupting what seemed to be a spar with Ollie. The boy waved his wooden sword in front of him till it connected with Gill’s own training blade, the knock echoing in the enclosed space. With Ollie’s delighted cheer, Gillion’s face lit up – it was good to see him so happy. It was good to see him included.

Just as Chip turned to leave – he didn’t want to interrupt, and John was clearly not there – Ollie’s small voice called over, excitedly, “Chip!”

Before he knew what was happening, the kid rushed over and wrapped his arms around him. Chip patted Ollie’s head awkwardly, nodding a greeting to Gillion, who set the swords to the side and approached.

“Gillion was teaching me how to be a knight!” Ollie exclaimed, tugging on Chip’s sleeve and pulling him out of the shadows.

“So I can see.”

Gill scratched his head, his smile embarrassed. “I just took over from John, really.” He went on to explain the marshal had left to post a letter to Lizzie via Whitethorne. It must’ve been important, Chip thought, if John hadn’t trusted anyone else with it. Though perhaps he was just being overly cautious. Either way, it meant Chip’s one duty for the morning required delaying.

A choice reared its head. He could either return to Rolin and be given a more productive task – like organising when to start holding court – or…

“Do you know how to fight, Chip?” asked Ollie.

An awkward look passed between the prince and Gillion.

“I'm sure you're much better than me, kid.”

Ollie’s face lit up. “Then you can learn with me! Gillion’s a good teacher, I promise.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Chip began, turning to Gill and hoping the triton would understand how sore of a subject this could turn into. “You’d have to start with the basics all over again, and I…” he trailed off as he noticed a small, unsure smile forming on Gillion’s face.

“It’s no trouble,” he replied, and the matter seemed settled.

A third wooden sword was found and given to the prince, who was grateful for the distraction even if it meant reliving the most strenuous time in his and Gillion's friendship. At least, he thought as he gripped the blade, they were friends now.

There was a lot less in terms of clashing blades than he'd expected. He and Ollie stood opposite to Gill, who directed them in proper footwork and how to step into an attack. Though he'd learned a few things from his one lesson with John, Chip was embarrassed to say he picked up the swordplay slower than the twelve year old. So much so, in fact, that Gillion broke away from the general lesson to adjust Chip's stance more than once.

In one of those more private moments – Ollie being distracted by his enthusiasm – some small conversation could be made.

“I looked through the court registry, going back several decades, but couldn't find any mention of Niklaus,” Chip murmured.

He felt more comfortable using the name now Gill had brightened up. While he'd pretended to avoid it in case the witch could sense it through some magic, truly it had been for the purpose of protecting the triton’s honour. He'd seemed pained all the way through his explanation of the deal, and Chip understood how one could regret working even indirectly alongside an arsehole.

Gill lowered his head, disappointed, and so Chip quickly added, “I did, however, find the absence of certain pages which would've held that information.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means someone ensured no one would know about Niklaus' relationship to the monarchy.”

A relationship Chip was now certain of. Why else would records of the Black Rose Court in the years before Finn's time as advisor be missing? Information like that was never erased by accident. He didn't know how exactly it had been erased, and whether the knowledge could be retrieved, but if it was anything to do with magic, he knew someone who would.

In hushed voices, Chip and Gillion arranged to visit the royal treasury to see the only surviving member of the Black Rose Court, who just so happened to be a librarian of sorts when it came to magical objects.

“Right!” Gill declared, returning to his teacher-voice (he'd gotten into character so easily). “From the top.”

When Chip did the move wrong once more, Gillion's correction was seemingly instinctual. Where gentle nudges had previously been approached cautiously, from both sides, now Gill didn't hesitate before adjusting Chip's arms. The touch startled him at first, Gill's hands being strangely cold and damp. But then the prince turned his head ever so slightly and caught a glimpse of the triton's face: focused yet distant.

With Gillion's eyes trained on Ollie, no doubt to ensure the kid didn't slice his arm open somehow, Chip didn't feel the need to look away all that quickly. His gaze lingered, a small smile passing across his face.

Something sat at the tip of his tongue, some words, some feeling. His brows furrowed trying to place it. Something about how close they stood, how they were finally seeing eye to eye, how…

Emerging from the door Chip had left open, a young member of staff cleared her throat. “Your highness,” she greeted, bowing and waiting for clearance to speak. When it was granted, she continued, “The royal advisor is looking for you. Since the marshal has returned, Rolin wishes to arrange a meeting.”

The woman swiftly departed, leaving the gathered three to cut their training short.

“I suppose you should be going, then.” Gillion stepped away, and the words Chip had been searching for disappeared on the wind.

“As should you,” Chip replied. “I’m true to my word. You will be included, as well as Jay and the marshal.” At Ollie's huff of complaint, the prince added, “And you too, Ollie, someday soon.”

The kid perked up, then, and rushed to tidy away the equipment. Chip glanced at Gill, who seemed pleasantly surprised, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Welcome to the inner circle.”

————

Jay awoke with a terrible headache and the stabbing pain of regret. She lay utterly still, half believing if she didn't move, nothing would ever happen again. Time would freeze, and she could exist in this pocket of it, free of consequences. When she sat up, a familiar urge itched in her skin. One which took a while to shake off.

Fly away, little bird. Fly away. Fly, quickly now, before they catch you.

Dressing was a quick affair, and soon she wandered the corridors with a distinct yet unwanted purpose.

She found Abby in the library. Alone. The halfling made no sign she'd noticed Jay's arrival, continuing to browse the bookshelves with her back to the door. Only when Jay cleared her throat did Abby spare a quick glance back.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, returning to her task. There was something in her tone akin to coldness…not quite at that extreme, however the change was noticeable. Abby was never quiet about her distaste for small talk.

Jay bit her lip. “About what was said last night…”

“What was said last night? I don’t remember discussing anything of import.”

There were three things she could believe: either Abby was being honest; she was allowing the reveal to pass without consequence (which was too good to be true, and Jay hardly considered it as an option for long); or this was a test. Jay was used to tests.

She swallowed her nerves and made her way across the room, till she stood beside the first person to show her comfort here. “When I told you about the navy–”

In an instant, the mood had shifted. Abby turned and placed a hand on Jay's shoulder, her eyes full of kindness, as they had always been. “John was in Raft's navy, once.” She spoke with consideration and carefully chosen words. “I trust him probably more than the prince himself. People can change, and trust has nothing to do with names. You're here now. I trust you. So I promise, your secret will be safe with me.”

Jay sighed in relief.

“But, I reserve the right to tell people if you do anything shifty.”

“That's fair,” Jay laughed.

“And,” Abby continued, uncertainly, which wasn't nerve-wracking at all, “I wanted to ask you something about it, if that's alright?”

“Of course.” It made sense.

“Do you… Do you know why they made you learn Primordial? It's just— Well, it's only spoken in the Undersea, really, and I'm not sure why Raft would want to communicate with them.”

Huh. She hadn't really questioned it before. Hadn't wondered why the lessons started out of nowhere then stopped equally quickly, why no one offered any explanation. But, then again, there were many things she hadn't known. Being a Ferin didn't automatically qualify her to hold all of Raft's secrets in her chest, genetically bound to her very being. It would've been useful if it did, but alas.

“I don't know,” she answered, honestly. “Perhaps it was intended to spark some spy missions in the Undersea, but the idea never took off.”

It seemed the most likely reason, based on her limited knowledge on Raft’s inner workings.

Then her heart stopped, and she was convinced she'd given away something more, something damaging. If Abby found out the truth…

But the halfling merely nodded, unaffected. “That sounds about right.” She shrugged. “Well, thank you. I promise, I won't bring it up again.”

And that was that.

Had Rose not changed her, she might've said it was too easy, might've questioned Abby’s true motives, but Jay Ferin, the book-keeper of Whitethorne Castle, could happily let her stress melt away. She trusted Abby, the first friend she'd made in this strange place. A strange place which she strangely called home.

She and Abby remained in the library, working separately but ever aware of each other and sharing the occasional smile, until one of the notably few members of staff arrived with a message from the prince himself. They were required in the meeting room. Both of them.

On the short walk over, Abby shot Jay a meaningful glance, conveying everything the two felt: appreciation that Chip kept to his word, curiosity at what the meeting would reveal, and – contained only in the smallest crease of a brow – unmistakable dread.

Jay had never been in the infamous meeting room before, and she had several things to say about it. The first was that it, like Chip, utterly shattered her expectations.

In Raft, everything was so utilitarian and bleak; minimalism with a deep emphasis on concrete was truly the military standard, and even in their homes the Ferins never strayed far from it. Moving to Rose had changed many things about Jay, but most notably her expectations for formal spaces. Whitethorne Castle was full of gold and crimson, like something out of a fairytale. Every room she'd stepped foot in had some beauty to it.

Not the meeting room.

First impressions were key, and hers was oh Gods, someone's died in here. The smell was perhaps the most interesting part: musty and dank, like someone made a perfume of mould and dust. Grime coated the windows; cobwebs hung from each corner. Jay's vision trailed the space and her nostrils flared in disgust. Then she locked eyes with Chip, who sat upon a decaying leather chair, and she dropped the expression.

He looked tired. She'd seen him tired before, the exhaustion smeared beneath his eyes, but this was different. Before him lay an array of documents, and the advisor, Rolin, was pacing across the room. Even Gill, markedly more jovial than most people, had a sombreness to his face betraying the moment's severity.

“Hey,” Jay said softly, directing the greeting at anyone willing to reply.

It was John, sitting almost hidden in a back corner, who nodded politely. He too seemed weighed by some knowledge yet to be shared.

Abby was quick to pick up on the tension. She adjusted her glasses and, decidedly not looking at her father, asked, “What's happened? I thought everything was alright.”

“That's because it was, mostly, until mere hours ago.” Head in his hands, Chip had never looked more like a child. “Rolin was just informing us of everything which occurred while we were away. Further floods in the south, a few more complaining nobles–”

“The usual, then.”

Jay was surprised by Abby's relaxed reply. “The usual?”

“Abandon all hopes that Rose is stable, Jay. It's a guarantee of joining the inner circle,” said John, humourlessly.

With a defeated sigh, Chip nodded. “The usual,” he agreed. “And then…” He waved his hand, passing the stage to Rolin.

“This morning, the Council of All-Port finally responded to their coronation invite. Several months after it was sent, but…” The advisor began rambling about manners, until Chip shot him a look. “Either way,” Rolin continued, “their response arrived this morning.” He paused, wetted his lips as if pondering the words, gaze drifting off in search, then steeled himself. “That is to say, they rejected it.”

Jay's brows shot to her hairline. Hers was not the only dramatic reaction. At her side, Abby visibly wilted, bottom lip trembling.

“But they… They can't…”

“They can,” Chip responded, voice devoid of emotion. “And they did. Not so neutral now, I suppose.”

With war on the near horizon, a powerful faction showing any signs of favour or lack thereof was worrying. Jay's hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.

Rolin ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “They disguised it with lies about scheduling issues, but their true meaning is clear.”

For a moment, the room fell silent.

“What can we do?”

Everyone turned to Gillion, who held the appearance of a soldier waiting for instruction. In his big blue eyes, Jay could read how lost he felt. This was out of his wheelhouse and, if she was honest, it was out of hers too. None of her lessons had prepared her for leadership or decision making – that was Ava's job.

Jay gnawed at her lip. It was a bad time to miss her sister, but the feeling settled steadfastly in her stomach, refusing to leave.

“Nothing,” Chip answered bleakly. “We can't do a single thing. If I'd taken more notice of the Raft soldiers in Edison, maybe I would've realised similar methods would be used elsewhere, but I didn't and now here we are. All-Port has made its decision, and we can do nothing.”

Silence returned. It seemed moments of depressing quietude were normal within Rose’s inner circle, a fact which concerned Jay, but not as much as it should've. Her thoughts were preoccupied.

Raft was smart; she more than any knew the tactics they employed, and the dozens of military leaders it took to come up with them. Most, of course, were Ferins, and there was a definite pride in that fact, so much pride that all Ferins were taught the typical strategies of their family.

Jay didn't know the specifics. She couldn't make a plan out of nothing (not yet, at least). But sure could identify the clear signs of a Ferin influence.

An empire drew strength from its colonies, from control. Raft disliked calling itself an empire, but that was the reality – so called ‘allies’ were largely taken over and ruled by a Raft-approved leader. In recent years, Raft had halted its expansion. The only untouched lands were those allied to Rose, or All-Port itself. Taking All-Port would be the easiest, but would involve a shit ton of talks and arrangements.

Faye Ferin was an easy woman to read: pragmatic, sensible, but not without hubris. If the conversation with All-Port was going well, she'd start sending out feelers to other swayable nations, Edison being the first on that list. And if the conversation was going well, that meant it was still happening. No formal alliance was made. Not yet.

“A trip!” Jay blurted out, startling the people around her. Abby raised a brow in confusion. “Like the one to Edison,” Jay elaborated, her words not keeping up with her thoughts. “If All-Port was a confirmed ally, Raft would be directing their full attention to Edison. We still have a chance to wriggle our way in, but we'll have to act fast.”

Chip, once slumped, now sat up straight, nodding along with blooming confidence in his eyes. “That could work.”

“With all due respect, your highness, we don't have the time or resources for another trip,” Rolin said.

The prince gave a tight-lipped smile. “I'm sure we can figure something out. In the meantime,” he clapped his hands together enthusiastically, “Jay, I'll leave you in charge of the letter.”

Her mouth fell agape. “Me?”

“Yes.” Chip offered a more genuine smile, giving an encouraging nod. “It was your idea, after all. Just run it past Rolin once you're done.”

Rolin, it was safe to say, didn't look best pleased about this turn of events. But it wasn't about him, so Jay paid him no mind. Instead, she turned to Gill, who gave her a thumbs up and a wide grin. John looked similarly proud, though also seemed preoccupied with something else she'd have to ask about soon. While she was pondering what that might be, Abby lay a hand on her shoulder.

“Well done,” she whispered, and that was all the approval Jay needed.

These people trusted her – her, a Ferin, of all people! – and a new feeling bloomed in her chest. She couldn't let them down. She wouldn't.

And she didn't. Over the course of the few days before Chip's coronation (the dreaded event he never talked about), she ensured the letter to the Council of All-Port was written, checked, and delivered via the Hatchers’ post office. And it was on the returning journey that she happened upon Chip, Ollie and Gillion sparring in the courtyard. The unbalanced levels of skill aside, they smiled and laughed and joked like old friends, and Jay couldn't help but smile along.

She went back to the courtyard to watch them as often as she could in those last few days – sometimes to hide from the general’s watchful eye, once she’d returned – but mostly just for the sake of being there. It was plain as day Chip used that time with Gill and Ollie as a distraction from the inevitable. Her heart warmed knowing he could find comfort from those around him, and no longer shut himself away. She wondered how long it would last. Forever, hopefully.

————

Chip was eager for any way to avoid thinking about the upcoming event, any way to escape the final lectures from Rolin and his own sister. It was why he dragged Jay and Gill to the treasury just two days before.

The excuse of seeking answers about Niklaus served him well.

Rather frustratingly, the treasury was not kept near Whitethorne Castle, but far inland in the capital: Spiderlily. So, that morning, he, Jay, Gillion, and John piled into a carriage and set off. The journey itself wasn't particularly remarkable—Rose was not a large kingdom, by any means, so only two hours had passed by the time they reached Spiderlily.

They stopped just outside the main city, in front of the imposing treasury building.

Chip stayed quiet until then, hoping that if he didn't speak no one would bring up the following day's inevitability. Only as John helped the three onto the cobbled street did Chip actually pay attention to what the others spoke about.

“I've never seen anything like this,” Gillion admitted, face bright with wonder as he took everything in. His brow furrowed for a moment, eyes locked on a shape in the distance Chip was trying his best to avoid.

Please don’t mention it, please don’t mention it…

Their gaze met, then, and the words seemed to travel between them – from muddy brown to watery blue. Gill didn't mention it.

Unfortunately, Jay was not privy to the private moment and blurted out, “Oh, that's Daphne Palace, isn't it?” She turned to Chip for answers.

Well…he was going to have to tell them at some point.

“Yep,” he said, sighing. “Look, what John said before about Rose being unstable? It’s been true since its very beginning – turns out pirates know next to nothing about ruling a kingdom.” Really, it should’ve been Abby delivering the history lesson. Chip didn’t much like admitting to all the ways his predecessors had failed. “Once the treasure ran low, cuts had to be made. I think it was Beau’s father who lost the palace and retreated to his summer home.”

Jay nodded along. It was likely, Chip guessed, she’d learned all this in school, or some twisted version at least. No doubt Raft used it as proof of their superiority.

Superiority which Chip was increasingly convinced of – as much as he loathed to admit it. Because it was inaccurate to claim there was only one dagger lodged in Rose's struggling heart. There were a great many, so many in fact a part of Chip believed the kingdom had been born with a blade buried deep. Some he knew, and felt great shame for. Others…well, others were the very reason for their trip.

Managing to deflect the rest of Jay's unspoken questions, Chip led the three inside, where he hoped to find at least a few answers.

He'd told Roofus to meet them in the foyer.

It was a space less grand than he'd first imagined in those months before becoming the sole heir. There was no marble, no gold, no crystal chandelier. In fact, the treasury was rather representative of Rose's coffers: depressingly empty. There was an overwhelming sensation that this was somehow the wrong place – that if they were to turn back and walk a little further down the street, they'd stumble upon the true treasury and be far less disappointed.

John stood guard beside the door while Chip, Jay and Gillion approached Rose's treasurer.

In his natural habitat, Roofus appeared younger, the grey hairs in his fur hidden by the dim candlelight. He wore robes of a red so deep it was almost brown, and a pair of laughably small spectacles sat atop his snout. When footsteps echoed throughout the chamber, he lowered the book he’d been reading and a wide smile spread across his face.

“Roofus,” Chip greeted, not sure where they stood after the incident at the ball.

“Your highness.”

Though they stood a few steps behind him, Chip could sense the glance shared between Jay and Gillion. They, of course, had missed the clash, and Chip hadn’t thought to explain it to them. The essence of his bastard ways still remained.

He sucked in a breath. “I–”

“Follow me,” Roofus interrupted, turning and walking away.

Chip pulled a face, arms spread in confusion, then shrugged. He looked at Gill and Jay with a laugh, “I guess we’re following him.”

The crease between Jay’s brows pointed out how it was incredibly irregular for royalty to be bossed around like that, but things were different in Rose. After all, any kingdom founded by pirates was bound to break some rules. No further comments were made as they embarked into the labyrinth that was the treasury.

There were no windows, the deeper they went, merely outlines of where openings had once been – all had been removed after an incident a few hundred years back. Instead, the corridors were lit by almost-melted candles, creating dim spots where the light struggled to reach. Could they afford new candles, or would they have to recycle the melted wax? These were questions Chip imagined Roofus faced in his daily work – questions which always yielded disappointing results.

The prince risked a glance back to his companions, and winced upon noticing their wide eyes and carefully masked expressions. He knew how bad it looked. Unfortunately, the reality was somehow worse.

“In here,” Roofus directed, holding open a door.

His office was far neater than Abby’s, always had been. Books watched quietly from their shelves as the group of four wandered in. Chip smiled when Jay’s gaze turned to the leather-bound volumes. Gillion, on the other hand, was approaching the tidy desk with a slight squint, focused entirely on the scrolls left there.

Roofus cleared his throat. “I pulled the files you asked for, on the members of the Black Rose Court.” He tapped against his watch, almost in time with the ticks. “Now can I ask what they’re for?”

“A…project.”

It was a shitty answer, and everyone knew it. Jay and Gill left Chip to deal with its consequences, beginning their search through the records.

“A project?” The man who’d known Chip since he was nine years old raised a weary brow.

With a sigh, Chip admitted, “Look, it’s complicated, and not really my place to explain. We’re looking for information about a tiefling named Niklaus Hendrix, who we think might have worked with Beau at some point.” Then, because he was stupid, the idea took a moment to process. He let out an embarrassingly loud ‘oh’, adding “You were there in the early days, right? Do you remember anyone by that name?”

Roofus paused for a moment, face scrunched in thought. But, “No,” he answered, with a shake of his head. “Then again, my memory’s not what it used to be. Perhaps in the–”

Jay’s gasp tore the conversation in two.

Within seconds, Chip had dashed to her side. “What? What’s wrong?”

Hands over her mouth, she couldn’t offer a response, so Gillion, who appeared equally in shock, simply raised the scroll. It listed the date of Beau’s coronation – almost thirty years before Chip was born – and the day on which the Black Rose Court had been established. The rest, stretching to the floor, was empty. Only half a decade down, the year Finn and Drey had been appointed, did a signal blot of ink appear. It was not… It should’ve…

Chip turned a particularly worrisome shade of ghost white.

“What does that mean?” Gill asked, his voice quiet. A malachite curtain of hair hid his expression as he leaned over the record.

“It means,” Jay answered, finding her words, “we have our answer. Unless one of Abby’s predecessors was severely ignoring their duties, magic is involved. Someone didn’t want this guy to be remembered.”

But why? What had happened, which side was at fault? Had Niklaus done the deed, or was it Beau to strike that name from all records? Why, why, why? The questions spanned on and on, seemingly never ending. Each time Chip started to believe they were solving the puzzle, more pieces appeared out of nowhere.

One thing was clear, though. The sea witch, the wish doctor, whichever name he wanted to go by, was dangerous. And, with Gillion’s future on the line, Chip wouldn’t rest until he understood it all, wouldn’t stop until his friend was safe. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to the people he cared about ever again.

Pulling the castle’s copy of records from her satchel, Jay turned to the very confused treasurer and they shuffled off to discuss the back-up plan – namely, discovering the source of this magic, for Roofus was no ordinary treasurer (as none in Rose were).

Chip, however, stayed by Gill.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, adding a little more confidence than he felt. “I know we will.” He rested a hand on Gillion’s shoulder, and gave a gentle squeeze.

His reward was a soft smile, utterly contagious. And then Chip was doing it again – noticing things. Like the way Gill’s eyes wrinkled ever so slightly when he smiled, or the barely visible ring of green in his irises. The triton, wherever he moved in the world, seemed to be perfectly framed by light, and it was true even then. A faint halo of candlelight outlined him, like a hero from the stories. Like a god. And if that didn’t inspire confidence, nothing ever would.

“I hope so,” Gill said, almost under his breath, and Chip convinced himself his goosebumps were from the chill in the air.

They joined Jay and Roofus moments later.

“It might take me a few weeks,” Roofus was saying, accepting Jay’s copy of records, “but I think I can manage that. Possibly I’ll even be able to reverse it, but let’s not get our hopes up.”

“In that case, I think we ought to be heading back to Whitethorne,” Chip chimed in.

“Of course, of course. You’ve got a busy day coming up.”

And, oh, death would’ve been a mercy.

Making vague noises of agreement, Chip hurried through the obligatory goodbyes and gestured for his companions to start leaving. The quicker they left, the more likely they were to avoid Roofus’ comments about the following day. The day which would ideally be left unmentioned for at least a few more hours. As Chip moved to leave, though, Roofus caught him by the sleeve.

“Apologies, your highness, but– uh. I wished to speak with you…in private.”

Chip internally cursed himself for forgetting. “Of course.” Turning to Jay and Gillion, he said, “Tell John I’ll be there in a moment.”

They didn’t prod any further, because why would they? Chip had turned a new leaf; he was now a man of honesty, not one of secrets. And sure, they were right. Chip was different. The prince of Rose, however, couldn’t change so quickly. Not when his kingdom was built on deception.

When it was just the prince and his treasurer, something shifted in the air. It wasn’t coldness, per se, but perhaps the mood could be likened to grey clouds – neither light-hearted nor particularly grim. It was, at its core, politics. And politics was a strange thing.

Before his new, kinder self left entirely, however, Chip said, “Roofus, I want to apologise. The way I spoke to you at the ball was uncalled for. You were just looking out for me.”

The treasurer, himself almost beyond softness, waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I know you never meant anything by it. You’re still a kid, after all.”

Those words dug their claws in for a moment, and left something behind even as Chip shrugged them off.

“What was it you wanted to discuss?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to talk in the vault.”

The vault. What a place it was. No amount of time spent within its marble walls could ever make Chip feel comfortable there, though this was by no means his first visit. It, unlike the rest of the treasury, almost rivalled the castle in its grandness. No, there was no excess of gold or jewel-encrusted furniture, but the sheer power of its contents was staggeringly impressive. For, after all, the vault was not what most imagined it might be – a place to store wealth, the safe in which all of Rose’s gold was stored. It was a vault of magic. Rather, of magical objects.

They were displayed in numerous ways: upon shelves, behind glass, atop pedestals. Yet each was undeniably potent. Chip could not sense magic like sorcerers were known to, but even he could smell the difference in the air within that chamber.

Just scanning the space, Chip found his favourite of the collection: an eyeball that glowed purple and seemed to follow the movement of passersby. It was, like everything else in there, incredibly dangerous, but had the unique quality of being utterly hilarious. Even as Roofus led him toward the latest project, Chip cracked a smile.

But this was politics, so humour was irrelevant…mostly. “What do we have this time? If it’s another ring of mind shielding, I swear to the gods Roofus–”

The treasurer chuckled. “I think those are out of fashion now, thank goodness.” It had been shocking to learn how many nobles owned those stupid rings – those explicitly illegal rings. “No, this time it’s something much better.”

“Oh?”

On a lone pedestal in the most shadowy corner sat a squarish object. A music box, Chip thought at first, but it was too small for that. His brow furrowed, and he reached to open it (for it had hinges along one side, like a compact mirror), but Roofus stopped him.

“Don’t! It’s a compass, but I’m not sure what it does yet, so for now…best leave it be.”

Not sure what it does yet… Huh. “How long have you had it?” Usually, Roofus had these things figured out within a week or so.

“Just over a month.”

“Shit!”

Roofus nodded sombrely. “Me and Amber are starting to think it has some sort of cloaking spell over it, one that’s near impenetrable. Whatever it is, it’s more powerful than anything else that’s passed through here.”

“So? What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure yet. I just…wanted you to be aware of it.”

The compass was beautiful, on closer inspection. Hand-crafted, perhaps, with a base of matte, deep purple metal and golden detailing. And… Chip’s eyes widened. Engraved in neat cursive were three letters that haunted his dreams: NIK.

The hum of interest he released was a little higher pitched than he’d intended. “That’s great. If you could keep me updated on anything you learn about it, I’d appreciate it.”

If Roofus found the response at all odd, he didn’t show it. Instead, he offered a smile, and nodded. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chip forced a laugh. “I suppose you will.” That is if I haven’t run away by then.

When he left, his eyes jumped between the empty spots along the shelves, trying to remember what had once been there. It was becoming increasingly difficult, in some cases. But that was the reality of life, wasn’t it? Giving up parts of yourself for the sake of progression, then forgetting what you left behind.

If only he could prove how much he’d sacrificed for his kingdom, his people. If only he could prove that he’d do anything to keep Rose and its spirit alive. Then again, if people knew what he’d done, perhaps they’d hate him even more. The truth was, he wouldn’t blame them.

After all, he dreaded his reign just as much as they did.