Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I," Roman said, "am going to save the kingdom."

That declaration didn't have the effect he intended. No one was in the room but him, Logan, and the silver he was supposed to be polishing. Still, he could have used some ominous thunder or a trumpet fanfare. Just a bit of thunder would do. But the sky stayed resolutely clear. Only a few squeaks punctuated the silence--Logan's feet on the floorboards as he wiped the table.

"I'm going to save the kingdom," Roman repeated.

"Good for you," Logan replied, not looking up from the table. "Be back by dinner."

"I'm serious." He frowned. "Don't you know something has to happen? Someone has to do something!"

Logan sighed. "Something? A brilliant plan for saving the kingdom."

"That's not my plan. My plan is to find the king and kill him."

"Credit for simplicity, I suppose."

"It doesn't need to be complicated." Roman grabbed a few apples from the cupboard and stuffed them into a pack. "The castle is just through the woods. If I hurry, I can make it by nightfall. I can sneak in, challenge the king to a duel, and rid the land of his evil influence."

Logan put down his rag and looked up. "You're actually doing this? I thought you were joking."

"I never joke about justice."

"You're not thinking this through," he said. "We have a whole dining room to clean. You can't drop all your responsibilities to play the hero."

"Justice is my responsibility."

"We have a job. Did you drink spoiled water or something?"

"I drank the water...of justice." Roman sighed. "That one didn't exactly work."

"Correct."

"But our entire village has been under his thumb for too long. I'm tired of the terrible economy, not to mention all the raids. How can everyone just sit back and let him do this?"

Logan shrugged and polished a corner of the table. "He's not evil, you know. It isn't so bad."

"Everyone calls him the Evil King."

"That's just bad PR. It doesn't mean he needs to be killed. That would completely destabilize the government and that economy you're complaining about--"

Roman sighed. "I thought you, of all people, would understand."

Logan finished wiping the table and walked away, keeping his back to Roman. "I don't know what you mean. Only a fool such as yourself could understand this reckless mission."

"All this hurts you too."

"No, it doesn't."

"You're working for people richer than you to pay the bills."

"That's not the king's fault."

"It is!"

"Only tangentially." Logan adjusted his glasses and started laying down the silverware. "You didn't polish this, Roman."

"Who cares about silverware?" he argued.

Logan shrugged. "Probably the people who will be eating from this silverware in a few hours."

"Well, I won't be there to hear the complaints." Roman put the pack on his back and walked toward the door. "You don't have to be there either, you know. You could come."

"I don't want to die, thanks."

"I won't die!" Roman drew himself up. "I'm the best fighter in the village. Have faith in me."

"You don't even have a weapon."

Roman opened his mouth, then closed it. Irritatingly, Logan had made a good point. He looked around and saw the heirloom silver sword over the mantel.

Logan glanced back. "I can tell what you're thinking, and if you steal that, the king won't have to kill you. I will."

Climbing onto the table, Roman reached for the sword and unhooked it.

"And now the table." Logan rubbed his eyes. "I just cleaned that. Roman, please leave before you ruin any more of my hard work."

Roman deftly jumped off the table. "I will. I'll see you when I've vanquished the Evil King and saved all of us. Have fun polishing tables, Logan."

Logan took up the rag and began wiping away Roman's footprints. "Why now?"

"What?"

"Why are you suddenly doing this now?"

"I've wanted to do this for years."

"Well, why now?"

Roman shrugged. "No reason."

Logan sighed. "I highly doubt that."

Roman didn't want to talk about this. "I--it's nothing."

"Did you get in an argument with Janus again?"

"So what if I did?" Roman practiced slashing with his sword. It wobbled and almost cut off a chair leg. "That stuck-up little brat can't tell me what I can and can't do. I'm going to show him and wipe the stupid smirk off his face--"

Logan folded his arms. "Getting in fights with your employer's son is a terrible idea. Then again, that's all you're full of today, isn't it?"

Roman laughed. "Believe it or don't, but I have to go. Goodbye, Logan, it's been fun."

"Is there any way I could talk you out of this?" Logan asked.

"No."

"Well, then." His voice hardened. "Have fun dying, I suppose."

Roman paused. "If you're really so worried, you could come along. Don't tell me you don't have any kind of grudge against the king--"

"Go." Logan tossed the rag on the table and stalked away. "I'm not talking to you about this anymore."

"Logan--"

"Just go."

Roman reached out, but Logan had disappeared into the kitchen. Now Roman stood alone in the dining room with a pack of food and a stolen sword. There really wasn't any turning back. Not that he would turn back. He would prove Janus wrong--just because he got off on the wrong fight and lost a few family members in the raids didn't mean he couldn't save the day. He was a hero. Logan could just deal with it.

He walked out the door, ignoring the small sliver of doubt in his mind.

He had a kingdom to save.

Chapter Text

Despite Logan's very clear instructions, Roman didn't come back for dinner.

He didn't come back that night.

He didn't come back the next morning.

Logan thought the sarcasm was obvious. He didn't actually implore Roman to "have fun dying", but that was clearly what the idiot had done. Logan should have appealed to Roman's primitive intellect: "No. Bad. Stay."

It was all Roman's fault and now he would get eaten by talking bears.

Honestly, it was rather relaxing without Roman. Nobody criticized him, nobody antagonized him, nobody popped up around corners just to see Logan jump, nobody stood on tables or stole swords or decided to save the kingdom.

Not like it was all sunshine and rainbows. Logan had to admit it was rather saddening, in some ways, for Roman to be dead. Roman had friends who would probably miss him. Logan had more chores to do until they found a replacement for Roman. He knew that would take a long time. Every applicant was inevitably scared off by Janus.

The master and mistress were nice people, if rather standoffish. He didn't understand how people like that could have a son like Janus.

When Janus learned where Roman had gone, he attempted to look terrified and distressed. He wasn't a good enough actor for that. His mouth kept quirking in a smile.

The master and mistress actually had been terrified and distressed, if only because Roman had taken their sword.

Logan was exactly the opposite of terrified and distressed--calm and resigned. He always knew Roman's heroic impulses would get him killed. His hubris had finally caught up with him.

He wasn't sad about it, really. It was bound to happen one day. Everyone dies eventually, and the smart thing is to move on with your life. Logan did just that. He slept soundly and did his chores that night, handling Roman's duties with no outward complaint. There was no use dwelling on it. A part of him hoped against hope that Roman would show up in the morning, ready to annoy Logan to death and harvest the eggs from the chicken coop, but the sun rose on an empty road. Maybe it was best for Roman to stay away, even if he survived. The master and mistress would surely arrest him on sight for theft.

That did mean Logan had to go into the chicken coop and take the eggs, which always gave him slashes and bites all over his hands. Something about Roman's sunny demeanor made the chickens trust him. None of them trusted Logan.

When his morning chores were done, he walked back to the room he shared with Roman. The empty bed was still empty, left unmade from the previous morning. Their room had always been too small for comfort, right at the end of the servants' quarters, but today it felt far too large and far too open. Logan picked up a book to try and distract himself.

Then the door swung open, banging into the opposite wall. He only knew one person who didn't knock.

"Janus." Logan didn't turn around. "What do you want."

"Me?" Janus walked to the center of the room, ruffling his too-fancy clothes. "I just wanted to offer my condolences."

"Uh-huh. Thanks." Logan had learned from experience that the best way to deal with Janus was to ignore him and not let him get to you.

"I mean, it's so tragic what happened, really."

"Yes."

"Who would have thought it? Roman. So young."

"You're the same age," Logan muttered.

Janus blinked. "Did I say young? I meant...fun. Roman was always so much...fun."

"Are you done yet?"

"You know, if you feel strongly about this event, I can always be your shoulder to cry on." Janus examined his clean, trim nails. "I know you don't have any others."

Logan let out a breath. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, I would hate to overstay my welcome." Janus smirked. "Farewell, Logan."

"Goodbye."

Janus swooshed his cloak unnecessarily on the way out the door. "By the way, the outhouse is dirty again!"

"I just--" Logan called, but Janus was already out of sight. He sighed. Maybe Roman had done the right thing by leaving. In fact, that's what could have happened--Roman had just skipped town, no slaying kings necessary, and started a new life in some other village. It was a distinct possibility, and Logan felt cheated for worrying. Not that he had worried. That was a simple solution.

But it required Roman to give up, on either his quest for glory or his job. Roman didn't give up.

Logan rubbed his eyes. It didn't matter where Roman went, because Roman was gone.

The outhouse was covered in oatmeal. How said oatmeal had gotten there in the hour since Logan had cleaned it, he couldn't be sure, but he had one cloak-wearing guess.

Logan buckled down and began to scrub.

He should have gone with Roman, if only to avoid Janus.

If Logan had gone with Roman, Roman wouldn't be dead.

But of course, Logan wasn't worried. Roman had made his choice, and none of this--none of it--was Logan's fault.

Chapter Text

Roman woke up to find a talking raccoon stealing his food.

"Shoo!" he said, reaching for his sword before finding it had fallen out of his belt loop. "Get out!"

The raccoon looked up from the apple it was munching on. "Well, that's rude. Sharing is caring." It scrambled away into the bush, taking the apple with it. Roman checked his pouch and found he only had one more, as well as a stick of jerky. His stomach growled.

Roman ate the last apple. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and he'd rather not face the forest on an empty stomach. He was sure something around here was edible.

His back ached from sleeping on the path, but his makeshift shelter of leaves seemed to have kept him safe. Not dry, however--a midnight shower left him soaked to the bone and shivering. He tried to scrub the mud off his tunic but only succeeded in getting it even more embedded. This was wonderful. He would save the day looking like he lived in a pigsty.

Though that was the least of his concerns.

Roman started walking along the path again, shaking his arm to get its feeling back. He didn't know where he was. Every tree looked the same--mangled and foreboding. Once in a while he saw an animal, either alive or dead, but none gave him any glances and he didn't need any more trouble. This forest was huge. Had he taken the wrong path? There was a split back there, a few hours in. He'd taken the one he thought would get him to the castle, but there was no sign of any castle. Was he just walking really slow?

Entirely possible. Roman had always been in good shape, but his feet ached from the extended exercise. He had cuts all over his arms and legs from brambles and tripping over roots. The latter happened more often than he wanted to admit.

Some hero, couldn't even fight a stupid forest.

Well, there was only one way forward. The path had to lead somewhere...right?

Roman walked faster, the blisters on his heels digging into his sandals. What would a hero do? Keep walking.

What would Logan do? Turn around.

What would Janus do? Janus wouldn't be here. Actually, Logan wouldn't be here, either. Only Roman was brave enough to do this.

He almost heard Logan's response. "There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and you're using it to catapult yourself over to insanity."

Logan. He'd never understand this kind of thing. He'd never be caught in a forest.

What would Patton do? Roman thought Patton, his only real friend, would probably have given his other apple to that raccoon and struck up a conversation.

Actually...that wasn't a half-bad idea.

Roman reached into his pack and pulled out the stick of terrible jerky, placing it on the path. He sat down, crossed his legs, and waited for about thirty seconds. No animals came.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled. "It's really nice jerky!"

"You're very patient," remarked someone from behind him. He turned to see a small sparrow alighted on a nearby branch. "Move out of the way, kid."

"What?" Roman wasn't used to talking animals, and the strangeness of the deep voice coming from the small beak threw him off.

The sparrow flapped its wings indignantly. "Get out of the way. You're almost sitting on the food."

"Oh." Roman stood up and walked to the edge of the path. The sparrow flew down and pecked at the jerky. "Wow, this is terrible."

"Yeah," Roman admitted.

"The flavor isn't too bad, though." The sparrow swallowed half in one gulp. "I like a good meat snack."

"I thought...sparrows didn't eat meat."

The bird tweeted loudly. "Yeah, and worms don't eat human bones. Welcome to the forest."

Worms ate human bones? Roman made a mental note to stay away from worms.

"So. Thanks for the meal, lackluster though it was." The sparrow burped. "I'll be off."

"Wait!" Roman stepped forward. "I need your help."

"I should have known," it complained. "No such thing as a free lunch. But I'm under no obligation to help you, kid. Bye."

"Please?" Roman didn't like begging, but he needed the sparrow to stay. "I'll give you whatever you want. I just need directions."

"Directions?" The sparrow looked around. "There's only one direction. The path."

"Yeah, but I don't know if this is the right path."

"Do you see another path?"

"No..."

"Then you're on the right path."

Roman pressed his lips together. "What if I'm not?"

"Then I bet you'll find another path eventually." The sparrow flew into the air. "No advice for you."

"I think you technically gave me advice!" Roman called.

"I did?" the sparrow paused. "Oh, shoot...don't tell anyone, okay?"

"I won't," Roman promised.

"Good."

"If..."

"Dammit!"

"If you tell me what's edible in this forest."

"I mean, technically, anything." The sparrow hopped over to a tree. "Like if you want to eat bark, there's bark."

"Something I can eat without dying," Roman added.

"Is bark poisonous?"

"Something a human can eat and be nourished by."

The bird tilted its head. "Eat a lot of wineberries. They look like raspberries but smaller. If you want, kill a deer. That's all I got, kid."

Roman looked at his sword. "I don't think I want to kill a deer."

"Why not?"

"I mean, it didn't do anything...that bad..."

"So you're against killing?"

Roman frowned. "Not unless they deserve it."

"Who's to say who deserves it?" The sparrow rose into the air once more. "Personally, those deer are awful braggarts. I'd kill all of them if I wasn't the size of their hooves."

"I think you gave me advice again!" Roman said with a smile.

"We don't speak of this."

The sparrow winked at Roman and vanished into the trees.

Roman walked along the path in the only direction he could. He tripped on several more roots, found what he thought were wineberries because they didn't kill him when he ate them, and almost dropped his sword in a river. He had always thought of the forest as full of monsters, but the animals weren't too bad. At least the sparrows weren't, and even they were rather masochistic. He didn't know about the worms.

There was only one monster in this kingdom, and it was the only one he needed to slay.

Chapter Text

Logan most certainly hadn't been avoiding Patton.

Okay, maybe he had.

Patton was almost as bad as Roman. It made sense the two were friends--they shared their annoying optimism, silly jokes, and reckless behavior. At least their schemes kept Roman out of Logan's hair for a while, if he was lucky. If he wasn't, Patton decided Logan needed to be "included". Apparenty, Patton thought Logan longed for the company of two ridiculous buffoons, or was saddened by not having any "friends" of his own. Logan didn't need friends. Getting attached to people was a terrible idea.

As shown by Roman. He'd almost gotten used to the idiot. Then he disappeared.

It had been two nights now. Logan had almost convinced himself Roman was gone for good.

Convincing Patton would be another thing entirely. He didn't want it to be his job, but he knew he had to, eventually.

Whenever Logan ran errands in the town, he walked past the bakery where Patton worked. (Roman would comment he didn't really need to take that route, but Roman was false in presuming there was something else going on. He just liked routine, and he liked that route. That was all.) He knew Patton would be inside, and he knew if he went inside--which he never did--Patton would offer him some bread. That was just how Patton was. Patton gave bread to all and sundry, which was a terrible business tactic, but the baker knew firing his overzealous assistant would get too much backlash. Everyone in the town loved Patton.

Only Logan never treated Patton with the utmost kindness. Instead of avoiding him, Patton only got more curious and friendly.

Logan didn't understand people.

How could Patton smile so much? He didn't think he'd ever seen Patton frown, not even when Logan brushed the man off. Despite himself, Logan didn't want to be the first to take that smile.

He glanced at the bakery, resigning himself to the fact he didn't have the courage to tell Patton of Roman's death. Not today.

But as he walked past, Patton burst out the door. "Logan!"

Oh no.

Logan paused and turned around. Patton flew down the stairs and dashed towards Logan. He barely had time to steady himself before Patton hugged him.

The sudden weight almost sent Logan to the ground, and the increase of heat made his cheeks flush. Logan opened his mouth but found nothing to say. Patton squeezed him tighter, his head resting on Logan's shoulder. Everything was too warm. Logan couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him, let alone clung to him like this--like Logan was the only thing keeping Patton upright. They were too close, this was too much right now--Logan shoved Patton away without thinking.

"What was that?" he asked, hating the weakness in his voice.

Patton's eyes widened in sympathy. "Was that too much? I'm so sorry! I just--I assumed you were upset, and I wanted to--comfort you, I guess."

Logan tried to process this information, but his mind never worked the same when Patton was around. "You...believed I was upset?"

"Well, yeah. I just heard about...Roman. You must miss him."

"You're asking if I'm okay?" Logan clarified.

Patton tilted his head. "Of course!"

Logan almost laughed. Here he had been psyching himself up to comfort Patton's distress, only for the man to turn around and do the same.

"So..." Patton shuffled his feet. "I heard rumors, but...do you know what happened?"

Of course. Of course Patton didn't really want to comfort Logan. He just wanted information. Well, Logan was good at providing information.

Logan searched for the best words to explain the situation. "Allegedly, he ran into the forest."

There was a pause. Logan wondered if Patton would cry. Logan didn't know how to handle crying.

"Roman..." Patton giggled. "That's just like Roman."

"Are you upset?" Logan asked. "If you are, I can find someone to comfort you." Patton didn't seem upset, but did he ever?

Patton shook his head. "No, this is good news! I was worried he was hurt, but he's just in the forest!"

"Just in the forest? Patton, the forest is deadly."

"Roman's a strong guy! I know he'll be fine, especially with some help!"

"Some...help?"

Patton beamed. "We're going after him."

Logan looked around, wondering if Patton was referring to someone else. "We? As in, you and I? Why are we going after him?"

"To rescue him, of course!" Patton spun around. "I can take a few days off to find Roman. It shouldn't be too hard. We just need some supplies, and--"

"Patton."

"--and figure out where he's going, which shouldn't be too hard, just ask the last person he talked to--"

"Patton!" Logan stepped forward and cut off Patton's stream of words. "Patton, have you gone insane?

Patton blinked and shook his head. "Lo, I thought you'd want to help Roman! Isn't he your friend?"

Logan bit his lip. Roman was his coworker, of course, but they didn't really have any connections. That didn't explain why the mere mention of Roman's name made Logan's stomach contort. What was this? Guilt? He had nothing to be sorry or sad about. Roman was gone.

But what if he wasn't?

Patton believed he wasn't. Patton, who gave him his famous puppy-dog expression, concern and worry in his deep brown eyes.

Logan sighed in defeat. He was still too weak for this.

He wouldn't join Patton, he told himself. He would just help Patton out.

"You said the last person he talked to?" Logan asked, before realizing his mistake. He couldn't tell Patton about his last words to Roman. He couldn't live with Patton's disappointment at how he let Roman go.

"Yeah?" Patton asked, seemingly clueless about the turmoil he'd caused.

Logan swallowed. "That would be Janus."

Chapter Text

When Roman was little his parents told him stories about the Sand Castle. Apparently constructed on a dare between a pun-loving witch and a grumpy warlock, the Sand Castle towered over the largest town in the valley with staggeringly beautiful spires and wings. After a while, a few layers of stone and wood were constructed around the sand--because even enchanted sand is kind of messy--and it became the home of the first King of the Land.

"The Land" that the king ruled had never been specified, but it was generally agreed everything in the valley was the king's territory. The valley was filled with forests, and clearings made for towns dotted the surface. Beyond the valley were harsh mountains that scraped the clouds. At night they glowed purple and red like dying embers, and in the day their snowy caps sparkled in the sun. Anywhere you looked you could see the mountains. They ringed the kingdom on all sides. People had attempted to see what was behind them, but nobody had ever made it through the range. There were theories, of course--a great ocean, more kingdoms and more people, an endless desert. Some people believed their valley was the only piece of land there was, and that behind the mountains was nothing, a blank void.

When Roman was little, his greatest dream was to see what was back there. As he grew older, though, and his parents fell sick and died in the illness that claimed half their village, and he became an indentured servant just to pay off the family debt, and his only friend became a jaded roommate with no sense of humor--as all that happened, as it so often does, Roman felt his dreams drift away little by little.

Not entirely, however. Roman was still Roman and Roman knew he could be a hero, if someone gave him the chance.

It was only after his argument with Janus that he realized he couldn't wait for someone to give him that chance. He had to make it himself. No longer could Roman listen to the naysayers if he wanted to make a difference.

Making a difference was the biggest goal of his life. He wanted to explore, to lead, to save the kingdom and get the guy--Roman knew from a young age he was very gay indeed--and live happily ever after. He wanted to be seen. As a hero, maybe even as an antihero or a villain if that's what it took, but someone who got the job done.

Unfortunately, his life was set to be years of backbreaking work for an ungrateful master and his snobbish son. After he got released, he'd get his own job, probably still as a servant since he didn't know any real trades. Maybe he'd marry some boy with a large estate to gain a bit more money. Then he'd die, either in one of the many plagues that swept the land or in some animal attack on the outskirts of the forest.

It was a depressing prospect for an ambitious servant.

But Roman was still Roman, and Roman said, screw it.

He would save the entire flipping kingdom and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. He would stop the plagues and stop the bandits and stop the taxation and be a hero. He was a hero, he knew he could be, even though life had dealt him a hand fit only for a servant. He was rolling the dice again.

And any doubt in his mind dwindled away when he stepped out of the forest and first saw the Castle.

It was the biggest structure he'd ever seen. It towered over the entire town, which was itself taller and grander and wider than Roman's home village. The streets stumbled over each other and smashed ends and curled corners and made the layout look like a bowl of cold spaghetti. The roofs were all different sizes, shapes, and colors. From the hill he stood on, Roman saw the people as little dewdrop ants scurrying about, but even from here he heard the noise and smelt the town's smells. He heard the clamor of vendors and the yells of beggars, the clip-clop of horses and carriages and the screams as people shoved each other and pushed each other and squeezed into gaps. It must be a market day. He could smell the baking bread and fresh fruits from here, though they were almost overpowered by the smell of sweat, dirt, and manure. At least his village was smaller and didn't have that many horses doing their business on the cobblestones.

In the center of the town rose the tan spires of the Sand Castle, flying the purple flags of royalty from its tallest peaks. The mountains behind it and the achingly blue sky made it look like something out of a fairy tale. Roman tried to count the windows, or maybe the doors, or the gargoyles or the knobbly bits or the spiraling bits reminding him of ice cream, but every time he focused on something, something else caught his eye.

Roman felt dizzy, and not just because of the smell. This was so big. It was a world he never knew of, just through the woods everyone said were dangerous.

He had actually made it.

Now he just had to make it in.

Chapter Text

If Logan was given only one word to describe Patton, he would choose "radiant."

Another word? "Kind."

A third? "Optimistic."

And if he went through every word he knew like that, one at a time, he would probably find a way to apply every adjective to Patton. He could go through the whole dictionary just talking about Patton. Because Patton was everything in some way or another. Patton was full of words.

Still, if he did that, he didn't think he would ever include the word "scary."

Until now. Now, scary seemed surprisingly applicable.

Patton stood in the doorway of the library, where Janus sat with his cloak pooling around him, paging through an atlas. His hands were on his hips and his legs spread in a confident stance. Nothing about the boy should have been remotely intimidating. His hair was messy and cowlicks poked up above his forehead, his reddish curly hair falling around his face in a too-distracting manner. His freckles and round cheeks and button nose made him look younger than he was. None of it added up--Logan shouldn't get a chill as Patton focused on Janus and narrowed his eyes.

Maybe it was the absence of a smile on his face.

Maybe it was the sheer determination in his eyes--the look of a mother bear defending her cub.

Maybe it was the edge in his voice as he said, "Janus."

Janus looked up. For a second, his eyes filled with apprehension.

"Patton!" He stood up, giving an ingratiating smile with as much substance as his wispy blond hair. "And his boyfriend, too! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I'm not his--" Logan began, but felt acknowledging the jab would do more harm than good. "Hello, Janus."

"We want to talk." Patton walked into the room and Logan trailed behind. He never understood Patton's disregard for social hierarchy. It was very disconcerting how he placed everyone he spoke to on an equal level. Logan saw no difference in Patton's attitude to Janus, a member of a rich household, and Logan, a servant. Sometimes Logan envied Patton's confidence, but only sometimes. Most of the time he thought Patton's attitude would get him arrested. If it weren't for his bubbly personality, he'd probably already have been arrested by someone.

"What about?" Janus asked, moving aside the atlas and letting Patton sit on a couch. Out of everyone in town, Janus seemed the nicest towards Patton. It was hard to be mean to Patton. Not impossible, though. "Nicest" didn't mean "nice." It meant "somewhat more tolerable", and Logan's presence in the conversation would probably increase tensions.

"Patton, I think I will retire." Logan backed towards the door. "I will leave you to your conversation."

"Nonsense!" Janus smiled. "I see no reason why you can't stay. I need someone to put all these books back."

Logan looked at the giant teetering pile of books on Janus's table and repressed a shudder.

"Now, now," Patton said. "Logan's staying, and you need to be nice. No ordering him about until we're done here." He patted the cushion next to Logan, who hesitantly sat next to him. Staring down Janus, he felt nerves bubble in his chest. Usually, his confrontations with Janus were low-stakes. But with Patton, he felt competing urges to look good in the situation and not let Janus hurt Patton. Ugh. Feelings, the bane of his existence.

Patton leaned forward. "I want you to tell me what you said to Roman."

Janus raised an eyebrow. "When, specifically?"

"He left," Patton said. "Logan says you talked to him before he did. Did you upset him?"

"Upset him." Janus' voice was unreadable.

Patton clasped his hands. "Yeah?"

Janus chuckled. "Look, I didn't say anything out of the ordinary. If he got upset, that's his problem. He's always been sensitive."

"Liar."

Both Patton and Janus looked at Logan in surprise. Logan stared back with a carefully constructed blase expression.

"What did you call me?" Janus hissed.

"A liar." Logan sat taller. "You were proud of yourself for driving Roman off. You practically bragged to me about it."

"I recall no such thing."

"You offered me your condolences, and since everything you say is a lie, I read between the lines."

Patton stared Janus down with a frown. "Janus...is this true?"

"None of it." Janus examined his fingernails. "I don't know what this servant is talking about, but he had better stop, or I might be forced to terminate his employment."

Logan couldn't pretend that didn't scare him. He felt a scathing response die in his throat. He needed this job.

Then Patton reached out and squeezed Logan's hand in reassurance. Logan lost all power of speech for a very different reason. Patton's hand was so warm, and he--it was way too much, it wasn't nearly enough--Logan quickly pulled his hand from Patton's even though his mind screamed at him to enjoy the feeling. Patton made a little noise of disappointment, and Logan felt bile rise in his throat. He avoided Patton's gaze. Finally the man turned back to Janus.

"Janus," Patton insisted. "Where did Roman go?"

"I don't know," Janus said.

"Well, where do you think he went?"

Janus sighed and assumed a dramatic pose. "This is all so wearisome, truly. Why can't you leave it alone? It's not my fault he decided to run off and save the kingdom--"

"Save the kingdom?" Patton repeated. "How?"

Logan sighed. "He wants to slay the king."

Patton turned on Logan. "You knew? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Because he didn't want to talk about it. Because just thinking about the conversation opened a pit in his stomach. Because Patton would hate him for doing nothing.

"I thought, without information, you would be less likely to take hasty action."

Patton stared at Logan for a second. Logan wondered if this was it--did Patton hate him? Had he finally managed to dampen his spirits and send him packing? He should have known it would happen eventually. Nobody really liked hanging around with Logan, and eventually his multiple defects drove people from his side. He was too formal, too stiff, too awkward. Not fun enough, nice enough, good enough. Patton had seemed to be different, but logically he was bound to get fed up eventually.

Logan braced himself for disappointment and anger.

Instead, Patton stood up. "Well, if we know the way, what are we waiting for?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Logan tugged at Patton's sleeve. "Please tell me--"

"Logan, Janus?" Patton smiled at them and walked to the door. "Let's find Roman."

Chapter Text

Castles were exceedingly hard to sneak into, much to Roman’s dismay.

It wasn’t fair. In stories, this was always the part where the hero bribed, snuck, or coerced their way in. But the Sand Castle’s doors were closed and locked, guarded by several men with very pointy sticks. Their lanterns glowed with a light stronger than the moon. No way in, no way around.

Who designed this thing, anyway? Didn’t they know you were supposed to include a nice open window or a secret tunnel? There wasn’t even a moat to swim through or a wall to climb. The walls were smooth, the few windows were locked tight, and there was no sign of a secret passage. Just bored guards and a line of prickly thorn bushes.

It was one of these prickly thorn bushes that Roman currently camped in, ignoring the chafing sensation of the branches around his ankles and the scratching of the thorns against his arms. Heroes were not put off by bushes. Heroes defeated such ferocious enemies with one swing of their mighty sword/axe/hammer/shovel.

“If I had a shovel,” Roman whispered to the offending leaves, “you would be so dead.”

The bush did not respond, which Roman took to mean it was sufficiently intimidated.

Maybe the lateness of the night was getting to him.

Beneath him he saw another pair of guards replace the ones he had gotten to know, and a pang of regret hit him. He had been listening to their conversation for almost twenty minutes now, and he was getting really involved in the tale of one guard’s brother’s wife’s pet cat. Now he’d have to rethink his strategic entrance. And he’d never learn whether the cat ever stopped stealing the kid’s potatoes.

The lateness of the night was definitely getting to him.

Roman sighed and settled in more comfortably, or as comfortably as he could given his current perch. He needed a plan. A real plan.

Logan was always the best at plans. He made the battle strategy. Roman did the fighting.

If Logan were here, he’d know what to do.

But he wasn’t. And Roman had promised himself he wouldn’t think about Logan, because every time he did, he felt something inside him hurt. Something deeper than the scratches caused by those thorns.

WWLD? What would Logan do?

Logan, if he was being honest, would leave the situation. He’d have stayed home, in fact. That was just what he did. He didn’t get involved.

But if. If Logan did manage to find himself at the Sand Castle for some strange reason, what would he do?

Roman pictured Logan’s annoyed face. Don’t just march in there blind like an idiot, he heard him say. Take a look around. Gather information about your surroundings. You need to strike smart, not hard. A calculated shot.

Thanks, imaginary Logan.

Roman scanned the front of the Sand Castle, no longer bemoaning its lack of convenient windows but looking for what it did have. It had a tall oak door and smooth stone walls the color of sand. It had a large gold knocker in the center and golden hinges on the side. It had several small windows arranged symmetrically and a clock about thirty feet up. Two guards stood in the center of the stone path, brandishing their spears and their royal insignias.

Roman looked closer. Above the door, there were hooks for some kind of flag. The clock had one pane cracked and chipped. One of the guards’ pants were too tight, and the other was sipping from a flask. A puddle lay at their feet, reflecting the stars.

A plan began to form in Roman’s head.

He shifted forward to take a better look and his arm caught around a particularly prickly branch. Muffling his yell, Roman swatted at it but only managed to cause more pain. He twisted around, trying to pry it from his tunic.

And tilted forward, snapping several branches and falling out of the bush.

Roman’s face became acquainted with the grass. Mud was forced up his nose and into his mouth. For a second he just lay there, feeling more aches and pains than he had ever experienced in his life.

That damnable thorn bush.

At least the guards hadn’t noticed--

“Hey, kid! What’re you doing? You’re not allowed here!”

Roman mentally cursed that bush in every language he knew and some he didn’t. He prayed for a higher power to roast it, then drown it, then set it on fire, then send a meteor to destroy the ashes.

He quickly got to his feet. The guards were stepping toward him, their spears pointed. He could run, but they seemed taller and faster than him. He was barely eighteen. These were well-trained soldiers.

“Okay! I give up!” Roman raised his hands and walked forward. “I surrender. Don’t hurt me.”

The two guards grabbed him roughly by the arms. “Kid, where are your parents?”

“I don’t have any,” he lied, pulling his most piteous face.

“Nice one. Where are they? Who let you be out here?”

“My friend.” Roman let the piteous face slide off, replaced by a smirk. “Jed. He’ll be running off round the corner. Jed! They caught me! Help me out!”

“Nice one,” repeated the guard. “You’re coming with us.”

“What if he’s not lying?” suggested the other guard. “He’s got a sword and everything. Is it really unlikely there’s someone else here?”

The first guard gave her a glare. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Just check it out, Phil. I’ll keep this guy here.”

“Fine!” The guard stomped off around the corner. She kept her hand on Roman’s shoulder until he was out of sight. Then she carefully let go.

“What are you doing?” Roman asked.

“Look, kid, I don’t know what you were doing, but you don’t want to mess with the royal army.” The woman shifted in her armor. “You have ten seconds to run, and I’ll say you made a break for it. I’m doing you a favor. Next time I see you, you won’t be so lucky.”

Roman looked at the darkened face of the guard and felt a swell of gratitude. “I appreciate that. Really.”

“Go!” she ordered. “He’ll be back soon!”

“I can’t,” Roman admitted.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t hurt.”

Then he swung the flat of his sword at her head and she crumpled to the ground, her hand splashing water into the air.

Roman quickly checked her breathing before tucking his sword away and looking up. The door seemed a lot bigger from down here, and the castle, positively gargantuan.

But it was only twenty feet to the hooks.

And after that…

Thanks, Logan, Roman thought to himself as he dug his feet into the hinges and began to climb.

Chapter Text

“This is a terrible idea.”

“You’ve said that twenty times, Lo.”

“I know.” Logan clenched his fist around his pack. “The point still stands.”

“Well, we’re here,” Patton suggested. “We can’t turn back now.”

Logan looked at the dark entrance to the forest. A few skeletal tree limbs waved in the wind. Beyond them was only blackness, crowded with leaves and branches like a barrier. Apart from the rustling of leaves, it was soundless. There was no sign of life anywhere, just an ebony door they needed to open.

“We can very well turn back now.” Logan looked at Patton with his optimistic smile and buoyant tone and wanted to drag him far away from any sort of danger. “In fact, let’s!”

“But we have to save Roman!”

“I know you want to save Roman. Can we please just do it in a less foolhardy manner? Such as finding a path around the forest? Or simply waiting until morning?”

Patton frowned. “We don’t have time!”

“What if we get eaten?” Logan suggested. “Or stabbed? Or starve to death?”

“We have apples and a few sticks, we’ll be fine.”

“You have to be messing with me.”

Patton shrugged and smiled. “I think you’re too cynical, Logan. We’re a dream team, you and me. You’re smart and I’m nice! Not that you’re not nice, I mean, and I guess I’m smart too, but—well, you know what I mean. Together we can handle anything that nasty forest throws at us.”

Logan looked again at Patton’s rosy cheeks, freckles, and dancing blue eyes.

“Can we though?”

“Aww, Logan.” Patton reached for Logan’s hand. “It’s okay if you’re scared.”

“I am not scared!” Logan swept his hand out of Patton’s reach. “I’m simply being cautious. Logically speaking, this is a terrible idea!”

“Logically speaking,” Patton said teasingly, “we’ll get more done if we try than if we just stand here and wait.”

“Get more done and then die!”

“Logan, please.” Patton glanced in the forest. “I’m scared too. I’m terrified. But we need to do this. For Roman.”

“Roman’s your friend,” Logan snapped. “Not mine.”

He immediately regretted that at the look on Patton’s face. It was like he’d just kicked a puppy.

“Well, okay, then.” Patton shrugged sadly. “I guess if you want to leave, you can. I won’t stop you. I just—you’re always good at planning and doing things. Way better than me. I thought you could help here.”

“Patton—”

“It’s okay, Lo. I’ll be fine.” Patton smiled and hoisted his pack, walking forward. For a second his pale tunic almost glowed against the branches. Then he stepped onto the path, turned back, and waved.

Without thinking, Logan waved back.

Something in Patton’s shoulders sunk, and he turned away, walking into the darkness.

A few steps and he was gone.

And Logan could almost picture him walking in that forest alone. Sweet, innocent, adorable Patton, walking until his feet hurt and his shoulders ached from carrying his pack. If he was lucky, he’d get lost, probably mixing up east and west or taking a shortcut off the path. Maybe he’d get injured instead. Logan saw him trip over a root or rock and land on his ankle, yelling in pain. Or he could get someone—something—else’s attention. That would be the worst of all. Patton would be so nice to whatever monster he came across, might even share his food or ask how it was doing. He wouldn’t know what was coming until—

Logan shook his head and slapped himself across the cheek. This needed to stop. Patton was gone and he couldn’t do anything about it.

Great. For all his knowledge and logic, he’d managed to lose the two people who cared about him in less than three days.

Logan truly was a genius.

“If you hurry,” someone said, “you might catch him.”

Logan whirled and saw a familiar figure leaning against a tree. His smirk practically glowed in the moonlight.

“Janus.” Logan’s hands balled into fists. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I’ve just been watching you.” Janus shrugged innocently. “You are my servant, after all. When you illegally vacate the premises to go on some fool’s errand, it’s my obligation to follow you and bring you back home.”

“So take me then.” Logan held out his hands. “I’m not going to fight you on this.”

“Wow, so loyal to your friends, Logan! I’m impressed.” Janus walked forward and patted Logan on the shoulder. “Fear not, I won’t take you back. This is far too interesting to pass up. And who knows? If you run into that forest, I might just return to my parents and say I was tragically too late to save you from yourself, and that they might as well declare you dead. You’ll probably die in there, of course.” He smiled wider, revealing glittering teeth. “But if you don’t, you’re home free, Logan. You can start a whole new life somewhere else. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“What’s your angle?” Logan asked. “What do you gain from this? Why do you want me to go?”

“Oh, Logan.” Janus adopted a pitying, sympathetic look. “It’s because I hate your guts and I’d love to see you disemboweled.” He looked away. “It’s also because this seems an entertaining little mission, and I’d like to come with you.”

“What?”

“Oh, did I not mention that? Apologies.” Janus examined his gloves. Logan finally noticed that he was wearing slightly simpler clothes of dark material. The better to blend into the shadows. “Life, when you win every argument and have all the power, is rather boring, to be perfectly honest. I have sword-fighting lessons and I’m a master of diplomacy, but I can just tell anyone to shut up and they do. Where’s the fun in that? I want to come with you to find that idiot Roman and have a bit of an adventure.”

“What happened to ‘You’ll probably die in there?’” Logan asked. “Do you really want to risk your pretty face getting mangled?”

“You think I’m pretty?” Janus’ eyes widened in mock surprise. “My goodness, Logan. What a compliment. And to answer your most astute question, you have a much higher chance of surviving with me along. Admit it. Plus, even if you idiots do manage to get yourself into deadly trouble—a possibility that grows more prominent by the minute—I’m very adept at getting myself out of trouble. It comes with the territory.”

Logan crossed his arms. “You’re not doing this just to watch us die and/or to betray us to any bandits or ruffians that cross our path, right?”

Janus laughed too loudly. “Of course not! I could never stoop so low! I am an honorable gentleman, Logan.”

“Right.”

Janus was lying. Of course he was. He was just in it to mock them and watch them get eaten by talking raccoons. But Logan had to admit the sleazy snake had good self-preservation skills. If he played his cards right, Janus could probably get them out of some tricky spots. And Logan knew they would need all the help they could get.

“Fine,” Logan said. “You can go help Patton.”

“And you’re staying?” Janus shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no. I could hardly be deprived of your lovely face, Logan!”

“Go help him,” Logan repeated. “I’m leaving. He doesn’t want me around anyway.”

“Like I said.” Janus' face was unreadable in the shadows. “If you hurry, Logan, you could catch him.”

Logan stared at the forest and took a deep breath. Maybe he would die tonight. But maybe he would be able to make a difference for once. Maybe the brains everyone praised him for would actually do their job.

“Come on then,” he said, stepping onto the path. “We’ve got two idiots to save.”

Chapter Text

One minute was all it took for Roman’s elation to die. One minute in which he snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.

Roman had wriggled up the door. This took him fifteen seconds.

He balanced on the hooks and—twenty seconds now—realized the clock was too far up to reach. He’d have to climb the sheer stone wall and hope he didn’t fall. A fall from this height would break at least a few bones.

There was no time for hesitation. Roman stuck his boot into the wall and pulled himself up, jamming the toe of his foot into a narrow crack. His hands grasped tightly to the stone. The wall scraped his knees and pressed against his chest, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Roman inched slightly to the side, holding himself in place as he stretched for another handhold.

Thirty seconds.

A yell sounded from around the corner. “I told you the boy was lying, Michelle!”

The guard was coming back.

Roman snatched for the nearest lump and pulled himself over to it. A foot slipped. His heart skipped a beat as his leg swung under him like a pendulum, threatening to topple him backwards. He frantically kicked for a hold, and miracle of miracles, his foot lodged in a small indent. He paused to catch his breath and glanced up at the clock. It was only two feet from his hands, two feet which might as well have been two miles. There was no way he’d make it up in time.

Forty seconds.

And a guard came barreling around the corner, spurred on by annoyance and confusion. Of course. He’d been tipped off because Michelle hadn’t responded. Michelle was in no condition to respond, crumpled as she was on the stone.

“Michelle!”

Roman pressed himself against the stone and stayed silent. Maybe, if he was lucky, the guard wouldn’t look up.

The guard increased his pace and bent over Michelle. He checked her pulse and breathing before sighing in relief and exasperation. “Who’d have thought a kid could do that?”

Fifty seconds.

Roman ignored the digging of stone into his stomach. He ignored the way his hands trembled and his feet ached. He almost hugged the wall, closing his eyes and breathing shallowly. He was sure the guard would hear his heartbeat.

But the guard only blew a trumpet one, two, three times. Probably a signal. There would be more coming, to check on Michelle and to hunt for Roman. Ones who would look up and see the figure of a young man plastered to the wall above the door.

Roman tried to sneak higher up onto the wall. Maybe if he broke into the clock before anyone else came, he might just make it out alive.

His knee slammed into a particularly hard bit of stone. Pain jolted up Roman’s leg.

And just before the minute was up, Roman made his fatal mistake.

He swore.

The guard looked up and saw Roman, biting his lip to prevent any more sounds from escaping, eyes terrified.

“Kid! What are you doing?”

Roman would have thought it was obvious. He turned from the guard, pushing himself even higher towards the clock. The hands ticked slowly above him, iron across glass. Counting down the time he had left before more guards came.

The guard blew his trumpet again. Five blasts. Short, sharp, sweet, and deadly.

Roman shoved himself up another few inches.

“Kid, come down from there!” the guard called. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Just killed, Roman though ruefully. He didn’t waste his breath by talking back. He just reached for another foothold.

An echoing rhythm grew in Roman’s ears. He risked a glance to the side and saw a whole group of guards striding around the corner. One was riding a horse. Their spears bristled in the moonlight.

Roman’s heart crawled up his throat. He climbed faster.

“Over here!” the guard called, pointing at Roman. The group surrounded him, staring up at Roman.

“Is he—” one asked.

“He’s insane,” another responded. “Or stupid. Maybe both.”

“Come down here, kid!” the first guard yelled. “We won’t hurt you! Just come on down and we can work this out!”

Roman sent the guard a very rude gesture before latching onto a smooth surface. The edge of the clock.

Using all the strength he had left, he dragged himself over the lip of the clock face and crumpled to his knees. There was only a few inches of stone between the clock and open air, but it was enough. Roman grasped one side of the curved rim and pulled himself up, facing the guards below.

They were calling to him. Some were taunting him, calling him names, saying he should get down before he slipped and got a boo-boo. Others cajoled him, pleading with him climb back down. A few waved spears in his direction, and the one on the horse managed to chip at the stones near Roman’s feet. But none had brought long-range weapons. Roman was safe.

As safe as he could be, standing twenty feet off the ground, staring down a group of the king’s guards.

His only option now was to go inside.

Logan would argue the logic of escaping a group of guards by entering their stronghold and seeking out the leader of said guards. Avoiding death by execution or falling from high heights, just to seek out death by messing with an angry evil king. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Roman had gotten this far. He wasn’t about to turn back now.

He raised his sword and smashed his hilt through the glass. The nearest pane shattered at the impact, glass sprinkling around him. Some fell onto his clothes, cutting them into ribbons. His hands were scratched and bleeding. A drop of something fell past his cheek, and Roman sure wasn’t crying right now.

There wasn’t time to address the pain that bloomed over his skin. But coupled with his sores, scrapes, bruises, and aches from climbing, Roman wanted to scream. Every part of him hurt. That damn thorn bush. That damn wall. That damn forest. That damn clock. Why did opposing a tyrannical ruler have to hurt so much?

There was no time to complain. He could do that later, if there was a later.

Roman launched himself through the dark opening and found himself in an unlit room. The only light came from the wavery moon, distorted by the glass of the clock. The hands ticked on, one beginning to cover Roman’s entrance. The gap in the panes looked like a broken tooth, a slice of darkness surrounded by milky cool glass.

Roman barely looked around. The clock-room was empty. The door stood open.

He could still hear the voice outside, though they rang in his head and the words blurred together. He was too tired, too broken, to care what they were saying.

Still, one voice rose above the rest.

“You can’t run forever, kid! You can’t escape us! We’ll find you! The king will find you!”

Roman tightened his grip on his sword and painfully smiled, running through the open door.

The king would find him, huh?

Not if Roman found him first.

Chapter Text

Patton had been ecstatic when Logan caught up with him. He’d been walking slowly and dejectedly, but the moment he saw Logan his face lit up. “You came!” he yelled. The surprise and delight on his face made everything worth it.

Sure, it had dimmed a bit when Janus had waved hello, but he understood Logan’s explanation and seemed at least cordial towards him. Patton seemed more concerned about Logan’s feelings on the matter. He shouldn’t have worried. Logan would gladly work with Janus. He would gladly venture into a dark forest if it meant Patton smiled like that again.

Patton wanted him here. Patton wanted him here. Patton wanted him here.

Logan brought to mind the smile on Patton’s face, the twinkle in his eyes.

This was for Patton. For Roman, of course, but mainly for Patton.

He had to remind himself of that a lot.

Because after about an hour, Logan regretted everything.

This was a terrible idea for so, so many reasons.

The first was Janus. Janus was a jerk. Logan supposed he should have seen this coming, but Janus was absolutely insufferable.

He kept a running commentary on everything that happened. Every time Logan tripped on a root, he’d say, “Watch as the fair dancer Logan demonstrates his tumbling skills.” Every time something roared or squawked in the distance, he’d start musing on the process of being disemboweled. And if Logan dared call him out on it, or simply suggest that silence was of the essence if they didn’t want to be noticed, Janus would smirk and remind him he was still employed. Janus was still in charge of him. Logan had no right to tell him to stop.

Patton did have a right, but seemed to almost enjoy Janus’ chatter. Logan didn’t understand it.

Patton. Patton was the second reason.

Logan felt bad putting Patton on the list, because he was peppy and cheerful and didn’t complain. He was nice to Janus and Logan. He brushed himself off when a root tripped him, and when he heard a strange sound he would snatch Logan’s hand instinctively. Which was…not entirely unpleasant.

Patton’s problem was he didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation.

He tried to eat every berry they saw. He cracked puns at the most inopportune moments. He saw a pair of glowing eyes behind the leaves, and after the initial shock, he tried to talk to the creature. Thankfully the eyes had blinked in confusion and vanished. Logan had to be constantly on guard. Patton was like a toddler who jumped towards any sweet, shiny, or interesting thing he saw. It was exhausting keeping him in line. Especially because Logan’s disapproval made Patton’s face droop into a small, sad frown.

That frown was more painful than the roots.

The roots were the third problem. There were too many. They seemed to slither out of nowhere, twisting so they landed right where Logan would step next. His knees were littered with bruises. A particularly hard fall left a line of blood along Patton’s cheek. Even Janus had fallen a few times, and though he vehemently denied that anything hurt, Logan noticed he was slightly limping.

And it wasn’t just the roots. The paths seemed to twist violently. The trees reached down and slashed their faces, tangled their hair,

Logan’s scientific mind told him he was making it up. The trees were not sentient. It was merely due to their limited visibility that these accidents kept occurring.

Logan’s superstitious side told him they needed to get out.

He was a logical creature. He believed everything had a rational explanation. Roman was different. Roman would call “magic” on this whole situation and come up with some outlandish tale about the embodiment of the forest haunting them after the death of her long-lost love.

Logan didn’t believe magic was involved. He believed everything was simple scientific here.

Still, he knew better than to ignore his impulses. Which told him something was wrong.

He stepped carefully.

Roots still sprouted in his path.

And the path still twisted, doubling back on itself, looping and thinning until he could barely tell where the moon was. This couldn’t be the right direction, could it? They hadn’t run across any other paths, but the directions were confusing and the castle wasn’t this way and he could have sworn he had seen that tree before.

Then the path did the worst thing it possibly could.

It disappeared.

Logan wished he was exaggerating. The steadily smaller path had finally petered into nothing. Ahead of them was a row of impenetrable trees.

Janus blinked. “What.”

Logan hated this stupid forest.

“Wait…what do we do?” Patton looked around. “Can you see the path?”

Logan squinted in the darkness. “No sign of it.”

“We need to turn around.” For the first time, Janus was serious. “This isn’t good. I don’t want to be lost here.”

“Janus?” Patton said.

Logan turned around. And saw that the path behind them had vanished as well.

“Yeah?” Janus looked and blinked. “What.”

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Logan complained. “The path was there a minute ago. We walked on it! This isn’t how forests work!”

“This isn’t a normal forest,” Patton said. “What do we do now? Where should we go?”

“I…I’m not sure.”

“Oh, great job, Logan.” Janus clapped his hands slowly. “Your flawless leadership has gotten us lost.”

“This isn’t my fault!” Logan snapped. “I followed the path until I couldn’t anymore. And we’re not lost. We’re just…currently without directions.”

“Well, should we ask for a map?”

“You’re not helpful.”

“Yes, and you’re doing so much for us, standing there like a duck who’s forgotten how to quack.”

“Guys!” Patton raised his hands. “Let’s not fight. We need a plan.”

“Well, we can either try to go back the way we came or continue onwards.” Logan glanced around. “Due to the twisting nature of the path, I’m not sure I could retrace our steps. Thus, the question falls—which direction do we choose?”

“I dunno, Lo.” Patton snickered. “I think this whole trip is going south.”

Janus chuckled.

Logan groaned.

“I mean, I don’t know the west option. Maybe we should east first.”

Logan wanted to slam his head into a tree. “Patton, we’re lost in a forest at night.”

“Exactly!”

“Do you really think this is the time for puns?”

“Yes,” Patton said seriously.

“I hate you.”

Janus rolled his eyes audibly. Logan didn’t know such a feat was possible, but Janus managed to accomplish it. “Can you two stop flirting and figure out a plan here?”

“Maybe you should figure out a plan,” Logan fired back, trying not to blush.

“I thought you were the smart one.”

“Let’s just…pick a direction. Anything’s better than sitting still.” Logan whirled around and pointed between two trees. “That way.”

“Any reason for that way?” Janus asked.

Logan glared. “Do you have a better plan?”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

Logan grabbed Patton’s arm, who was presumably still trying to figure out a ‘north’ pun. He strode in that direction with more confidence than he felt, hearing Janus’ footsteps behind him, brambles and sticks slashing at his legs. It was uncomfortable, and more than that, it was pointless. They were lost. And Logan knew if the forest had them, they weren’t getting out.

A loud howl sounded in the distance. Patton clutched at Logan’s arm.

“What was that? How close is it? Will it find us?”

And Logan, for once, had no answers to give.

Chapter Text

Roman didn’t know where he was going.

The castle was full of winding hallways and tight staircases. Empty, identical rooms flew open at his touch. He’d like to think he would know the throne room when he saw it, but nothing in this castle was as it seemed. One room was luxurious and draped in ruby-red velvets, the next bare with only a small desk in the corner. Some doors were open, some closed, some locked. Servants bustled through some of them, throwing up their hands when they spotted Roman, who only shoved them to the side and kept running.

He couldn’t make out details. He was running too fast. But he saw gilded chandeliers and fluffy pillows and so many candles. The whole place was bathed in gold.

He saw portraits lining the walls of long-dead kings and queens and princes. Their eyes watched Roman with disapproval.

He kept running.

He didn’t know where he was running. His legs were burning and his feet stung as they hit the stone floor. He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t stop.

He threw open another door. Another, another, another.

Soldiers yelled in the distance. A bell tolled slowly, over and over. More doors opened at his touch. A soldier almost bumped into him, slipping on a bit of carpet and knocking into the wall.

Everyone Roman met seemed sleepy, surprised, helpless. They didn’t expect an invasion tonight. They probably didn’t expect an invasion at all, much less a single servant boy with a sword.

Roman rounded a corner and ran straight through a dead end that wasn’t a dead end, a tapestry that gave in at his approach. Nobody followed him.

Secret passages, huh? This place just got more interesting by the minute.

The hallway beyond was dark and narrow. A few candles flickered in sconces, sending deep shadows across the walls. There were only a few paintings here, and they were different than the stuffy royal portraits in the main hallways. They were nature scenes, of bent and broken trees, of wild tempests wit choppy waves, of starry skies marred by lightning.

Doors still lined the passage. Every one of them was closed and locked. Roman hesitantly knocked on the nearest one and heard no reply.

He began to walk again. He was too tired to run, and he didn’t want to make any noise. He crept along the threadbare carpet, hearing his heartbeat thud in his ears. He got the feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here.

Well, of course he wasn’t supposed to be here! He was infiltrating the evil king’s castle of doom!

Still, this place felt…different.

His footsteps were muffled. Looking down, he realized the carpet was covered in a thick layer of dust. No one had been here for a long time.

Except—except ahead, there were footprints, barely visible in the dim light. They crossed the carpet from one room to another. Both doors were closed.

The footprints were dark. They were recent. Someone had been here. Someone who hadn’t left.

Roman snuck forward and tried the first handle. It opened and he saw a small library. It was empty, bar a single candle snuffed on a nearby table.

Roman turned to the door across. It had a small plaque on its front, but in the dim light he couldn’t pick out the words.

This wasn’t the king’s room. There was no reason to open that door. He needed to leave before someone found him.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to take a quick peek, right?

No! No, he needed to find the king! He needed to…to…

How would he even find the king? He’d been running for twenty minutes through several levels of the castle and was yet to see hide or hair of the king. He could very well run himself to death before he found the king. What was the point of tearing through hallways like a maniac?

Roman dug his heel into his hand and cursed himself. If he’d been a little smarter, he could have asked for directions. Maybe a terrified servant would have pointed the way, especially if he waved his sword around. He didn’t like scaring people, but it was necessary for the greater good, and they surely hated the king as much as he did. They’d love to be freed.

But it was too late for that. Soldiers were probably massing in the castle. He’d lost the element of surprise. The king would already know he was here. He was probably sneaking through some back door right now, escaping scot-free with a grin. Roman growled at the thought.

If only he hadn’t been so stupid, he could be in the king’s bedroom right now.

Now he was stuck in a strange secret passageway. A sitting duck. As soon as someone thought to look behind that tapestry, he was toast.

Roman listened hard. He couldn’t hear that bell. But he knew it was still tolling.

“Wonder not for whom the bell tolls,” he whispered to himself. “It tolls for thee.”

Logan had said that to him once. He didn’t really understand it, but it seemed to apply to Roman’s situation pretty well.

Logan.

Logan would know what to do.

Would Logan care if Roman ended up dy—

No. He wouldn’t think like that. He was strong and brave and good and would save the day. Heroes always won in books. The good guys came out on top.

WWLD? What would Logan do?

Logan would, Roman thought ruefully, have already convinced someone to give him directions.

But if not, he would find someone who could.

Which meant Roman had to find a person.

The nearest person? Well, that would be whoever was behind that door.

Roman looked closer at the door, trying to make out the engraving on the plaque. It was just three letters.

“CPV”.

A shadow flickered over Roman’s feet, and he realized there was light seeping through the crack under the door. Someone was in there, definitely.

No time for hesitation now.

Roman grabbed the knob and wrenched the door open.

It was…a bedroom.

It was a plain bedroom, too. It had a desk with a few books piled on top, and a small bed with a canopy. The stone walls were blank and the floor only had a small black carpet. The only luxuries were in the details—the richness of the black drapery in the bed’s canopy, the intricacy of the candle sconce by the door, and the fat books gleaming in the candlelight.

In the center of the room, a figure whirled at Roman’s approach.

They seemed to have been pacing. Now, they stood stock-still. Their hands clutched tightly at the candle they held. Their feet shifted into a battle stance.

They were about Roman’s age, weren’t they? And it was clear they weren’t a servant, if the rich black cloak they wore was any indication. It was patched with purple silk squares, but it was still fancier than anything Roman could afford.

Roman stepped forward again, looking closely at the person’s face.

They had dark hair that drooped over their eyes. Their skin was pale, almost unnaturally so, and their entire frame was skinny. Their robe was slightly too big and bunched around their shoulders. Their feet were bare.

Despite it all, they were rather cute.

What could Roman say? He was very gay, even in the worst possible situations.

Then he was reminded that gay was not the objective here, because their frozen face shifted slightly from shock to terror. Their eyes widened, their hands shook, and their posture tightened.

For a second, the kid looked terrified.

Then their eyes narrowed, and the fear rushed away. They reached into their pocket and pulled out a gleaming silver knife with a hooked blade.

“Tell me who you are,” they said. Their voice was rough and deep, like sandpaper. They took a step forward and Roman instinctively held out his sword.

“Tell me who you are,” they repeated, “and why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Chapter Text

“This was a terrible idea.”

“We know,” Janus complained, shooting Logan a death glare. “You’ve said that fifty times in the past ten minutes.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s incorrect,” Logan said.

Patton jumped over a root and smiled at him. “Look on the bright side! We’re going to rescue Roman!”

“If we get out of this forest alive, and that’s a very big if.” Logan batted aside a branch. “We don’t even know if this is the right direction, because somebody dropped the compass.”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you drop the compass?”

Patton giggled.

“No!” Logan raised a hand. “Well, maybe, but it wasn’t my fault! Patton bumped into me.”

Patton stopped giggling.

“Oh, look at that!” Janus smirked. “You hurt your boyfriend’s feelings.”

“My feelings aren’t hurt!”

“Patton’s not my boyfriend!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.” Janus waved an arm and walked onwards. “My lips are sealed.”

Logan fell into step with Patton. “Patton,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset!” Patton smiled. “I’m never upset!”

“That’s…I don’t think that’s accurate, Patton. To the best of my knowledge, everyone has both positive and negative emotions. Repressing them isn’t a good strategy.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you have emotions?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “I try my best to ignore them.”

Patton frowned. “But you said—”

“I know what I said, and it doesn’t matter!” Logan snapped. “It’s different with me. Okay?”

Patton flinched and stared at his feet. “Okay,” he said softly. “Sorry.”

Remorse welled up in Logan’s chest, but he didn’t say anything.

Finally Patton looked up. “If I say I have bad emotions sometimes, will you admit that you have emotions too? ‘Cause I have bad emotions sometimes. They’re not very nice and I try to tune them out, but they happen. Like right now, I’m actually really worried we’ll never get out of this forest and a talking lion will eat us and Roman will—Roman will get in trouble and I won’t be there to help.”

Logan stared as Patton’s lip trembled. Then Patton wiped his eyes and straightened, forcing a smile to his face.

“But that won’t happen! ‘Cause you’re here, Lo. You’re the smart one. You’ll get us out of this.”

Logan turned away from Patton, trying to hide the mixture of emotions that welled up inside of him. Trying to understand them and shove them back down, one by one.

Affection. Patton was so…so sweet! He’d admitted his emotions and shared his concerns, but despite being nervous he still risked everything for his friend. He was concerned for Logan’s wellbeing and had apologized when Logan snapped at him, even though it was Logan’s fault. He was absolutely precious.

Logan looked the feeling in the face and pushed it down.

Pride. He was the smart one. Logan was the smart one! He always thought they were annoyed with his common sense, especially since they rarely listened to him, but Patton thought we was smart. Patton had faith that Logan would save the day.

Logan examined pride and silenced it.

Fear. He had to save the day? But they were stuck in a forest with no way out! How was he supposed to save himself, much less Patton and Roman? If he was in charge it would be his fault if they all failed. It would be his fault if they got kidnapped or eaten or stabbed or—or if anything happened at all. He was the smart one? Was he? Was he smart enough for this? What if he let Patton down? Patton would hate him. He’d get them all killed. He couldn’t be in charge.

Logan stuck fear in a deep, deep, place. It fluttered right above his stomach.

Dejection. Of course he was in charge again. Of course he had to save the day. That’s how it always was. People assumed Logan was the best man for the job because he used bigger words. Well, he’d asked for this, he supposed.

Except he hadn’t. Except life had just turned him into this kind of person. He was used to being in charge, of himself or of others. Relying on other people just gave you disappointment in the end. The only person you could rely on was yourself.

Still…it was tiring to always be the smart one.

Logan stared at dejection. It came from a deeper place than the other three, a place he’d rather not visit.

He brushed it aside and left it hanging from the nearest tree.

Ahead of him, Janus tripped and fell into a tiny stream. He swore loudly and jumped out, trying to scrape the mud off his clothes.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It didn’t hurt me. At all.”

Logan glimpsed an angry cut on Janus’s leg. “Sit down and I can wrap your cut. It’s about time for us to rest, anyway.”

Janus looked about to argue, but a branch brushed against his cut and he winced. Patton plopped down at the stream’s edge, and Logan followed. Janus resisted for a few more seconds before sitting down as well.

As Logan cleaned and wrapped Janus’s cut, Patton skipped stones across the tiny stream and sang a lullaby Logan didn’t know.

Look outside our window
Look beyond the trees
See the streams and rivers
That ripple in the breeze

Beyond the trees are people
And a whole town of sand
Beyond the town are mountains
Beyond them, other lands

Look outside our window
Rise above the crowds
Dance among the smoky stars
Float among the clouds

“All done,” Logan told Janus, who shrugged and quickly pulled his cloak over the injury.

“What now?” Patton asked, turning around.

“We should keep moving.” Logan stood up. “Staying in one place for too long might get us some unwanted attention.”

“Unwanted attention?” said a voice.

It wasn’t Janus’. It wasn’t Patton’s. It was earthy and smug and coming from only a few feet away.

“So sad to know I’m not wanted.”

Chapter Text

Roman stared for a second, running through the possibilities. It wasn't like this stranger would recognize his name, but should he really give his information to a random castle guy?

He swept into a bow. "I'm a prince from another land over the mountains, pronouns he/him, here to track down the king and hold him accountable for his actions."

The stranger raised an eyebrow, tilting their knife slightly. "Come on. I'm not stupid."

"You're stupid enough to challenge me," Roman said, filling his voice with bravado he didn't feel. "Do you really think you could win in a fight? I have the upper hand."

They snorted. "You have a sword and I have a knife. We're tied."

"A sword is...longer." Roman stepped forward. "And believe me, I would not hesitate to slay you if you got in my way."

"Do you even know how to use that thing?"

"Yes!" Roman brandished his sword. It almost slipped out of his hands and he quickly grabbed at it. "Totally. Yes."

The person rolled their eyes. "Look, Mr. Prince-From-Another-Land, I'm really annoyed right now. Just tell me who you are. Simply."

Roman sighed. "Do you need to know?"

"I could just kill you without asking," they responded, tossing the knife in the air and catching it deftly by the handle. "If you want to fight without introductions, by all means."

"Okay, okay, no need for that." Roman scratched the back of his neck. "I'm...I'm...well..."

"You're not supposed to be here, clearly. Everyone in the castle knows not to go down this hallway. So you're an intruder--I'm guessing you're pretty-low class? Your shirt is really plain. But that sword is really nice...is it a family heirloom or did you just steal it?"

Roman sputtered with indignation. "My shirt is fine! And I didn't steal this sword."

"Uh-huh." The stranger looked him over one more time. "So...why are you here, then?"

"I fell through a wall."

"What."

"I ran too fast and...fell through the wall? And now I'm in this weird dark hallway." Roman looked around. "Seriously, are you a vampire or something? Why do you even live in a secret passage? Who are you?"

The stranger bit their lip. "Okay, first of all, you're an idiot. Second of all, it doesn't matter who I am. And thirdly, you know that wasn't what I was asking. Why did you open my door? What do you want from me? And how in the world did you even get in this castle?"

Roman shrugged. "I climbed in?"

"You..." They rubbed their eyes, waving the knife in frustration. "It's been like two minutes and I already want to kill you. Please actually answer my questions or I will be forced to give in to my growing murderous urges."

"Fine." Roman didn't really see a point in lying now. "I'm...my name is Roman. He/him. Eighteen. And I came in here because..." He raised his sword. "I want you to lead me to the throne room."

The stranger's face fell. "Oh. Come on."

"You have a problem with that?"

"Well, I really don't want to send you to murder my--the king. That would cause problems, and when you inevitably lose, I don't want to be arrested and executed, thanks."

Roman rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to inevitably lose."

"You're going to inevitably lose."

"I resent that."

"Look." They scratched at the back of their neck. "I could totally kill you right now, but that's a lot of trouble. How about you just run along and leave the castle and/or try this ridiculous coup thing on your own? I'm being nice by letting you go. You should take the offer."

Roman frowned and looked them over. They held their knife with skill, but they were slightly shorter than Roman and far skinnier. Plus, he saw their knees shaking and their other hand twisting into their hair. He could take them. Totally.

Roman stepped forward, raising his sword, planning to sweep them off their feet and point his sword at their neck.

Instead, he found his arm blocked. The stranger's thin arm locked around his elbow, pressing into his skin and locking him in place. His sword's tip fell from their chest to their knee. That hooked knife gleamed silver over his chest.

He was staring into their eyes, and startlingly grey irises stared back, narrowed with contempt.

"Who are you?" Roman blurted out.

"No one of consequence."

"I must know!"

The stranger shoved him away and regained his balance, a smirk bleeding through on his face. "Get used to disappointment."

"Come on!" Roman wobbled to his feet, holding out his sword to steady himself. "Can I at least know your name? Pronouns? Why the heckity heck you're in an empty secret hallway with a knife?"

"He."

"What?"

"He/him." They--he--shrugged slightly. "That's all you're getting, Prince-From-Another-Land."

"Fair enough. At least I run no chance of offending you, dark and stormy night." Roman bowed ostentatiously, smirking up at his face.

"You--" He blinked. "You tried to attack me and you're worried about misgendering me?"

"I have priorities."

"Crazy priorities." He huffed. "Though I guess I wouldn't expect more of a self-sacrificing idiot who broke into the castle to freaking attack the king."

Roman bit his lip. "Maybe...maybe I'm not? Attacking the king, I mean? Maybe I just want to talk to him like a civilized person."

"Uh-huh," the stranger said. "Sure. May I remind you, you have a sword."

"This beautifully manicured sword is to encourage healthy debate."

"Healthy debate between your sword and his chest?"

"You don't know that!"

"I do."

"Look. Fine. You know what? Fine!" Roman waved his hands around in irritation, forgetting he was holding the sword. It almost lopped off his leg before he caught himself. "I'm going. You're clearly not helpful."

The stranger smirked again. "Oh, you're not going anywhere." He sidled to the wall and pulled away a bit of cloth, revealing a row of bells. "It'll only take a minute for the servants to find you as soon as I press this."

Roman swore.

"Uh-uh-uh, that's a naughty word! I thought better of you, Prince-From-Another-Land." He snorted softly. "Go down the hall and to the left. Third door, opens to the back of the Throne Room. Hurry up."

His slim finger pressed a bell and it dinged once, the vibrations traveling up a cord and out of sight.

"What--what are--" Roman glanced around.

"I said, hurry up! They'll be here any minute." He stepped forward. "Entertain me. It gets boring around here, and you--" He lifted an eyebrow. "Look interesting."

Roman felt his heart speed up. One minute? Could he trust this stranger not to lead him astray? Could he even make it to the throne room after losing so much time?

"Run!" he snapped, baring his teeth. His grey eyes were wild with excitement.

Roman had no choice.

He ran.

Chapter Text

Logan fancied himself rather knowledgeable about animals. He’d always had a fascination with all branches of science—astronomy, biology, psychology, chemistry. Of course he couldn’t spend nearly as much time researching as he would like, due to his job as a servant and his irritating needs for ‘sleep’ and ‘food’. But animal behavior was something he could study on the job. He observed the actions and anatomy of the horses, the pigs, the cows, and even the chickens when they weren’t attacking him. It was limited data at best, but the thrill of observation and hypothesis kept him going. Add that to Patton’s penchant for adopting every stray animal that passed their way, even if he was allergic to said stray animal, and Logan had a generally good grasp on the animal kingdom.

However, he had to admit he had never seen this animal in his life.

It was about the size of Patton, with haunches that poked up sharply around its shoulders. It squatted low to the ground like some sort of gecko or lizard. The bent legs and the ninety-degree elbows brought to mind a crocodilian creature. But its long, thin claws and fringed, flat tail seemed almost bird-like. Scales patterned most of its body, a few long scratches and scars marring the stubbly back. Its face was long and pointed with horns decorating the space above its eyes and a long red tongue tasting the air. Logan met its eyes—a mistake in hindsight, meeting eyes often provoked aggression from animals, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. It stared back with a mocking, tongue-lolling grin. Its eyes sparked orange like frozen fire.

“Hello,” it said with the same earthy, melting voice. If volcanoes could talk, Logan imagined, they would sound like this.

Janus had pulled Patton to his feet. Now he clenched his fist around a rapier Logan hadn’t realized he possessed.

“Hello,” Logan said back. It was important to be polite.

“Hi!” Patton said, beaming at the creature. “What’s your name?”

Janus stared at them incredulously.

“My name?” repeated the creature. “Well. My friends call me—” Here the creature made a long, guttural noise. It sounded like two asteroids smashing together in an explosion of yellow and red. “My mom calls me Anton. And people I eat don’t call me anything, usually, because they’re too busy dying. So which are you?”

Logan glanced at Janus and Patton, who looked disconcerted and terrified, respectively.

“Um, friends?” Logan suggested, hating how his voice cracked. “If at all possible? Please and thank you?”

“Hmm.” The creature took a step forward, twisting its tongue in the air and lazily blinking its fiery eyes. “So you’ll call me—” It made the two-asteroids-smashing-together-and-exploding noise.

“Of course,” Patton said. His voice was trembling, but he still smiled at the creature. “I’ll always use your preferred name! It’s nice to meet you!”

The creature tilted its head. “I want to hear you say it.”

“W-what?”

“I want to hear you say my name.”

Patton glanced at the others, visibly terrified. “Well—I mean—sure thing, kiddo, I just—”

“Better say it,” Janus said, pushing Patton lightly toward the riverbank. “Don’t want to keep your scary new scale friend waiting.”

Patton smiled at the creature again, opened his mouth, and made a noise like a shoe getting sucked into a pit of quicksand.

The creature stared at Patton with something akin to horror. Logan couldn’t blame it.

“That was wonderful.” Janus tugged Patton back to them by his shirt collar. “Congratulations on getting us all killed because you pretended you could speak dragon.”

Logan frowned. “Dragon? What do you mean, dragon? Dragons aren’t real.”

“Oh, my apologies. I was wrong. We’re not talking to a dragon, we’re talking to a giant scaly cow.”

Logan groaned and rolled his eyes. Dragons were folklore and fairy tales told to children by their parents. This was probably some sort of lizard.

“That was terrible,” the not-dragon told Patton.

“I’m sorry,” Patton said.

“Look. I already decided to eat you guys.” The dragon huffed. “But that just made me want to eat you even more.”

“Great job, Patton,” Janus growled. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now,” Logan said. “We just have to, you know…”

“Have to what, Logan?” Janus tapped his fingers on his rapier. “Do you have a plan? Because I’d hate to hear it.”

Logan turned to the not-dragon. “Is there any possible way we could convince you not to eat us?”

The dragon tilted his head. “I don’t think so. You’re in the forest which means you’re in her territory and I haven’t had a good meal in weeks. But I’m nice. I’ll give you a minute head start.”

Janus snorted. “Yeah, I’m really feeling the niceness of a dragon that literally said they were about to eat us.”

Logan turned to him. “Janus, for once in your life, can you shut up?”

And for once in his life, Janus was shocked into silence.

“Good.” Logan snatched a stick from the border and hefted it in his hand.

“We’re fighting?” Patton asked. “I don’t like fighting.”

“This is just in case our plan A doesn’t work.”

“And what’s plan A?”

“Run.”

Logan leaped over a log and led them deeper into the forest.

It was dark, aside from the occasional pinpricks of starlight and the cast shadows of the moon. The others seemed to be following him. He didn’t know if that was a good thing. At least they wouldn’t get separated and lost, but that was really the least of his concerns. Janus had a weapon, so if it came to fighting they might have some semblance of a chance. As long as they fought three-on-one and nobody chickened out.

Their backup plan relied on Patton to help harm a creature and Janus not to leave them behind.

If Plan A didn’t work, they were doomed.

And Plan A wasn’t working.

Because after a minute of running through the forest, jumping over logs and careening around trees, hearing Patton and Janus behind him, Logan ran straight into a clearing. The others almost slammed into him as he stopped dead.

The not-dragon stared back at him, fiery eyes winking in the dappled sunlight.

How did it—

Then Logan saw the wings folded on its back.

No. It couldn’t be a real dragon, even if it could fly. That was impossible.

Anton the not-dragon smirked and tasted the air with its tongue, as if it heard Logan’s thoughts.

Then it opened its mouth and blew a plume of fire straight at Patton.

Chapter Text

The king seemed built of mismatched parts. His legs were too long, his nose too crooked, his left eye narrower than his right. His joints wobbled and wiggled and swung around, like the sewing job patching bits together was coming unraveled over time. Roman imagined bits of his body being replaced over time. He pictured the king strolling through a room of legs and arms and eyes, pointing at ones he thought would be a good match, trading the worn-out old ones for new.

Logan would bring up an old riddle, the riddle of a two-story house with white shutters and brown walls and a green door. The house was well-loved by its owners and they didn’t want to part with it. So when each part crumbled, they replaced it with an exact copy. The white shutters turned grey and they added new, whiter shutters. The brown walls buckled and they built new brown walls. The green door squeaked and they replaced it with another green door, the same size as the first. This went on until the whole house was made of replaced parts.

The riddle was, was that house the same house?

Sure, it had white shutters and brown walls and a green door. But was it the same house as before? If every part is swapped out, is something the same?

Roman wondered if the king was the same as he was before. Before each part failed and he replaced them. Before he started raising taxes and ignoring plagues and beheading robbers.

Because he was still the same king who rose to power at age twenty-seven with a sparkling smile and a promise to make the whole kingdom prosper. He was still that king, under the disjointed limbs and the balding hair and the sagginess under his watery blue eyes.

Wasn’t he?

No, he wasn’t, because that king had strong limbs and windswept dark hair and piercing blue eyes and would never do the things this king did.

All the parts were different, and he was different, and things were different now. The house could never be the same. It was broken beyond repair.

So why couldn’t Roman move?

He gripped his sword in two shaking hands. The king was just sitting there, on his throne, staring at the ceiling. There wasn’t even anyone else in the room. The guards must all be looking for Roman. Too bad for them. They didn’t expect Roman to go around the back route. He mentally thanked the strange knife boy for helping him out.

He was here. And now it was time to act.

But he only hunkered in the back doorway, slightly behind a red curtain that was worth more than Roman’s yearly salary, holding a too-big sword and watching the king and waiting.

Waiting for a cue, for a sign, for someone to tell him what to do.

His whole entire journey had been to kill the king. Now there was a king and a means of killing him, and why wasn’t Roman doing it?

The king looked so tired, too. Sighing and rubbing his fingers through his hair. His clothes were nice, nicer even than the strange knife boy’s, but they were rumpled and slid off his shoulders. Roman swore he saw a stain on one side. The candles made his face look even craggier than it probably was. Everything was so dark, except for the king’s throne—the shadows made it easy to hide and made the king almost glow.

He shifted on his throne and stood up, cracking his back and walking to the door.

No—no! He couldn’t leave! Roman still had to—apprehend him.

Because he couldn’t kill this guy. Roman was a lot of things, but a killer wasn’t one of them. Looking the king in the face, he knew he couldn’t kill him.

What he would do instead, he had no idea. He just knew he couldn’t leave.

So Roman leaped out of the shadows, holding his sword aloft.

The king turned. The low light hid his expression, but his grip tightened on the doorknob.

“You,” the king said. His voice sounded like wood crumbling to dust. “You’re the one who broke into the castle.”

“That I am,” Roman said. When in doubt, act confident. “My name is Roman. And I am here to apprehend you, villain, for your grievous misdeeds.”

The king glanced at the door again. He was going to run away. Of course he was. Why hadn’t Roman planned for the idea of the king not wanting to fight/talk with/surrender to him? This plan really needed Logan, huh?

Then the king lowered his hand and slid a bolt across the door.

“There,” he said. “Now we can’t be interrupted.”

Roman almost dropped his sword. He made a noise of confusion, to which the king chuckled slightly.

“You wanted this, right? To apprehend me? I’m assuming that means to fight me with that fancy sword of yours.”

Roman tilted his head. Now he was really confused.

The king motioned to Roman. “Now come into the light where I can see you.”

It was a trap. Of course it was a trap. Maybe there were other guards in here. Maybe the king didn’t need other guards. Maybe he was a top swordfighter even with his older age. Maybe Roman was extra-doomed because he was trapped in a room with the king, holy mother he was trapped in a room with the king--

What else could Roman do? He stepped forward.

The king walked closer to him, keeping five or six feet between them. He studied Roman, his eyes crinkling in an unknown emotion.

“You’re young.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Like I said, young.” The king sighed. “You know, most kids your age would be apprenticed to the local blacksmith, learning the trades, wooing a girl or two.”

Roman shrugged. “I’m gay, so…”

“Wooing a boy or two,” the king amended. “So why are you here?”

“You’re evil.” Roman’s conviction was completely gone by this point. He sounded like he was reading off a scroll, and his voice squeaked up at the end.

The king didn’t seem offended by this statement. “People have called me that.”

“And you’ve killed them for it,” Roman fired back. There was the conviction. He just had to stay angry and he wouldn’t sound like a kid.

“True.” The king smiled with no humor. “But I’ll let it slide, because these are extenuating circumstances.”

Roman’s eyes widened. Just when he thought he had a hold on this conversation, it went in another direction. “You’ll let it slide? But—I mean, you’re—”

“I’m the evil ruthless king, yes.” The king sighed. “But I’m also a very tired old man who’s not much in the mood for an execution tonight. So why don’t we skip that and get to why you think I’m evil?”

Roman shifted. He had a whole speech planned here, but it had flown out of his head. Something about… “Taxes.”

“They do exist.”

“Yeah, but they’re—they’re not good.”

The king raised one bushy eyebrow. “You would rather I exempt my citizens from taxes entirely, thus destroying the infrastructure of this kingdom?”

Um. Roman chewed his lip. “Maybe?”

“Right. Next complaint?”

“You kill people.”

“So does the forest. And the storms. And the plagues. Do you rage against those?”

Roman frowned. “But you’re sentient, and you made that choice. So it’s different.”

“Ah, I see,” the king said. “The act of killing is wrong?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here to kill me?”

Roman’s mind went blank again. He compensated by grasping his sword and raising it higher. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Well, then.” The king pulled out a long silvery sword with emeralds crusting the handle. “We’ll have to get to the point.”

The bottom fell out of Roman’s stomach. “No, I mean, I didn’t—wait, I—”

“You broke into this castle to fight me,” the king said, stepping a few inches closer and raising his sword. “So let us fight.”

“Won’t—won’t people hear—”

“We’re locked in,” the king said. “And they know not to disturb me. Now—a duel, young one?”

Roman tried to remember the rules for a duel. He figured Logan would know. Something about starting ten paces apart and tapping swords together? Whatever. The king didn’t seem interested in ten paces, so Roman wouldn’t bother with the rules.

He would just—fight.

Because if he didn’t, the king would kill him. He would, like he had so many others. Directly, watching their heads sliced off in front of crowds. Or indirectly, through the violence of his tax collectors or his refusal to stop the plague.

Roman gripped his sword and charged.

He waited for the king to parry his strike.

Instead, the king held his sword out and let Roman knock it from his grasp.

Roman almost barreled into him, but pulled himself back in time. The king was staring into his eyes, sword still on the floor, making no move to defend himself.

“What?” Roman asked. “What are you—”

“It appears you’ve won the duel,” the king said. He smiled and bowed to Roman. “Do you know what it means, when you best a king in combat?”

“What?” Roman repeated. He had felt seven kinds of panic in the past few hours, but now he just felt shock. Numbness. Removed from the situation at hand.

“It means I am no longer the king.”

Roman opened his mouth, then closed it. Hopefully things would make more sense if the king explained further.

“It means,” the king said, smiling up at him, “you’re in charge.”

Behind Roman, almost imperceptibly, a curtain twitched, and a certain strange knife boy gasped aloud.

Chapter Text

Logan didn’t think.

He lunged toward Patton and shoved him to the ground. Fire roared above them, singeing Logan’s hair and sending the brush behind them crackling into flames. Heat seared through Logan’s body. He felt as though he was about to catch fire as well, joining the forest around them.

It was the fire that made him feel that way, of course. Not that he had ended up on top of Patton, only inches from his face.

Logan felt his cheeks grow redder. He should probably explain, or at least apologize for shoving Patton into the mud. When he opened his mouth, however, only a little squeak came out. He attributed to shock from the near-death experience.

After a few seconds, the fire stopped. Logan jumped up, grabbing Patton’s arm and tugging him along. He still had the stick in his hand, using it to whack aside branches. Patton pulled out of Logan’s grasp.

“I can run on my own!” he panted. “Don’t worry about me!”

Logan disagreed strongly with those statements. But he decided not to fight it, letting Patton wheeze alongside him as they ran through the forest. He heard crashing and crackling behind them. Smoke stung his nose. The dragon—it had to be a dragon, it couldn’t be anything else—was going to start a forest fire.

Then Patton slowed. “Where’s—” He coughed violently.

Logan looked around at the dark forest. It was still night, but usually the moon and stars provided some light. Now, however, smoke coiled around the trees. The only light was distant embers from the dragon’s fire.

Quickly, he leaned down and tore a bit of cloth from his tunic. Wetting it with some water and wrapping it around his nose and mouth, he gestured for Patton to do the same. Patton had trouble tying the knot, so Logan tied it for him. Patton had dust and mud spattered on his cheekbones, and Logan resisted the urge to gently wipe them clean.

Patton seemed to smile in thanks, if the way his eyes crinkled was any indication.

“We need to go,” Logan said. His voice was muffled, so he pointed at the fire to illustrate his point.

“But where’s Janus?” Patton asked. At least, Logan presumed that was what he was asking. He could also be saying, “Beware chandeliers” or “Buh—wheh—dinner.”

“We can’t worry about him now. We should focus on our own safety. Janus is unfortunately good at escaping dangerous predicaments. I believe he can fend for himself.”

Patton frowned. “What?”

Logan quickly tugged down his makeshift mask. “Focus on safety! Janus will be fine! He—”

Smoke rasped at his lungs. He coughed violently, trying to get rid of the burning sensation in his throat. Quickly, he tugged the cloth back over his face. It didn’t erase the taste of ashes in his mouth.

Patton was looking at him with concern. Logan made an I’m fine gesture and looked back at the fire. Was it…getting closer? The wind was moving in their direction—of course it was getting closer. At this rate, Anton the dragon wouldn’t even need to find them again. They’d die of burns or suffocation.

Logan shook himself. It wasn’t over yet.

He took Patton’s hand and ran diagonally away from the fire.

His original plan was a good one, if he did say so himself. Get as far away as possible and go more in a direction the fire wasn’t headed in. However, he’d forgotten one simple fact. It was night, natural light sources were covered by smoke, and he was in a forest. He couldn’t see anything.

Thus, he spent more time careening into trees than he did running. He could swear the trees were shifting, angling themselves just right so their branches slammed into his ribcage or their roots tripped him up. He fell two, three, four times. Patton fell even more. They pulled each other down every time, but Logan didn’t want to let go of Patton’s hand. They could easily get lost—they’d already lost Janus, and Logan didn’t want to be alone.

Logan squinted and slowly, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He began to see trees a few seconds before he hit them instead of after impact. This way, he could successfully tug Patton and himself out of the way. Usually, ‘out of the way’ put them in the way of another tree, but no plan was perfect.

Then Logan glanced to the left.

Oh. His eyes hadn’t adjusted.

The fire was closer.

And they weren’t running away from it anymore. The million stumbles and bends and falls had pulled them too far right, so they were running alongside the fire.
Thankfully, Logan’s mask muffled his long string of swear words. Patton still gave him a reproachful look.

Logan sighed and took off diagonally again, muscling through the brush. His stick was gone. His shoes stung against the soles of his feet. Smoke seemed to seep in everywhere—it made his eyes sting, his throat itch, his lungs burn. Tears were dripping down Patton’s face; whether from smoke or terror, Logan didn’t know.

Then—he couldn’t explain how, maybe a higher power, maybe dumb luck—they found themselves at a stream. Maybe even the same stream the dragon had first appeared at. Watery and cool and safe. Logan felt himself sag with relief. Just across the stream, and they’d be away from the fire. The smoke might still suffocate them, but at least they wouldn’t burn to death.

At this point, that was where the bar was.

Logan pulled Patton down to the shore, slipping on stones and feeling smoke grate on his skin.

“Well, you two are clever, aren’t you?”

A voice from the smoke covering the trees. Two eyes blinked like embers from the depths. A small curl of fire fell to the ground, winking out.

Anton the dragon.

The eyes grew larger. A spat of fire whisked past Logan’s knee, falling in the water with a hiss.

“I didn’t expect you to survive this long. Still, all good things must come to an end.”

Logan could see the whole dragon now. Scales glimmering in the light of the fire behind him. His mouth was set in something akin to a smile.

“You’re—you’re killing the forest,” Logan coughed out. “You’re hurting your own environment.”

“It’s just a small portion.” Anton creeped closer. “All the animals saw this coming. They’re safe. And the forest will grow back. I can’t say the same for humans. You’re delightfully fragile.”

Patton’s hand was a vice grip in Logan’s. “J—Janus,” he blurted out. “Did you—have you—”

“The rude one?” Anton asked. “I haven’t seen him. He’s probably dead from the fumes. Serves him right.”

Although a small part of Logan was inclined to agree, death by suffocation seemed an awful way to go, even for Janus.

“Look at me,” Anton said. “Entertaining you like guests. I’m too polite for my own good.”

His mouth opened. Fire swirled between his teeth. His wings rose in the air and his tail arched above him.

Patton clung to Logan’s side. Logan looked for anything, any possible way out.

He picked up a rock and threw it.

It clattered between Anton’s eyes. For the first time, Anton looked disconcerted.

“Was that—” The fire died in his throat as he tilted his head. “Did you—”

And in that solitary moment of confusion, a shadow darted from the smoke and plunged a glinting rapier into Anton’s back.

The scream Anton gave was long and raspy, the sound a fire might make when doused. He spat wads of burning mucus into the air, but nothing reached Logan and Patton. Finally, he collapsed to the ground and was silent.

It began to rain, droplets hissing as they touched Anton’s body. Patton was still curled into Logan’s side, tears wetting his tunic.

Logan opened his mouth, not knowing what to say, feeling he shouldn’t disturb the silence.

Janus had no such qualms.

“Wow,” he said, staring down at the corpse of the dragon he killed. “That was easier than I thought it would be.”

Chapter Text

The king placed his crown on Roman’s head. It didn’t really fit, so it listed over his eyes. Roman pushed it up, fingers meeting a golden circlet.

“…I’ll tell the servants to retire,” the king continued, as if writing out a shopping list. “They’ll be too scared of me to say anything about this. Declare I’m dead in…oh, a day or so, enough time for me to leave town. You have your run of the place. Just remember—the commoners get angry if you tax them too much, and the door to the kitchen always sticks.”

Roman finally shook himself. “What?”

“I know, I’ve been meaning to get it fixed.”

“No, not the flipping door! You’re seriously—”

“Leaving you in charge?” The king raised an eyebrow. “Why, does it seem like a little too much to handle? You seemed to have all sorts of opinions a few minutes ago.”

Roman’s face was cherry-red as he struggled to make a coherent sentence. This was a trick. Or a dream. This couldn’t be actually happening.

“But—I’m, I mean—I’m one of the commoners who gets angry if you tax me too much!” Roman blurted out. “I’ve never actually gone to school! I’m an indentured servant!”

“School is overrated,” the king said. “They can’t teach wisdom, can they?”

“I…don’t think I’m really that wise, either.”

The king looked him over. “No, you’re not,” he agreed. “But you can learn.”

“You can’t be serious,” Roman pleaded. “This is a whole kingdom. I—I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t—”

Something in the king’s expression softened. “Don’t worry.”

“Kind of hard right now!”

“You’ll have help.”

His eyes looked behind Roman, and he called, “You can come out now!”

For a second, there was nothing. Then one of the curtains moved, and a shadow stepped into the light. It was the strange boy from earlier, knife still in his hand. His face was set in a scowl.

“Hold on,” he said. “How’d you know I was—”

“I’m your father,” the king said. “It wasn’t hard.”

Roman almost choked on his own breath. That was the prince? He didn’t even know there was a prince. He should have been more respectful or something. Now the prince—holy flipping heck the prince—was going to execute him or something else really bad.

“Roman,” the king said, “meet Virgil, the Crown Prince.”

Roman stared at the prince—Virgil. Finally, he said, “We’ve met.”

“Have you?” the king asked, glancing curiously at Virgil. Virgil only glared.

“I can see all the questions in your face,” the king added. “Go ahead. Spit them out. I won’t mind.”

Virgil’s face worked, his scowl deepening, and he finally burst out, “Why him?”

“Convenience, mainly.” The king gave Roman another appraising look. “But he’s got passion, and bravery, and some wits if he managed to get this far.”

“He’s a moron!”

Roman opened his mouth to correct the prince, but thought better of A) correcting the prince, and B) antagonizing the one person who seemed to be on his side. Sort of.

“He only got into this castle through dumb luck.” Virgil folded his arms. “And he’s a jerk and a stuck-up egotistical prick. He wouldn’t even have found you if it wasn’t for me.”

“I would have!” Roman protested before he could stop himself.

“I let you get away, Prince-from-another-land. You know I did.”

Roman couldn’t really argue with that.

“Why did you let him get away?” the king asked. There was no judgement in his face, only curiosity.

“I dunno.” Virgil’s confidence seemed to falter. “I figured you’d take care of him, and that would be…fun to watch. It gets kind of boring in my hallway.”

“You could always leave,” the king suggested. “My offer still stands. I could show you as my heir and give you the run of the Sand Castle.”

Virgil sunk into himself and shook his head.

“Yes, well. Your shyness has given me this opportunity, so I thank you for that.” The king folded his hands together and nodded. “Roman, you have passion and confidence, but no finesse or wisdom.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Virgil, you’re intelligent and thoughtful, but terrified of people.”

Virgil glared at his dad. Roman didn’t believe Virgil was terrified of people—he probably just hated them.

“You both have flaws and strengths that counteract each other,” the king continued. “So…why don’t you work together?”

Roman looked at Virgil incredulously and received a similar look back.

“Work…together?” Virgil asked, tone full of dismay.

“I don’t work with people like him,” Roman said.

“Well, I don’t work with idiots like you.”

“Well, I don’t work with embodiments of a dark and stormy night.”

“I don’t work with Princes-from-another-land.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Never.”

“Great!” The king clapped his hands together. “This is wonderful! You’re getting along already!”

He got two incredulous stares in return.

“This debate and clash of ideologies will do you well when ruling. Healthy disagreement is the core of a strong government.”

The stares got even more incredulous.

“Give it a shot, okay?” The king sighed. “And if you really don’t like it so much, you can track down one of my nobles and put them in charge.”

Virgil’s face twisted. “Your nobles hate me! They’re condescending and rich and treat everyone like they’re stupid.”

“Exactly.” The king motioned at Roman. “You may not like him, true, but Roman isn’t a noble. You can tell from his manner and dress that he’s never been within ten feet of riches in his life.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“It is a compliment. Your voice is not so often heard. You have a chance to…” The king waved his hand in the air, searching for words. “…make something out of this kingdom. Change things. I never found the perfect recipe for peace, but maybe you’ll get a little closer.”

He placed his hands on each of their shoulders. “I wish you both the best of luck.”

“Dad.” Virgil’s voice broke. “You can’t just—you can’t just leave.”

“Oh, Virgil.” The king reached over and wiped under Virgil’s eye. “It’s your time now, not mine. And I have faith you’ll be so much more than I ever was, little spider.”

“Where are you going?” Virgil asked. “Will—will I ever see you?”

“I’m going over the mountains,” the king replied.

“What?” Virgil screeched. “Why?”

“I’m old, and it seems like a fun adventure.” The king smiled. “Why not die seeing something no one’s ever seen?”

“You’re not that old,” Virgil mumbled.

“Trust me.” The king winked. “I’m old.”

Virgil seemed to fight with himself for a few seconds, glancing at Roman, before running forward and hugging his father. The king hugged back, cupping Virgil’s head and stroking his back.

Finally, he carefully pried Virgil loose and smoothed down his hair. “I have to go.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Right as always,” the king said fondly. “But I want to. Will you deny me what I want?”

Virgil stared at the ground. His voice was almost too quiet to hear, but Roman caught it.

“I can’t do this, Dad. I’m not—”

“You can,” the king said. “And you are.”

He gave Virgil one more glance, gave Roman one more nod, and strode towards the door. His cloak rippled around him.

“Stay in here for a while,” he added, turning the handle. “Give the servants time to leave.”

The king opened the door.

On instinct, Roman stepped forward. “Wait!”

He turned, meeting Roman’s eyes.

“Um…” Roman drew up his chin. “Good luck. King Thomas.”

“Good luck to you as well,” the king said, the trace of a smile still on his face. “King Roman.”

The door swung shut behind him, leaving Roman and Virgil alone with five candles and an empty throne. Rain began to drum on the windows.

It was going to be a stormy night.

Chapter Text

Logan couldn’t afford to panic.

Because Patton was panicking, his breath coming in shorter and shorter breaths. And Janus was panicking—he was trying to hide it, of course, but he kept glancing at the dragon’s body and quickly looking away. Logan noticed he hadn’t even tried to retrieve his sword, which glinted in the embers and the softly falling rain.

And Logan could easily panic too, if he thought of how close they came to death, how quickly they could have been snuffed out, how easily they could still die in this forest, their bodies dropping to the ground, wreathed in smoke—

No. No panicking. Not now.

Logan clenched his fist. One thing at a time.

“Are we sure the dragon’s dead?” Logan asked. His voice rasped.

Patton made a squeaking noise and hid his face in his hands.

Janus glanced at it. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be moving.” Despite his nonchalant tone, something in his voice wavered.

“Okay.” Logan brushed off his tunic out of habit and looked around. “Does anyone see any other immediate dangers in the area?”

Janus rolled his eyes and pointed up at the sky, where smoke still drifted in waves. The rain and winds were dispersing it, but not quickly enough.

“Right,” Logan said. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Janus asked. “I don’t suppose you found a quick and easy way home?”

“We’ll go wherever the smoke isn’t.” Logan hopped over the stream and gestured for them to follow. Patton stumbled over the stream, still holding his hands over his mouth. Janus gave Logan a wary look.

“Come on,” Logan insisted.

“We don’t know what’s in there,” Janus said. “There might be another…”

Logan pointed up at the sky and the cold burning smoke.

“Touché.”

Janus gave the dragon another wary glance before hopping over the stream. Logan noticed he winced as he landed and made a mental note to check on him. It was the least he could do after Janus saved their lives.

Janus saved their lives. That hadn’t sunk in until now. For some reason, Janus had come back and saved them.

People were so confusing.

Logan pushed aside a branch and gestured for them to continue. Janus gladly sped up, heading into the undergrowth.

“Wait.”

Patton’s voice was almost strangled by tears and smoke, but conviction shone through.

Logan turned around. Patton had lowered his shaking hands from his mouth. His eyes were red from the same smoke and the same tears. But a fire stronger than the embers surrounding them blazed in their center.

“We should give him a funeral. The dragon.”

“What?” Janus didn’t laugh, to his credit, but he did give Patton a condescending look. “It tried to kill us!”

“It’s still an animal,” Patton said. “And I think it’s right to give it a proper goodbye.”

Logan sighed. “I appreciate that, Patton, but we don’t have time for this. There’s smoke everywhere in this area—it’s incredibly dangerous to breathe as much as we already have. What’s more, the last time we stayed somewhere for too long, we got attacked. We need to keep moving.”

“For once, the nerd makes a good point.” Janus glared at the dragon’s corpse. “Let’s go.”

Patton drew up his head. “Then go. I’ll do it myself.”

Janus glanced at Logan and Logan gave a helpless look back. This was Patton’s scary-face again. The face he made when protecting a friend, or when he wanted to do something right.

They couldn’t stop him.

“Make it quick,” Logan said. “Okay?”

Patton almost smiled. Beneath the soot, Logan could make out his freckles.

He walked over to the dragon’s—Anton’s—body and kneeled beside him. Logan wondered if he would start praying, or maybe just sit in silence? It seemed to be the latter. But before Logan could drop a hint that maybe Patton should hurry the funeral up a bit, he began to sing.

“Look outside our window…Look beyond the trees…S-see the streams and rivers, that ripple in the breeze…”

Patton’s voice was scratchy and almost silent, but the notes still came through. And for a brief second, Logan heard another voice singing those notes, another lullaby long ago, when he was too young to know what he had—too young to know what he would lose.

“B-beyond the trees are people—and a whole town of s-sand…”

Patton began to cough, and the notes almost disappeared. But he kept going. Singing a lullaby to a dragon that threatened their lives.

“Beyond the town are mountains…beyond them, other lands…”

“I thought we don’t know what’s beyond the mountains,” Janus muttered. Logan gave him a cutting look. Without thinking, he had crossed the stream. Now he sat down next to Patton. For once, he didn’t worry about how he must look, taking part in such a sentimental affair. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

“Look outside our window,” Patton sang. “Rise above the crowds...”

“Dance among the smoky stars.”

Logan didn’t sing the line. He barely even said it—just whispered it along with Patton. But Patton heard, and the gratefulness in his face made Logan’s heart clench.

“Float among the clouds,” Patton whispered.

“Float among the clouds,” Logan repeated.

Patton reached forwards and placed a few blades of grass on Anton’s body. “I would put flowers,” Patton said apologetically, “but I think he burned them all.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind.”

And there was silence, with only the steady drumming of rain and the hiss of embers finally going out.

The moon shone through the smoke, in a gap between rain clouds, painting everything in silver. With the halo of moonlight around his curls, Patton looked like he belonged in the forest—like a witch or a fairy or a sprite. Otherworldly and beautiful, an old lullaby still lingering in the air.

“That was wonderful,” Janus said. “But we really need to go now.”

Right. Janus. Deadly forest. And the importance of avoiding the smoke. As quickly as it came, the moment was gone.

Logan stood up, pulling Patton to his feet and leading him across the stream. Ahead, the trees promised more danger, more smoke and fires and dragons. Their brief peace couldn’t last.

But Patton was no longer crying. He led the way into the bush, tear tracks gleaming in the moonlight, face set with determination.

Logan followed, and Janus came last, giving a final glance over his shoulder before looking away.

“Why did you do it?” Logan asked before he could stop himself. “Why did you come back?”

Patton paused, head tilted, waiting for an answer as well.

Janus’ mouth opened slightly. Finally, his trademark smirk blossomed on his face.

“It wasn’t personal. I needed to kill the dragon to survive, and you two bumbling idiots provided the perfect distraction. Besides, I don’t really think I could make it in this forest without your expert advice.” Janus grinned wider, showing off his teeth. “You’ve been a wonderful leader thus far. I’m so proud of you.”

“He’s a great leader,” Patton said firmly.

Something warm exploded in Logan’s chest. His cheeks flamed and he tried to stop a smile from appearing on his lips.

Janus gave him a look which Logan decided not to decipher.

Apparently satisfied, Patton turned around and kept walking. Logan stayed behind until he was in step with Janus.

He’d always thought Janus was the same height as him. But he was really a few inches shorter. He just walked like he was bigger.

“That wasn’t why you came back,” Logan said. “I know it wasn’t.”

An irritatingly smug smile played around Janus’ lips. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Logan turned and stared Janus straight in the eyes. “I don’t know why you did, but it wasn’t just for your own benefit. You’re a liar.”

“Correct,” Janus said. “And that’s all I’ll ever be. But, Logan?”

The smile finally fell off his face.

“At least I admit it.”

And Janus walked faster, his cloak blending in with the shadows as the moon shone and rain pattered on the leaves.

Logan was left to follow. He stepped slowly to avoid tripping, smoke stuck in his lungs and a lullaby stuck in his head.

Chapter Text

“He has to be kidding.”

Roman paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. Both his crown and his sword were tossed by the foot of the throne. Virgil currently sat in said throne, fluffing the pillows and trying out different positions.

“He has to be kidding,” Roman said again.

“You already said that, Prince-from-another-land.”

“But he has to be!” Roman stopped short, staring at Virgil. “How can you be so calm? He literally put us in charge of the kingdom!”

“Hmm.” Virgil reached down and picked up Roman’s sword, turning it over. “That’s true.”

“The kingdom, Virgil.” It still felt strange to say Virgil’s name, as if they were equals. Well, Roman thought, now they were. “The whole kingdom!”

“Yep.”

“The kingdom is, like…everything!” Roman spread his hands as wide as possible. “Everything! The forest, all the towns, the castle.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So many things could go wrong! So many people we’re in charge of! Things we have to do, people we have to meet, stuff—" Roman tossed himself to the ground, staring at the ceiling. “This is insane.”

“Are you done yet?”

“No!” Roman declared. “I shall rant for as long as I see fit, oh morose one!”

“Ugh.”

“He has to be lying,” Roman said. “King Thomas—he has to be lying! He wouldn’t actually leave the kingdom in the hands of two teenagers, would he? He’s not that selfish!”

“He doesn’t lie.”

“Huh?”

“My father.” Virgil spun Roman’s sword deftly, legs kicked over the arm of the throne. The crown hung awkwardly over his eyes, lopsided and glinting in his dark hair. “He’s not always…great at things. But he’s not a liar.”

“Then he’s joking!” Roman said, almost laughing. “He’s joking. He’ll come back in here in twenty minutes and say hey, no harm no foul, I was just teasing you, now skedaddle along while I run the place again.”

Virgil watched Roman’s sword catch the candlelight. “I thought you didn’t like him as a leader.”

“I don’t.” Roman sighed. “But at least he’s qualified!”

“I’m qualified.”

“You’re my age. You can’t be qualified for anything this big.”

Virgil finally turned around, glaring at Roman, who was still spread-eagled on the floor. “I’ve been training for this since I was two. My father trusts me to lead.”

“Oh yeah?” Roman’s face wrinkled in confusion and suspicion. “Then why did your father give me the job first? Why does he keep you locked up? Why didn’t he tell anyone you existed? That doesn’t sound like trust to me. That sounds like fear.”

And a golden crown hit him in the face.

“Hey!” Roman popped up, staring at Virgil incredulously. “What is your problem?”

“My problem? I don’t have a problem.” Virgil swung Roman’s sword at the air. Roman noticed he gripped the handle differently. That was probably the right way to hold a sword, he thought ruefully. Virgil would know that kind of thing.

“You clearly do,” Roman said. “You just threw a crown at my face.”

“Your face irritated me.”

“My face is a gift to mankind.”

“Your face appears in my nightmares.”

Roman winked. “Aww, you dream about me?”

Virgil’s glower deepened. “Shut up, Princey, before I throw something else at you. And that something else is going to be your sword, and I don’t think you’d survive that.”

“What is your problem?” Roman repeated.

“Told you. I don’t have a problem.”

“No, you don’t. Which is a problem.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Not confusing at all, Princey.”

“You’re so calm!” Roman burst out. “You’re just sitting here without a care in the world! Did you not hear what he said? We’re in charge! We’re kings!”

Virgil shrugged. “I’ve always known I’d have to be king one day. This is just…a little sooner than I expected.”

“So you’re ‘qualified,’” Roman said. “You’re ‘trusted’. You’re ‘prepared.’”

“I can hear the air-quotes.”

“Seriously.” Roman stepped forward, holding the crown in one hand. “You’re ready for this. At least you say you are.”

“I am,” Virgil said, tilting his chin up, daring Roman to argue the point.

“Then I quit.” Roman tossed the crown to Virgil, who automatically caught it. Good reflexes, Roman noted. “Have fun.”

“What?” Virgil stared from the crown to Roman, uncomprehendingly.

“I’m leaving.” Roman strode to the door, reaching for the knob. “You can run this kingdom yourself. I’m going home.”

“He—he told you not to leave until the servants were away—”

“Deal with it.” Roman threw up his hand, turning to face Virgil. “I thought you’d trained all your life for this, Dark Knight. What do you need me for?”

“If you’re doing this to spite me,” Virgil said, “please…don’t.”

“I’m not!” Roman sighed. “I am. A bit. But…Virgil, I’m not cut out for this! I didn’t ask for this! All I wanted was an adventure and maybe some tax cuts. I can’t…I can’t be a king. I’m an indentured servant who stole a sword because he wanted to be a hero. And you’re…” Roman waved his hand at Virgil. “Highly irritating.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“But you’re…smart. And you’re the crown prince, you know what you’re doing. You’re so flipping calm about this. You don’t actually need me around.” Roman exhaled sharply and turned around again. “So…goodbye, then. I wish you the best of luck, King Virgil.”

“Wait.”

Roman looked back. Virgil was fidgeting with his sleeve, avoiding Roman’s gaze.

“Yes?” Roman prompted.

“Well…” Virgil bit his lip. “I’m not actually that calm right now, you know.”

“You’re a very good actor, then,” Roman said teasingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Yeah.” Virgil seemed to sink deeper into himself. “I’m…I’m not good. With people. With…with talking to people. I either get really scared and shut down or I freak them out. And most people are either unpredictable or just mean. I don’t like people. They don’t like me. That’s…that’s why I always stay in that hallway. It’s my choice. I don’t have to…face the world, I guess.”

Roman couldn’t think of what to say. Was Virgil lying? He certainly seemed to be telling the truth, even brutally so, given the upset edge in his voice.

“I always figured I’d have time, you know? To get better at…being that kind of person. Then Dad dropped this on me. And…” Virgil pushed aside his bangs. “You’re…obnoxious. And stuck-up. And an idiot.”

“The kindness in your words brings my soul great joy.”

“But you’re…a confident idiot,” Virgil admitted. “And…I dunno…you’re everything I’m not. Sociable. Brave.”

“That’s what the king was saying,” Roman agreed. “We balance each other out.”

“Uh-huh.” Virgil scratched at his neck, still avoiding Roman’s gaze. “So…could you stay? Please? I don’t—” His voice dropped lower. “I don’t want to do this alone.”

Roman’s heart softened, just a bit.

“Okay.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Roman grinned. “How hard can it be?”

“That’s the stupid blind optimism I know, Princey.”

“Ouch.” Roman walked back over, sitting at the foot of the throne and kicking at Virgil’s ankle. “You know, if we’re going to be co-kings, you should be more respectful.”

“Well, I’m a king.” Virgil leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “So I can do whatever I want.”

Roman laughed. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

Virgil huffed, but a smile poked at the corners of his mouth. “We’re both screwed.”

“We’re screwed together.” Roman leaned back and smiled. “We’ll fail gloriously and spectacularly, but we won’t do it alone.”

“Aww, so sappy,” Virgil said. “I think I might vomit.”

“Just don’t vomit on my shirt. It’s my best one.”

“That’s your best shirt?”

Roman glared, flexing an arm. “It shows off my muscles.”

“What muscles?”

That prompted a series of offended noises. Virgil huffed again, which Roman figured was the closest thing to laughter he’d ever get.

“You’re something, you know that?” Virgil finally said.

“Good something?” Roman asked. “Or bad something?”

“Definitely something.” Virgil smirked. “When I figure out which, I’ll let you know.”

Roman batted his eyelashes. “Oh, you’ll warm to me. I’m the best and most handsome person you’ll ever meet.”

“I’ve decided. It’s a bad something. Get out of my castle.”

Roman gasped. “Rude! And guess what? It’s our castle! So I don’t have to go anywhere.”

Virgil groaned again, rubbing his forehead. “Is it too late to kill you, Princey?”

“It’s too late,” Roman proclaimed. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I’m going to run into the forest and let the monsters claim me.”

Roman laughed again.

“So,” Virgil said. “What do we do now?”

“Whiplash much?” Roman asked.

“I’m serious,” Virgil said. “We have to do something now.”

“We have to do something soon,” Roman corrected. “But as long as we don’t leave this throne room, we don’t have to do anything yet.”

The ghost of a smile flickered over Virgil’s face. “That sounds like denial to me.”

Roman tucked his hands under his head, staring at the vaulted ceiling. “I’m comfortable with that.”

“How long do you wish to stay, your highness?”

“As long as possible,” Roman said.

Virgil snorted. “You like this place that much?”

Roman glanced around at the candles perched precariously in their holders, the windows hammered with rainfall as the storm grew louder, the worn red carpet under his elbows and the hammered-gold throne with Virgil lounging carelessly across it. Virgil, lit by candles, illuminating his gleaming circlet, leaving his eyes dark and glittering.

“What can I say?” Roman asked. “It’s starting to grow on me.”

Chapter Text

“We should stop.”

Logan’s voice was still harsh from the smoke, and neither Patton nor Janus turned around. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“We need to stop,” he repeated, louder. Patton looked back and nodded, slowing down. Janus kept walking.

“Janus?” Logan called. “Let’s stop!”

“Smoke,” Janus called back, violently pushing aside another branch.

But the skies were clear. The rain, winds, and distance had almost completely whisked away the smoke. The smell still lingered, burning, in Logan’s nose—but he was relatively sure that was left over from earlier.

“We’ll be safe,” Logan said, walking faster to catch up with Janus. “We’re tired and sore and Patton’s been coughing for the past five minutes. We need a rest.”

“Oh, yeah, great idea.” Janus thwacked a tree with his sword, an action that would surely dull the blade, Logan noted. “Let’s just have a tea party!” Thwack. “In an unmapped deadly forest!” Thwack. “With no conceivable exit!” Thwack-thwack. “Filled with dragons, apparently, because we weren’t dead enough already!” Thwack, thwack, thwack.

“Janus,” Logan said, running up to him, ignoring the way his lungs burned. “Please stop hitting the trees.”

“Are they going to attack us too?” Janus dramatically sheathed his sword and bowed to the nearest tree. “I apologize, great maples. Please do not separate my head from my body and feast upon my organs.”

Patton, who was walking towards them, shuddered in disgust.

“Janus,” Logan said again.

“Are you going to elaborate or just repeat my name?” Janus asked.

“We’re going to stop,” Logan said firmly.

Janus raised an eyebrow. “How do you plan to enforce that? Because I am I going to walk as long as I see fit.”

“Janus, please be reasonable.”

“Not exactly my strong suit.”

Logan looked Janus over. “You’re limping again. Is your cut bothering you?”

Janus shifted slightly so his cloak covered his leg. “No, of course not.”

“I see.” Logan pushed up his glasses, which were sooty but still intact. “Then let us rest for Patton and myself. As you can doubtless tell, we both need rest and water after the smoke and running.”

“Go ahead,” Janus said, waving a hand and beginning to walk again. “I’ll keep walking.”

“That…doesn’t make any sort of sense. You’ll get lost.”

“I found you last time, didn’t I?”

Logan rubbed his nose. “That was a fluke. A coincidence. You cannot hope to repeat that stroke of luck.”

Patton coughed loudly. “J-Janus, please. I’m—I’m tired.”

Janus pressed his lips together. “You two can wait here. I’ll only go a little farther. I have a better sense of direction than both of you.”

Logan waved around at the darkened, twisted trees. “In case you didn’t notice, it’s night. I thought you didn’t want to get killed.”

Janus' eyes flashed. “We need to keep moving.”

“We don’t—”

“We need to!” Janus stepped forward, poking a finger at Logan’s chest. “I know you think you’re the smartest person alive, and you totally are, but it’s so cool how you’re not listening to me right now! The last time we stopped moving, what happened? Oh, yeah! It was a giant freaking dragon. Unless you’re keen to repeat that experience, we should probably keep moving.”

Logan bit his lip. “I know you’re scared, but there is no reason to—”

“I’m not scared!”

Patton almost jumped back. Janus' face was painted in a snarl. For a second, he looked like the dragon, cold and ruthless and feral.

“I’m not scared,” he repeated in a deadly quiet voice. “And don’t you dare speak to me that way again, Logan, or I shall use every power at my disposal to have you fired, arrested, and executed. Because, if you’ve forgotten, I am your employer.”

Something cold slid down Logan’s esophagus.

“H-hey, kiddos.” Patton stepped between the two. “Let’s calm down a bit, okay? I get what you’re saying, Janus, and it’s a good point! We shouldn’t stay anywhere for too long. But we also need to make sure we’re in tip-top shape before we keep going, or anything that attacks us will have the upper hand. Plus, if anything does happen, I think we’ll be okay! We got away from a dragon once, we can do it again! Especially with your neato sword skills, Janus.”

The fire didn’t completely recede from Janus' eyes, but he gave a brisk nod. Logan nodded as well, sending Patton a silent ‘thank you.’ Patton grinned back.

“Where will we stop?” Janus asked, a snap in his voice. “Oh wise leader Logan, do tell where we’re planning to sit.”

Patton opened his mouth to chide Janus and began to cough again. It was an ugly hacking sound, and Logan was very glad they’d agreed to rest.

But Janus had a point. Logan looked around for somewhere to stop. There were only trees as far as he could see, hulking and black in the night air.

In the distance…was that a gap in the treeline?

Without speaking, Logan walked forward, stumbling over felled logs and snapping sticks. Janus gave him an incredulous look, but when Patton followed, he reluctantly trailed behind. Logan saw the gap widen as he pushed onward, the trees getting thinner and further between.

Janus stepped on his injured leg and winced. “Are you planning on telling us why you’re going this direction like you’re possessed by a witch? Oh, please tell me you’re not possessed by a witch. I’ve already dealt with dragons—if there’s a witch in this forest, I’m going to just surrender and let myself die.”

Logan ignored Janus' complaining and stepped between two trunks.

His instinct was correct. In front of them was a small clearing, with three chair-sized rocks and a small clear spring. Fresh grass poked its way through the dirt, and clumps of berries dangled from bushes surrounding the edge.

Patton gasped. “It’s so pretty!”

“Pretty and suspicious,” Janus added, appearing at Logan’s other side. “I don’t trust it.”

Logan sighed. “What, do you think someone created an entire clearing to trap us? Or that the forest shifted itself to bring us here?”

“This forest is weird. I wouldn’t put that past it.”

“Well, it’s what we’ve got.” Logan tentatively stepped forward, his foot meeting the grass. No dragons jumped out from the undergrowth. “We’ll only stay here for a few minutes. That’s all.”

Janus made a grumbling noise, but Patton was already darting to the spring. “Is it safe?” he called to Logan.

“I think so,” Logan replied. “It’s fast-moving, that’s a good sign that it’s drinkable. But if it tastes strange, stop drinking.”

Patton nodded and began scooping water up with his hands, splashing it on his face and in his mouth. Only a bit of the water made it into his throat every time, and after only a minute, his face and hair was drenched. Logan brought out a canteen and began to fill it.

Janus gave Patton a distasteful look, settling himself with as much dignity as possible on one of the rocks. He winced again as his leg hit the ground.

“Let me see,” Logan said, standing up. “It won’t do to have you injured.”

Janus gave him a nasty look. “Give me the bandages and I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re not skilled with—”

“Give them. To me.”

Logan knew when not to argue a point. He handed Janus the bandages, and watched as Janus rewrapped his cut, hissing gently with the pain.

“Do we have any food left?” Patton asked, turning to Logan.

Logan checked his pack. “One apple.”

“Oh, joy.” Janus raised his eyes to the heavens. “A bountiful harvest. And I had no faith in our survival.”

Logan placed the apple on one of the rocks, raised his finger, and slammed it into the apple, splitting the apple into chunks. Accompanied with gasps of awe from Patton, he tossed a chunk to Janus, who caught it and looked at it distastefully. He gave the other chunk to Patton and kept the third for himself. It was a little mushy, but after eating only smoke, it tasted wonderful.

“Is this poisoned?” Janus asked, staring at it.

“Of course not,” Logan said.

“It cannot be healthy. It’s common food.”

“Just eat. You’ll be glad of it later.”

Janus nibbled a bit of apple. His lip curled. “This is disgusting.”

Logan sighed, gritting his teeth. “I’m sorry we don’t have caviar, your Highness.”

“Sarcasm,” Janus noted, polishing off his apple slice. “You know, Logan, you’re getting almost interesting.”

“I’m honored,” Logan replied coldly. “Now, is everyone rested? Shall we move on?”

Janus quickly sprung from his rock. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Patton asked, joining them.

Logan glanced around—and he saw it.

A path that he could have sworn wasn’t there a second ago, winding through the trees. It was small and covered with leaves, but it was unmistakably a path for more than deer and wolves.

A path that absolutely wasn’t there a second ago.

“Do you see that?” Logan asked faintly.

“What—” Janus looked over. “Okay, what? Is that a path?”

“It’s a path!” Patton squealed. “We found the path!”

“This forest.” Logan wanted to throw something. “The logical fallacies in this…why is this forest so unscientific and—this is highly infuriating—”

“Not to mention that’s absolutely a trap,” Janus pointed out. “Mysterious clearing and randomly appearing path? Hello, more dragons. Or maybe a witch.”

“Witches aren’t real,” Logan responded out of habit.

“Neither are dragons. And yet I just killed one.”

Janus' voice wavered a bit on the word ‘killed’. Logan decided not to mention that.

“Well?” Patton walked over. “We should try it! Maybe it’ll lead us out!”

“Do you have no survival skills?” Janus hissed. “You don’t just follow strange paths in a forest!”

“Actually, that’s exactly what you do,” Logan pointed out. “And in our current state, any lead is better than none.”

“Maybe whoever’s doing this is nice!” Patton clapped his hands together. “Maybe we can be friends!”

“We’re all going to die,” Janus said. “We are literally all going to die.”

Logan shrugged. “I thought you were the one who wanted to keep moving?”

Janus growled, shoving Logan aside. “Well, then. I see our fate is sealed. Let’s get this over with.”

He marched onto the path, waving for the others to follow. “Who’s ready to walk into a trap and get our heads chopped up and our bodies turned to gingerbread?”

With that rousing battle cry, Logan and Patton followed him down the path.

Chapter Text

It was too quiet for Roman to sleep.

And the bed was too soft. And the room was too big. And it was nearing sunrise. And he still had too many questions.

His new bedroom was in Virgil’s hallway. It was filled with shiny things Roman had been too tired to look at closely. His bed was a canopy bed, with a luxurious but dusty velvet canopy and piles of intricately woven quilts. Virgil had apologized for the low quality. Roman couldn’t imagine what high quality looked like.

His bed was next to a small window, and a painted screen covered it, detailing a hunting expedition in the woods. Roman squinted, trying to make out the details. Something about a witch? There were stains on part of it, which Roman hoped was tea and not…anything else.

Roman rolled over. The bed was so comfortable and soft. He felt he might sink right through it. It was so different from the hard bed he slept on in the servants’ quarters. Roman wondered if Logan was there now, curled up in his corner of the room, probably already trying to wake up for the morning chores. Nobody was fully asleep right now—soon the roosters would crow and the world would wake up. Roman could already see a bit of light under the window screen.

Ugh. His head was filled with cotton and his eyes ached, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Everything felt so wrong, so eerie, that adrenaline still pumped through his veins. It was too quiet! This whole castle was empty, he knew, except for one crown prince—well, king—down the hallway. If he was back home, he’d hear the animals waking up, the birds tweeting in the trees, and Logan softly snoring. He’d feel the scratch of straw at his back and see the lamp always lit in the hallway. Now, although Roman pricked his ears and listened, all he heard was quiet. No birds were near his window—he was too high up. No footsteps marked the night shift, no lamp burned in the hallway. His room was cloaked in shadows and the door was closed.

Roman had complained every day he was stuck in that house, every day of chores and yes-sirs and food that tasted like dog barf. Roman hated it. He wanted out from the moment he made it in.

Now he was out. Now he was in the big wide world he always longed for. And all he wanted was to go home, feed the chickens, argue with Janus, and roll his eyes at Logan.

Nobody told him the world was this big. Or this scary. Or this…quiet.

Roman tossed the covers off himself. Maybe he should go for a walk. Or maybe he could go talk to Virgil! Surely Virgil wasn’t sleeping, right? Well, maybe he was sleeping. Maybe he was exhausted, just like Roman, and since he was used to all this he’d be out like a light. He’d probably be furious at Roman for waking him up just to talk.

No Virgil, then. Maybe he should read a book? If he was going to be King, he should learn about history and geography and politics and everything. Roman wasn’t very good at reading, but practice made perfect, right?

Right. He should just give up on sleep for the moment and do some studying.

Wow, he sounded like Logan. Logan would be just getting up now, grumbling about the cows. Roman would offer, as always, to swap and give Logan chicken duty. Logan would vehemently turn him down. Who was on chicken duty now, Roman wondered. Maybe Joan? Or Valerie? Or maybe Logan had taken on all his chores. Roman bit down the flash of guilt. Logan would understand.

Well…he probably wouldn’t. He would probably say Roman was a stupid selfish reckless fool, which was accurate. Logan probably didn’t even miss Roman much, except on a work-specific basis. He probably missed Roman because Roman fed the chickens.

Did anyone else miss Roman? Well, Joan and Valerie and the other servants didn’t really talk to him, but they seemed to like him okay. The master and mistress were…all right. They’d be mad about the sword, probably. Janus—stupid loser snaky liar pants-on-fire Janus—would be ecstatic that he’d finally managed to chase Roman off the farm.

Patton. Roman felt another surge of guilt. He hadn’t even thought about Patton! Patton was probably frantic. He loved all his ‘kiddos’. Roman really hoped Patton wasn’t too upset about this. He’d understand more than Logan would, but he also cared a lot more than Logan did. Patton might even try to go after him, maybe. Roman chuckled hollowly. There’s no way Logan would let that happen. Logan would know that Roman was a lost cause.

Roman rubbed his eyes. He was spiraling fast. He needed some kind of distraction, good or bad. Reaching out for the candle on the nearest table, Roman pulled himself off the bed. He yanked the candle with him, walking toward the door.

And a draft chilled Roman’s legs, whispered around his tunic, and snuffed out the candle.

The little light around Roman plunged into complete darkness. Roman could have been drowning in ink at this point. He squinted for some source of light, but all around him was black. Shapes swam in his vision, some manufactured, some real. Was that an arm? A hand? Was someone in here too? Roman had heard stories of boogeymen and monsters, and if all this was real, surely they could be, too. Maybe they had just been waiting for a chance to strike! Maybe they would attack him and stab him or rip his head off or drain his soul from his body or—

Was something tickling his foot?

Roman let out an undignified shriek, stumbling backwards. His knees caught the edge of the bed, and he fell onto the too-soft too-fancy sheets. Scrambling around, he pulled himself into the center of the bed, far away from any ticklish evil spirits.

His eyes began to adjust to the dimness. A little bit of silvery-grey light shone on the floor, illuminating a patch of worn carpet. Roman looked around for the source. Of course! Behind the screen was his little window. Roman quickly pulled the screen aside, murmuring an apology as the intricately painted wood crashed to the floor.

In the window, he could see everything. He was taller than the trees of the forest, taller than the birds, probably taller than the clouds. The town spread out beneath him, a shifting, scuttling carpet. Beyond that was the forest, prickly and bushy, and if Roman squinted he could almost see the edge of the forest and the farmlands beyond. On either side were the mountains, lofty and sharp, jagged blue glass piercing the foggy sky. Never mind—he couldn’t see everything. The Sand Castle was dwarfed by the mountains.

In the sky between the mountains, stars still hung low, but clouds drifted slowly among them. And on the horizon, a light glow stretched its fingers into the air, yellowy-pinky-orange, lightening the sky around it. The sun was rising. It was another day.

Roman opened the window. A wind, warm and sweet and summery, slid into his room. The place no longer smelled like dust and old velvet. It smelled like apple trees and baked bread and crisp slivers of sunlight.

And beneath him, he began to hear noises. People called to each other, laughing and bartering. A bard in the square started up a song. A horse came riding down the road, hooves clopping. And even though the birds were far away, he could still make out peeps and whistles, the same calls as back home.

Not the same noise. But not quiet, either.

Roman yawned, curling back into his sheets. The world was waking up, and soon, Roman would have to face it. He’d find his place, find some allies, and figure out what to do.

For now? He was going to sleep.

Chapter Text

They walked single file, Janus in front, Patton following, Logan bringing up the rear. The path was too narrow for him to walk next to Patton, even though he wanted to—simply for Patton’s safety, of course. And because being the last meant he had to hurry to outpace the trail. After he took a step, the path would immediately disappear behind him, leaving only branches and leaves behind. Ahead the path kept going, twisting around trunks, leading to who-knew-where. Logan didn’t know what was controlling the path—it was frustrating, he didn’t know, he couldn’t use any logic to get through the situation—but it was either the forest itself or someone within it. He didn’t know which option was more frightening.

They didn’t talk to each other—nobody had anything left to say. Once in a while Janus tripped and swore, prompting Patton to say “Language!” However, those incidents happened less and less. In the distance, the sky was lightening—daybreak approached, a new day beginning. Logan couldn’t believe everything had happened in a single night. It felt more like a decade.

Preoccupied, he didn’t notice that Janus had stopped. Patton plowed into Janus and Logan stumbled into Patton. The three fell to the ground, someone’s knee jammed in Logan’s stomach, his nose three inches from a toe. Janus let loose a truly impressive string of curse words that was slightly muffled by Patton’s tunic. Patton, for once, didn’t stop him.

Finally Logan extracted himself and brushed off his tunic. Janus followed, drawing his sword.

“Why did you stop?” Logan asked. He tried not to sound too bitter, but he hadn’t slept all night and he’d had two or three near-death experiences, so it did come out rather curt.

“Be nice!” Patton chided, bounding to his feet.

“I am being nice.”

“Yes, you’re being extremely kind.” Janus rolled his eyes. “Pardon me while I vomit.”

Logan folded his arms. “I just want to know why you stopped.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?”

“What do you mean you—”

“He’s right,” Patton piped up. “Look.”

Logan turned and looked. A night’s worth of experience taught him that whatever he was looking for wouldn’t be good. And he was right.

Ahead of them, the path reached an old stump and disappeared.

It was Logan’s turn to swear loudly.

“We’re dead,” Janus said, for perhaps the fifth time that night. “It’s been a good run, but this is where the story ends. Tell my parents they never understood me anyway.”

“Shh!” Patton said. “Keep your voice down! You don’t know what’s…”

“Oh, sorry, Patton.” Janus glanced at Logan. “I think someone’s expletives already gave us away.”

“As if you haven’t been complaining for the past eternity.”

“At least someone here is sensible enough to raise concerns about our wellbeing.”

“Sensible,” Logan repeated. “That isn’t quite the word I would use.”

“Oh really?” Janus asked. “I’d love to hear what words you would use.”

“Cynical, arrogant, callous, insensitive, dramatic—”

“Logan!” Janus placed a gloved hand on his heart. “I had no idea you think so much of me! I’m honored!”

Logan pressed his lips together. “There really is no winning with you, is there?”

“Well, you’re--”

“Could you two stop bickering?” said a new voice. “I have your friend and I’d rather just get to the negotiation stage instead of watching your silly argument.”

Logan and Janus whirled.

Sitting on the tree stump was a woman. She looked to be in her mid-forties—or twenties, or sixties. Actually, Logan couldn’t tell. She had gray hair and a stooped back, but her face was lively and smooth. She was wearing a dark green dress that blended with the ivy on the forest floor. One hand held a large stick rubbed smooth with a whorled knot at the top.

The other hand held Patton, whose hand was clapped to his own mouth, eyes wide with fear.

“Patton!” Logan blurted out. Something icy squeezed his heart. He stepped forward instinctively.

Janus grabbed his sleeve and roughly tugged him backwards.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Janus whispered. “Follow my lead.”

“What—”

But Janus was stepping forward and bowing, giving the woman his classic sabertoothed smile.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said. “What brings you to these parts?”

“I could ask you the same question,” said the woman. Her voice definitely sounded old—creaky and treacherous like a wooden bridge about to break.

“Well, we’ve gotten a little turned around.” Janus laughed airily, his hand drifting to his rapier. “This forest is definitely an interesting place. The paths can be…irritatingly spotty in places.”

“Oh, I know.” The woman smiled to herself, like she was in on a joke they weren’t. Logan didn’t like that smile. He didn’t like the woman at all, really—he didn’t like her small beetle-black eyes, her claw-like hands, or the way she seemed to keep Patton frozen and silent with a mere hand on his shoulder.

“I’m Damien,” Janus said. “This is Michael, and the boy you’re rudely holding is Lucas.”

The woman laughed now, the sound of a gathering storm. “No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She patted Patton on the shoulder. “This is Patton. Your other friend is Logan. And you’re Janus Daniel Dolion, which is a wonderful name. Tell your parents to avoid alliteration next time.”

Janus didn’t flinch, but his face seemed to freeze. “How did you—”

“I know a lot of things, Janus.” The woman ran her fingers over the top of her staff.

“…Who are you?” Logan blurted out. Janus gave him a why-did-you-interrupt look, which Logan dutifully ignored.

“Why, haven’t you figured it out?” The woman’s eyes gleamed with green. “I’m a witch, of course.”

Logan felt the single sliver of courage left inside of him die a slow, painful death.

“A witch?” he repeated, his voice far weaker than he wanted.

Janus leaned over and muttered “I told you.”

“Shut your mouth.”

A witch. Logan heard stories about witches as a child. He knew about their unrivaled power, their tricky natures, and their furious tempers.

And now a witch had Patton, probably spelled with some sort of curse. Patton, who was trying to pull his hand off his mouth, to no avail.

“What do you want?” Logan choked out.

“That depends.” The witch smoothed down her dress. “What do you want?”

“We want to leave,” Janus said. “We want you to let us out of this forest, either back in the village we came from or near the Sand Castle.”

“Hmm.” The witch smiled. “Does this include your friend?” She shook her hand slightly, and Patton trembled like a leaf before sitting down with his knees pressed to his chest. “Because he’s rather delightful. I might want to keep him around—I haven’t had a human in ages.”

Janus shrugged. “Do what you like. We’re not very close.”

“Hey!” Logan stepped forward. “Don’t listen to him. We want Patton too. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Is it?” she asked.

Logan drew up his head. “Yes.”

“You’re not exactly in a position to make bargains,” the witch pointed out. “I could simply spell all of you the way I spelled Patton and walk you three off a cliff.”

“Yes, a cliff.” Janus' sarcasm seemed to be making a comeback. “Those common cliffs you find in the middle of forests.”

The witch smiled and snapped her fingers. The world blurred around them, trees blending into each other like a smudged painting. Logan almost threw up. He debated running, but his knees were weak and before he could even shout, the world was back to normal.

The witch was still sitting on a stump. Patton was still next to her, silenced. Logan and Janus still stood next to each other, Janus' hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

But they were next to a waterfall, almost a hundred cows tall, that crashed and thundered into a rocky river below.

“Oh,” Janus said weakly.

“My forest,” the witch said, leaning forward. “My rules.”

Janus stepped back, and quickly—stupidly—he drew his sword.

The witch didn’t seem intimidated, but something hardened in her gaze. “Threaten me, will you?”

“Janus,” Logan hissed. “Put it away.”

Janus' hand shook, but he didn’t sheathe the blade.

“Janus!”

“Oh, will you kill me?” The woman stood up for the first time. She was taller than Logan realized, her knotted dark hair blending in with the lowest branches. Every part of her moved gracefully and fluidly, but together, they were slightly out of sync—mismatched, bony and piecemeal. A patchwork skeleton.

Behind her, Patton was dragged to his feet as well. His hand was still glued to his mouth.

“Will you stab me?” she asked, moving closer. “Will you drive that sword of yours through my chest? It would be easy, you know. Just a single thrust and I’m no longer a problem. Of course, you’d still be lost…but without my control, the forest will be less, well, spotty. You might have a chance to make it out of here alive.”

Janus seemed frozen like Patton, his eyes wide. The witch was almost upon him, dress hissing over the leaves.

“Just a single strike, and you could be rid of me.” She grinned, showing sharp teeth that weren’t—couldn’t be—human. “You didn’t hesitate with my dragon, did you?”

Logan swallowed. “…Your dragon?”

“Of course,” Janus snapped. “I should have noticed the family resemblance.”

“Clever little thing. Got quite the silver tongue, haven’t you?” The witch reached out and placed her staff on Janus' blade. “Too bad you’re all bark and no bite.”

And the sword crumbled to silvery dust. It fell through Janus' fingers and sunk into the ground.

Janus made a small, choked noise.

Logan looked to Patton. “Um, about leaving—"

“Oh, you’re not leaving.” The witch spread her hands. “We’re only just getting acquainted.”

Her staff struck the earth once, making a gong-like sound.

And Patton, Janus, and Logan collapsed to the ground.

Logan’s final memory was of the forest shifting again, green leaves blending together, the ground rupturing, the witch standing in the middle like the conductor of a symphony. Janus lay near him, eyes closed. Patton was a few feet away, crumpled and still.

He had to stay awake. He had to—

But something was tugging him deeper. Darkness crowded at the edge of his vision.

He needed to get to Roman.

He needed to save Patton.

He couldn’t die here.

He was so tired.

Logan’s eyes fluttered shut, and he felt himself drift away.

Chapter Text

Three days passed.

Roman remembered very little of the first day. He spent most of it sleeping. At around seven in the evening he finally stumbled out of bed and put on the fanciest thing in his closet. At nine in the evening he talked with Virgil, who said Roman had an extreme bedhead and Roman shouldn’t have slept that late and why was Roman wearing two vests at once? The time in between those two events was time he spent getting lost in the castle. He thought he remembered the way to the throne room, but everything looked different when he wasn’t running through the halls with a stolen sword. There wasn’t even anyone to give him directions, because there was no one in the palace.

So when Roman realized he hadn’t eaten a full meal in a few days, he ahd to find the kitchen. It took him half an hour, thanks to some truly terrible directions from Virgil: “Just go down the hallway, then the other hallway, then left by the thing, but not all the way left. Then double back when you see the old statue and you’ll be there. Can’t miss it.”

Roman was ninety-seven percent sure Virgil was messing with him. When he confronted Virgil about it, Virgil said that he was “just good at getting himself lost” and “couldn’t understand basic words” and “really shouldn’t be King, wow, what was the government coming to?” Roman hit Virgil with a frying pan and told him to get to work or they wouldn’t have any breakfast.

“It’s eleven at night, Princey.”

“Time is an illusion. Let’s cook.”

Roman was an okay cook. He could make scrambled, boiled, or poached eggs, baked bread, muffins that tasted like sawdust, and cookies that tasted like slightly sweeter sawdust. And despite the strange, expensive, and unlabeled ingredients, he managed to find somewhat normal-looking eggs and a small frying pan. He put Virgil on toast duty and set to work making scrambled eggs.

However, it soon became clear that Virgil had never cooked a meal in his life. Roman taught him how to slice bread, what butter looked like, and how to use a knife to spread butter. It took twenty minutes for Virgil to understand toasting. Roman would have done the toasting himself, but the eggs were reaching their peak and he needed to be near them. He sent Virgil to one of the fireplaces, set the bread on the rack, and told Virgil to put out the fire when they looked brown enough.

Virgil promptly tripped, knocked a pile of wood into the fire, and watched as the toast blackened and burned under the newly giant fire. Then he tried to grab the bread off the rack, and when it inevitablty burned his hands, dropped the flaming bread onto the floor. The flames caught on the side of his robe, and soon Virgil’s clothes were on fire.

Thanks to a quick dump of water, Virgil survived mostly unscathed. He nursed a burnt hand, wet hair, ruined clothes, and a pretty bruised ego. The toast did not survive—Roman gave it final rites and chucked it out the window, hoping it would find a better place in the future. The eggs turned out fine, if rubbery, so Virgil and Roman sat on the kitchen floor, eating rubbery eggs. Occasionally, Virgil would swear, and Roman would nod in agreement, but that was the extent of their conversation.

They would have gone somewhere else—the whole room still smelled like dead bread—but Roman had no confidence in his ability to find the dining room, and it was about one in the morning, so any social structure had long since dissolved.

Roman still didn’t like Virgil, not really. But he was definitely interesting.

That was the first day.

The second day, Roman spent on his own while Virgil prepared speeches, notices, and laws. Virgil had instructed him to “Stay in your room and don’t mess this up, or I swear you’ll go the same way as the toast.” Roman recognized when he was outclassed. He stayed in his room, reading books Virgil brought for him. He’d requested fiction stories and fairytales. All the books Virgil brought back from his library featured fools and idiots as protagonists. It wasn’t a subtle jab.

Roman didn’t like Virgil very much.

The third day, Virgil finally updated Roman on the situation. He’d declared King Thomas dead and that the Crown Prince Virgil, unknown heir, had taken the throne.

“He’s not dead,” Roman had replied.

“You’re worried about accuracy?” Virgil had rolled his eyes in that special annoying way of his. “We’ve got bigger concerns than whether we’re lying or not.”

“I don’t like lying,” Roman had pointed out. He was reminded of Patton, and the memory came with a brief flash of guilt.

“Too bad, Princey.” Virgil had sighed. “Look, he’s probably—people don’t survive the mountains, you know. We’re probably not far from the truth.”

Roman hadn’t known what to say to that. Virgil looked absolutely dejected. For a second, he wasn’t an annoying crown prince, a perpetual thorn in Roman’s side, a privileged smart-aleck who couldn’t make toast. He was a boy who lost his father.

Fortunately, Virgil had moved on like the moment never happened, so Roman didn’t have to figure out how to comfort him.

And slowly but surely, the plan emerged.

Virgil would do all the work. He would manage the kingdom and placate the lords and update the laws. He would do everything he’d been trained for and follow in his father’s footsteps—though not too closely. Virgil still planned to ease up on the taxes just a bit, especially since there were no servants he needed to pay.

Roman would be the face of the operation. He would do the speeches, the meet-and-greets, the occasional dance. He would use his winning personality—Roman’s words—and ingratiating stupidity—Virgil’s words—to charm everyone he needed to.

And how would they explain Roman’s last-minute appointment by a disgruntled king, Virgil’s fear of the public eye, and the fact that the two of them were co-kings without being married?

Simple. For all the public knew, there was only one king. King Virgil. With the brains of Virgil and the presence of Roman.

Roman would pretend to be Virgil, Virgil would do the work without having to interact, and they would try to find a trustworthy noble to promote. This would all be over as soon as possible, they both agreed. As soon as they found a worthy and qualified candidate, someone else would be king. Roman could go home. Virgil could go…well, Virgil didn’t talk about where he would go. Maybe he would stay in the castle and be the new king’s advisor. Maybe he would just disappear, into the forest or over the mountains like his father.

This was temporary. Roman said that to Virgil as a reassuring statement, calming him down when he got worked up. Virgil said it to Roman whenever Roman got too excited about the luxury or the attention. Virgil muttered it to himself between pages, Roman whispered it to himself before he went to bed. Temporary. A temporary solution. A bandage over a wound.

For now?

Roman had to play the part of his life.

Chapter Text

It was dark.

Logan tilted his head and tried to look around for some sort of light. He found himself unable to twist around all the way—something was at his back, smooth and cold and higher than his head. He shifted his weight slightly. Something was under him, too. A chair? Right, that made sense. Then why couldn’t he move his feet? Or—he couldn’t move his hands either. Chairs didn’t usually stop one from moving. Did they? Logan’s mind was fuzzy, as if he’d just woken up from a nap.

Had he just woken up? He certainly didn’t remember waking up, but it would explain why he had no memory of getting to this strange dark place. When did he fall asleep? He couldn’t see anything, if someone would just turn on a light he could tell where he was—

Oh. It was dark because Logan hadn’t opened his eyes yet.

A foolish oversight. Logan hoped nobody was around to see him look around like an idiot.

Carefully, he cracked open one eye.

Light.

He was in a large room with twisted brown walls and a patchwork green rug. A few holes in the wall, probably meant to be windows, were filled with sun. It was daytime, then. That didn’t seem right. He could have sworn it was nighttime when he—

Then memories crashed into his head.

The forest. The dragon. The witch. Janus' sword, the witch’s sleeping spell, Patton—

“Patton!”

Logan jerked forward. His arms and legs didn’t move—they were bound, he realized, with branches. Where was Patton? He needed to find him, where was he—

“Over here.”

That wasn’t Patton’s voice.

Logan slowly turned around until he was pressed against the arm of his chair. Something was moving a little ways away from him. Two trees grew out of the floor, branches forming the ceiling, bent in the shape of a seat. On one of those seats was Janus, feet and arms knotted in place with stray branches, cloak wrinkled and hair mussed. On the other was Patton. His head drooped to the side, his eyes closed.

Logan’s shock must have shown on his face. “Calm down,” Janus said. “He’s only asleep.”

“Are you—”

“I’m sure.” Janus rolled his eyes. “You were conked out too until like a second ago. He’ll be fine.”

Logan’s heartbeat didn’t slow. “Where are we? What happened?”

“Didn’t you look around?”

“I was a little busy,” Logan grumbled.

Janus gave an irritating smile. “Then give this place a look and see if you’re as smart as you act.”

Logan looked around once again. Things seemed clearer now, lines falling into place. The walls were brown and knobby, sloping to the ceiling. The floor rustled under Logan’s feet. Janus, Patton, and Logan were the only things in the room. There wasn’t a door, and every window was too high to use.

The sunlight warmed Logan’s face. His stomach growled, and he ignored it. A few birds twittered outside and something roared, loud and raspy. Logan inhaled. Flowers, grass, and pine needles. Bread baking. Was that…manure? And old wood and pine sap, thick and cloying.

Underneath it all lurked the smell of old, faded smoke.

“Is this where she lives?” Logan asked. He didn’t expect Janus to reply, but to his surprise, Janus nodded.

“Only part of it, I think. It doesn’t seem like the most comfortable bedroom, and there’s a door behind you.”

Logan tried to look, but the tree-chair held him in place. He looked down at the branches, which curled around his ankles and bound his hands like they’d grown there for decades, perfectly shaped. The bark pulled on his tunic. His shoulders ached. Every part of him ached. How long had he been sleeping here? It was probably extremely harmful to his back.

“How long have you been awake?” Logan asked.

Janus shrugged.

“Has anything happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Janus sighed. “Well, actually, I was lying to you because I don’t want to give you all the information about the situation, even though to escape it’s highly beneficial for everyone to be well-informed. I don’t like you, but I’m not an idiot.”

“Thanks,” Logan said. “You didn’t have to be that sarcastic.”

“Well, you didn’t have to lead us into a trap and get us kidnapped by a witch.”

“Wh—” Logan glared at him. “I did not do that!”

“Well, I need someone to blame, so I’m blaming you!”

“Why don’t you blame yourself? You were the one who—”

“Guys…” Patton mumbled, shifting in his seat. “Don’t…don’t be mean…”

“Pat?” Logan almost wept with relief. “You’re okay!”

“Hmm?” Patton opened his eyes blearily and blinked. “Lo? Wuzzat? What’s happ’nin’?”

“We got kidnapped by a witch,” Janus said. “We are currently trapped in some sort of sentient forestry with no means of escape, probably to be devoured or turned into some sort of gruesome lawn decoration.”

“What?” Patton squeaked.

“Stop that!” Logan said.

“I thought you liked it when I was honest.”

“For once in your life can you be helpful?” Logan gave Patton, who was starting to breathe heavily, a reassuring look. “Patton, we’re currently in a troubling situation, but there is no immediate danger. I have confidence we will be alright, and we will certainly have a better chance of surviving if we take a deep breath, remain calm, and stop antagonizing each other.” Those last words Logan directed at Janus with a glare. “We will be fine.”

Janus gave an extremely fake gasp. “Logan, don’t lie to him.”

“I’m not lying—"

“You’re certainly not being truthful—”

“Better that than being a nihilist—”

“Oh, so a realistic attitude is nihilism now?”

“Can’t you just be quiet and listen to me—”

“Guys!”

Janus and Logan glanced toward Patton. “What?” they snapped in unison.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Patton fiddled with a wayward stick on his tree. “We need to stop being mean! We won’t make it out if we can’t work together.”

Janus gave Patton a condescending smile. “Patton, dear, we’re not going to make it out at all. I don’t think it matters whether I play nice with Logan or not.”

“You are insufferable, I—”

“Please?” Patton bit his lip. “Can you try?”

Logan softened. “I…okay, Patton. I’ll do my best.”

“Great.” Janus rolled his eyes. “Take your boyfriend’s side.”

“He is not my—”

“No!” Patton set his jaw. “No arguing. We’re going to sit here in silence until you guys can say something nice.”

“I guess Janus will have to be silent forever, then,” Logan muttered. “Such a shame.”

“I heard that.”

“Sit here. In. Silence.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Patton?”

Logan jerked upright. Heels brushed the leaflitter floor and a few branches creaked in front of them, undulating and forming a table and a chair. Expertly sweeping aside her dress, the witch sat in front of them. She seemed relaxed, sticking one leg up on the table, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. Only her eyes betrayed her excitement.

“You’ll never get them to listen to you if you don’t command them,” she said. “You have absolutely no presence. You don’t make an entrance, you don’t assert yourself—they walk right over you and you let them. The only way to make yourself heard is to silence everyone else in the room.” The witch gave them a cold smile which reminded Logan of a crescent moon, pale and sharp and unearthly. “Just a little advice, free of charge. No need to thank me.”

Patton swallowed. “I—I don’t think I’d like to—do that. I like other people.”

“We’ll work on that, then.” The witch smiled, and waved her hand. Logan braced himself for a blast of magic, but all that appeared were three teacups and a plate of cookies.

“Would you like some tea?”

Chapter Text

“Of course,” Virgil said, “learning the ins and out of ruling takes years of practice and discipline. Trying to replicate it in the space of a day is absolutely unheard of and will probably only lead to confusion.”

Roman smiled. “But that’s what we’re doing, right?”

“That’s what we’re doing.” Virgil sighed, rubbing his face. “What cruel witch cursed me? Why does this have to be my life?”

“Chin up, Prince Underarm Stink!” Roman lounged in an overstuffed velvet chair, kicking his legs over the side. “I’m a fast learner!”

“A fast learner, huh?” Virgil walked over to the bookshelf and started pulling tomes down. “Well, you should start sitting like a King, at least. Aka, correctly.”

“I’m gay! I can’t sit properly!”

“Boo-hoo.”

Roman grumbled but shifted until he was sitting correctly on the chair. “I don’t like you.”

“Well, you’re about to like me even less.” Virgil shoved a pile of books in Roman’s lap. “Here.”

Roman eyed them warily. “I don’t suppose you want me to balance them on my head and practice posture?”

“Read them.” Virgil folded his arms. “They’re a little dense…”

Roman flipped open the first book. The words looked like ants. “A ‘little’ dense?”

“…but they have useful information,” Virgil continued. “The first few are about the aristocratic system and the methods of maintaining power. Then there’s a brief summary of the royal history, some geography, the intricacies of taxes, the current rulebook, agricultural and industrial products and how they affect the economy, basic etiquette…”

Roman swallowed. “Um…”

“They only cover the basics, of course.” Virgil sat down at a nearby desk and dipped a quill in an inkpot. “We’ll cover some more material later. For now, I’ll be composing a letter to Emile and seeing if he’s interested in becoming a ruler. Ask me any questions you have.”

Roman looked back down at the pile of books. His legs were already becoming numb under the weight. Running his hands over the embossed covers, wincing when dirt smudged the lettering, Roman bit his lip and tried to think of what to say. “Um, Virgil?”

Virgil was already scribbling. “Yeah?” he asked without turning around.

“I…um…” Roman gave him a sheepish smile. “I can’t…read.”

The scratching of the quill abruptly stopped.

“It’s okay, though!” Roman said frantically. “I bet I can learn to read in an afternoon…it can’t be that hard…”

Slowly, Virgil’s head listed forward and he slammed his forehead onto the desk. The inkpot jumped and so did Roman.

“You’re kidding me,” Virgil said, still pressed to the desk. “You are kidding me.”

“I never went to school!” Roman protested. “I’ve been a servant since I was six! You don’t need to know the alphabet to clean a house!”

“We’re doomed.” Virgil pushed himself off the desk and flopped backwards, staring at the ceiling. “This entire kingdom is doomed.”

“Hey!”

“It’s not your fault,” Virgil said with a vague hand-wave. “I’m not mad.”

Roman frowned. “It kind of sounds like you are?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Virgil clarified. “I’m just really mad at my father, who apparently thought it was a good idea to leave an illiterate person in charge of the throne!”

“I do the talking, remember?” Roman folded his arms. “I don’t need to know all that. You’re the one making laws and stuff.”

“Yes, but…” Virgil rubbed his eyes. “How do I explain this? Princey, everyone’s going to be looking at you.”

“Cool!”

“At all times.”

“Like I said, cool.”

“Will you shut up and listen to me?” Virgil snapped. “You’re going to be under heavy scrutiny, especially because my father never told anyone he had an heir. One step out of place, one hair out of position, and they will either judge you for being ‘inexperienced’ and ‘weak’ or they’ll doubt your claim to the throne entirely. You need to learn this ‘stuff’ or we’re both dead.”

Roman opened his mouth and closed it again.

“So I will teach you,” Virgil said, taking a deep breath, “everything I know. In twenty-four hours. With no aids, because you can’t read. While simultaneously drafting a letter to Emile.” He closed his eyes. “I can do this. I…can…do this.”

“What are the rules?” Roman asked.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Whenever I get a new job, before they go into all the details, they tell me the basic rules. What I’ll be doing, what especially not to do, what I really need to know before anything else. What are the things I need to know immediately?”

Virgil gave Roman an appraising look. “Wow, Princey. That was almost intelligent.”

Roman stuck his tongue out at Virgil.

“Not very mature for a King,” Virgil said.

“I shall make a royal decree that tongue-sticking-out is very mature indeed.”

“You can’t do that without full support of the nobles,” Virgil said. “You need to keep them happy or they’ll rebel against your authority. And they’re not called ‘decrees,’ anyway. They’re laws.”

“Is that the first rule?” Roman asked. “Be nice to the nobles?”

Virgil paused and nodded. “I guess. Second rule? Always look like you know what you’re doing, even when you don’t.”

Roman smiled. “Oh, that’s a specialty of mine.”

“I can tell.”

Roman stuck his tongue out again.

“Thirdly,” Virgil said, ignoring him, “you need to keep the people happy or afraid of you. Either way, you can’t have a rebellion at your door. Be nice or be feared—knowing you, it’ll probably be the former, since you’re about as intimidating as a potato, but either works.”

“Rude!” Roman frowned. “Unfortunately, I must agree. I could not imagine any circumstances where anyone would fear me! I am universally loved.”

Virgil gave him a single raised eyebrow. “Egoism aside, nobody in power is universally loved. You’re going to make enemies, Princey. Be prepared for that.”

Roman stared at his knees. “Is that why you don’t want to be king?”

He didn’t expect Virgil to respond, but Virgil sighed. “Among other reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I don’t want to be in the spotlight, of course.” Virgil shifted, avoiding Roman’s gaze. “And…my father only humored it because he didn’t want a ton of questions about my birth.”

“What does that mean?” Roman asked.

“My father’s never been married,” Virgil growled. “Connect the dots.”

“Oh.” Roman swallowed. “I—sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Princey.” Virgil took his quill and began to write again. “Except maybe choosing that outfit.”

Roman looked down at his golden cape, white shirt, red sash, and leather boots. “Hey!”

“I’ll teach you how to dress first,” Virgil said, scratching at his letter. “And then…”

Foreboding filled Roman. “And then what?”

Virgil smiled evilly.

“Etiquette.”

Chapter Text

“Are those poisoned?” Logan asked, looking at the cookies and tea warily. The branches had loosened so he could move his arms again, but he had no doubt the witch would tighten them at a moment’s notice.

“Maybe.” The witch leaned back, cracking her knuckles. “Give them a shot and let me know.”

Patton and Janus met Logan’s eyes apprehensively. Patton looked about to throw up or cry. Janus looked paler than Logan had ever seen him.

Finally, Janus shrugged. “Why not?” Reaching forward, he popped a cookie into his mouth.

“Janus!” Patton cried, looking far too concerned about Janus.

Janus chewed slowly, eyes closed. His brow furrowed, and silently, he slumped.

Never mind. Logan was, in fact, also concerned about Janus.

Patton moved forward, trying to reach him. His mouth was open in shock. Logan’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. Janus wasn’t moving. His whole body was limp.

Then he opened his eyes, sat up straight, and said in a deadpan voice “They’re not poisoned.”

“What—” Logan’s face burned with rage. “Why would you do that?”

“Kiddo…” Patton frowned. “That was mean!”

A few chuckles had them looking over to the witch. She was wheezing, clutching the table for support, almost crying with laughter.

“G-good one,” she forced out. “That was…you’re a keeper, Janus. I couldn’t have done better myself.”

Janus' face was a mixture of pride and shame. “I…am not sure if I should be pleased with that.”

“Take it how you will, I don’t mind.” The witch shook herself and wiped her eyes. “Well? Eat up! They’re not poisoned, are they? You’ve been sleeping for three days, you’ll need some food in you.”

“Three days?” Logan blurted out. “You knocked us out for three days?”

“Well, I couldn’t have you waking up too soon, could I?” The witch shrugged. “A bigger sleeping spell is more potent, and anyway, it’s not like you had anywhere you needed to be.”

“But we did!” Patton protested. “Roman—we need to help Roman!”

“Roman…” The witch tapped her chin. “Big fancy sword, annoying attitude, heading this way to kill the King?”

“Yes!” Patton smiled. “You’ve seen him?”

“No. I’ve never seen a guy like that in my life.”

Janus snickered. Logan gave him a look, and he shrugged defensively.

“Roman is irrelevant anyway.” The witch shrugged. “He reached the castle days ago. There’s nothing you could do about the situation.”

“He’s already at the castle?” Logan asked. “How did he make it out of the forest?”

“I helped him, of course.”

“What?” Janus looked offended. “He’s a prick, why would you help him and not us?”

The witch looked even more offended. “I’m not going to just tell you my plans in some sort of dramatic monologue, you know.”

Janus nodded. “Fair.”

“Glad you understand.” The witch paused and groaned. “Ugh, now I really want to do that.”

“You know, if you’re open to it…” Patton shrugged. “People say I’m a good listener!”

“I’m not sure…” The witch frowned. “Well, I suppose you won’t be escaping anytime soon, so I really don’t have anything to lose…”

“That’s the spirit!” Patton grinned.

“It would be very dramatic,” Janus added. “And drama is the most important thing when establishing a presence. That’s why I often tell people exactly how I messed with them after I mess with them. It adds another layer. They can’t do anything about it and I get to enjoy their reactions.”

“A very good point,” the witch agreed. “I’m glad one of you has some sense.”

Logan looked between Patton, Janus, and the witch. Perhaps he had fallen into some strange, illogical dream.

“Well.” The witch leaned back and folded her fingers. “Where to begin, really?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Patton encouraged.

The witch met Logan’s eyes. “How much do you know about magic?”

Logan swallowed. “Well, of course it’s not real—”

She waved a hand and the table buckled in on itself, a new tree growing to the ceiling, bark creaking and leaves rustling as it wove itself into the branches above. The teacups and cookies slid to the floor. Patton looked disappointed.

“Anything else you would like to add?” the witch asked.

“Don’t mind Logan,” Janus said. “He’s in denial.”

“I am not—”

“A quick tutorial, then.” The witch flicked a finger, and a branch of the table curled to meet her hand. She twisted it around expertly, and it wound its way up her arm. “Contrary to popular belief, anyone can do magic. Most people simply avoid it because it makes them uncomfortable.”

Logan watched the table undulate like a snake. “I couldn’t imagine why.”

“That’s what I said!” the witch agreed. “But since performing magic requires accepting magic’s influence and strength, almost everyone lives their lives woefully ignorant.”

Janus' eyes were fixed on the branch that was now tickling her elbow. “So…purely for hypothetical purpose…how does one do magic?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” The witch smiled at him like he was a cute puppy. Logan shuddered. “Magic is an art like anything else. You get your source of magic after linking with a plant, animal, or place. For example, my source is this forest. It’s already magic after centuries of curses and jinxes, so I experience much of its power as well.”

“Why haven’t you taken over already?” Janus asked. “If you have that much power, shouldn’t you just wipe out everyone and own the kingdom instead of squatting in a tree hovel like a lower-class boot wiper?”

Patton gritted his teeth. “Janus,” he hissed, “we do not motivate the nice witch lady to murder us all, okay?”

“Oh, I like the way you think,” the witch said, giving Janus another sickly smile. “Sadly, a witch must always stay by their source or their magic disappears. If I take one step out of this forest, well…” She spread her hands and examined them. “I would get a lot older, that’s for sure.”

“How old are you?” Janus asked.

“Janus!” the witch gasped. “It’s rude to ask a woman her age.”

“Well, it’s also rude to kidnap people, and yet, here we are.”

“Janus,” Logan muttered. Antagonizing the dangerous witch was probably a bad idea in this situation. Fortunately, she only seemed to be amused by his jabs.

“Do you have any questions so far?” she asked.

Logan bit his lip to stop himself from talking. Her eyes locked onto him immediately. “Yes?”

There was no turning back now. “What…is magic?” he asked. “How does it work?”

“That’s a very interesting question, Logan.” The witch smiled, but it wasn’t the same smile as the sugary-sweet one she gave Janus. It was calculating. “In essence, magic is believing something so fervently that you make the rest of the natural world believe it too. Magic is lying so expertly and convincingly that the lie becomes a reality. Magic is knowing that anything is possible if you fool the right people.” She laughed lightly. “Magic is lying, plain and simple. The only difference is?”

She closed her hand in a fist, and the entire house shifted. New windows opened and closed. Logan saw a dappled clearing, a lazy river, a small spring, a farm and a sky and a nest and an underground burrow. He saw the forest spreading its roots into the earth, a teeming mass of trees, itself an entity, itself a threat.

“Liars can be caught. Liars can be hanged. Liars can be proven false.” She waved a hand, and the room settled into place. “But if you make your lie the truth…no one can stand in your way.”

Logan looked at her, and once again, he remembered she was much more than a white-haired woman with moving trees and a flair for the dramatic. He was dealing with someone far beyond his knowledge, on an entirely different level, and she knew it.

“What do you want?” he asked. “You could have killed us five times over. Why did you keep us alive?”

The half-smile fell off her face. She leaned over the table. “Because I want to make you an offer.”

Patton looked nervously at Logan. Logan looked nervously at Janus. Janus looked expectantly at the witch.

“I want help. I can’t leave this forest, I’m not as young as I used to be, I’m tired of shoveling dragon poop.” The witch splayed her hands. “I want to take one of you on as my apprentice. And I have a feeling at least one of you will say yes.”

Logan was speechless. Janus' mouth dropped open.

“No!” Patton immediately yelped. “I mean…thanks for the offer, but that doesn’t sound—at all--like something I’d want to do.”

“Well, I can’t say I didn’t expect that.” The witch sighed. “You would be a wonderful help, Patton, but you’re too much of a do-gooder. You’re optimistic, impossibly naïve, and try to gloss over problems instead of solving them. And don’t get me started on your problems with repression. You’re so desperate to be liked and to help people that you tear yourself apart.” The witch gave him an almost sympathetic look. “You can’t be there for everyone, you know. You can’t save everyone. It’s best if you realize that sooner and spare yourself the heartbreak.”

Patton looked as if someone had thrown a pile of dragon poop in his face. He blinked a couple times and managed a shaky “Okay then.”

“Don’t say that,” Logan said instinctively. “That’s cruel and a blatant falsehood. Patton is an extremely helpful individual and has made many friends. Although he could do to think of himself more often, he is…admirable in his efforts to assist wherever he can. I find it one of his best traits.”

Patton gave Logan a watery smile, which Logan attempted to return.

“How did I know you were going to defend him?” The witch rolled her eyes. “For someone who claims to be uninhibited by feelings, you certainly have a lot of them.”

Logan glared back. “My ability to communicate compassion to my friends is not a weakness.”

“We’re friends?” Janus asked, face twisting in confusion.

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“All I have to say,” Logan said, “is that I will not take you up on your offer either.”

“Hmmph.” The witch looked frustrated. “Are you sure? You’re a little narrow-minded and egotistical at times, but we could work with that. You’ve definitely got potential.”

Logan shook his head. He was not going to work for anyone who was that rude to Patton. Besides, he needed to find Roman. He didn’t have time to become a witch’s apprentice. “No.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the witch said. “I know you would have done a good job.”

Logan glared. “You do not know anything about me.”

“Be flattered! I just complimented you!” The witch huffed. “But I understand. You’re displaying token resistance due to misguided affection for your friends and an overdeveloped sense of leadership. You believe that being the ‘team leader,’ as it were, means you must show a high level of morality and rationale. In fact, an impossible level.” She leaned forward again, staring intently. “Can I give you some advice?”

Logan eyed her warily. “I get the feeling you will give me the advice whatever my response.”

“Stop trying to be perfect.” She tapped the table. “It’ll lead you down a dangerous path. You don’t need to be the team leader with all the answers. You don’t need to stifle every emotion you pretend you don’t feel. You don’t need to pretend you don’t need anyone’s help because you’re afraid to ask for the help you need. These people--” The witch pointed at Patton and Janus. “They’re probably the best you’ll get, if we’re being honest here. Treat them better. Be nicer. Have more personality than an oak tree. Just throwing things out there.”

Logan gritted his teeth and kept his face neutral. A flush was spreading up his neck. It was getting harder to breathe—he checked to see if a branch was covering his throat, but it was only the rising anger.

The witch smiled, like she saw right through him and knew exactly how furious he was. And she loved it.

“Lighten up a little, okay?” She waggled her fingers at him. “Go with the flow. Just because your parents died doesn’t mean you have to be a complete stick-in-the-mud.”

Logan’s stomach dropped. All the angry words that coated his mouth shriveled up. He swallowed once and twice, but his throat was still dry.

Patton now looked like the witch had killed his favorite puppy. His eyes were wide and filled with concern. Even Janus looked disconcerted.

“Wow, lady. You don’t just bring up someone’s dead parents.” Janus' usual snide tone didn’t have the same luster. “Even by my standards, that’s a little harsh.”

“Oh, as if you have standards.”

Janus gave an offended gasp, placing a hand to his chest.

The witch chuckled. “Nice. There’s a reason you’re my favorite.”

Janus frowned. “There is? Wait, I’m your favorite?”

“Yes,” the witch said simply. “You make me laugh and you certainly have a proclivity for deceit. If I could choose any of you to work for me, I would most definitely pick you.”

“Thank…you?”

“You’re very welcome.” The witch tilted her head. “Yes or no?”

Janus opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“I should add,” the witch said, seeing his hesitation, “that the only reason you’re alive is because I want an apprentice. If all three of you turn me down, I’m afraid I’ll have to send you to some more of my dragons. They’re all raving after you killed Anton. I’m sure they’d love a chance to get even.”

Janus' face went white as paper. “I—good for them.”

“Indeed.” The witch brushed a strand of hair into place. “If you do accept my generous offer, I’ll let your friends go. They’ll be dropped off back at their town, no harm done.”

Janus swallowed. “Are you lying?”

“Never! I’m a witch of my word.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

The witch’s offended expression fell away. She gave him a smirk. “Maybe I am lying. Maybe I will kill them anyway. But isn’t a maybe better than a definitely?”

Patton caught Logan’s eye. He was mouthing words Logan couldn’t make out. Oh—it was ‘are you okay?’

Hardly the biggest concern at the moment, was it?

Janus' foot was tapping at the floor and he kept shifting his weight, the only signs of nervousness he betrayed. Logan had no doubt the witch could see them too.

Finally, Janus said, “And what if we escape?”

The witch laughed. “Good one.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” The witch waved an arm. “This is my house. It’s impossible to escape.”

Janus smiled. “Aren’t you all about doing the impossible?”

“Cute.” The witch’s souring expression told a different story. “But I have eyes and ears everywhere, from worms to deer to dragons to birds. Everything that happens in this forest, I know about it. I control it. You are only alive because I made it that way. You are alive because you impressed me when you fought my dragon. You are alive because I let the forest lead you back to the dragon so you could slay it. You are alive because I let you find that clearing and the path beyond. And your precious Roman is alive because I thought it would be entertaining to watch him attack the castle, and even more entertaining if he accidentally succeeded.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have accomplished nothing that I did not permit. Whatever accolades you have given yourself for surviving this far, I ask you to understand that they are worthless. You three are weak human younglings with no common sense who have survived on blind luck and snarky attitudes. This offer I am extending is the best hope you have of making it out of this forest alive, and out of the goodness of my heart, I urge you to accept it.”

The witch smiled. There was no joy in the expression.

“So make your choice.”

Chapter Text

Roman was sitting on one end of the dining table. Fifteen or twenty steps away was Virgil, on the other end, toying with a candle as he melted a wax seal. The seats in between were empty—neither had bothered to drag them out of the way. A chandelier hung above them. Roman had tried to climb on the table and light the candles in the chandelier, but Virgil snapped at him for getting dirt on the tablecloth.

“It doesn’t matter,” Roman had argued. “Nobody’s here but us.”

“It’s…it’s the principle of the thing.” Virgil gave an exasperated look that Roman now knew as well as Logan’s. “Please sit down.”

“Can I at least open the curtains?” Roman motioned to the dusty velvet curtains masking the windows. “It’s so dreary in here!”

“I like dreary. Sit down.”

There was no food on the table. They’d eaten some carrots and apples earlier, and it was only three in the afternoon. Roman wasn’t in the dining room to eat.

“Now.” Virgil let the wax drip as he stared Roman down. Even from so far away, Roman saw his eyes crackle with intensity. “Let’s try this again. The first course is salad. What do you do?”

“Right.” Roman looked down at his place setting. A plate in the center, a glass for water and a glass for wine, a small bowl for dessert and a smaller plate for bread. A napkin with nicer fabric than anything Roman had ever worn. A knife, two different forks with no discernable difference, a large spoon, a small spoon, a tiny spoon, and a teacup.

“I really think this is stupid,” Roman said for the fifth time that day. “Can’t I just eat the food? Why does this matter?”

“Etiquette is important,” Virgil said for the fifth time that day. “Salad. Go.”

“Well.” Roman scanned over the implements. Both knives and spoons were right out—he couldn’t spoon up salad. So it was one of the two forks. Was it the big one or the small one? Right, the big one was for pies and cakes and other big things.

Roman picked up the small fork and gave Virgil a confident grin. “This one.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Did they use spoons for salad in high society? No, no, he would have remembered that. “I’m sure.”

Virgil raised his eyebrow higher.

What was Roman missing? He’d chosen the right fork, he’d—

Oh. Right. Roman blushed sheepishly and tugged his napkin over his lap.

“Better.” Virgil’s mouth lifted in something resembling a smile. “Which spoon is your dessert spoon?”

Roman pointed to the spoon in the middle.

“Wine glass?”

The second glass.

“Steak knife?”

Roman paused. Then he glanced at Virgil’s smug face. “There isn’t one.”

“Not terrible.” Virgil shrugged, blowing out his candle. Pressing a seal into the wax, he blew on it. It sat like a red beetle on his letter. “Not great, but not terrible.”

“It’s not like I’ll be having any dinner parties,” Roman pointed out. “If I’m you, my father’s just died. I’ll have to give a speech at the funeral, but other than that, it’s understandable that I wouldn’t be up for socializing. Nobody will press me for events, right?” He caught himself and rubbed at his hair. “Well…I don’t know. You people are weird.”

Virgil huffed, a smile tugging at his lips. “We’re only weird to you, Princey. And yeah, you’ve got a point. We’ll have time to get your table manners ready and for me to convince you that you need to pull your soup spoon towards you.”

Roman leaned forward. “Now that’s just stupid. Why does it matter which direction I—”

“Etiquette.” Virgil glanced at him, smoothing out his letter. “Elbows off the table.”

“I swear you’re making half this stuff up.”

“Why would I?” Virgil pointed out. “The survival of this kingdom, unfortunately, rests on you. It’s my job to teach you the ways of the world.”

Roman pouted, folding his arms. “Emile better want to rule.”

“Well, hopefully this letter will reach him and he’ll be willing. He’s a good man, I think he’d be okay at it.” Virgil waved his letter to his side, not looking over. “Deliver this to—”

Roman tilted his head. “Who are you talking to?”

Virgil blinked. “Oh. Right. No servants.”

Despite himself, Roman chuckled. Virgil gave him a venomous glare that quickly turned panicky.

“What?” Roman asked.

“How am I supposed to get this to Emile?” Virgil glanced at the letter.

“Um, that’s easy?” Roman frowned. “You just give it to a messenger?”

“Like…outside?” Virgil’s voice squeaked. “We have to go outside?”

“Yeah?” Roman laughed. “I think that’s a pretty normal thing to—”

“You’re doing it!” Virgil tossed the letter towards him. It fell weakly to the table. “You’re going outside! Not me!”

“I—” Roman bit his lip. “Virgil, are you—”

“Wait.” Virgil’s fingers tapped at the table. “Wait, no. They’ll recognize you. You’re—you’re the King now, they’ll recognize you. I—I have to do it.”

Roman couldn’t help but laugh again. “Virgil, you’re delivering a letter, it’s not life-or-death—”

“I have to do it.” Virgil stood up abruptly, grabbing the letter. “I can do it. I can…I can—I can do this.”

“Virgil?” Roman followed him as he walked down the hall. Virgil’s hands shook on the letter. They were heading to a small kitchen door. Virgil pushed it open, and a fresh breeze traveled over Roman’s skin. Involuntarily, he smiled. He didn’t realize how much he missed the outdoors.

Virgil seemed to have the exact opposite reaction. He stared in horror at the view beyond the door—a bustling town, smoke curling into the air. Only a line of bushes and a small moat separated them from the road. A wagon creaked along, horses striking the stones. Beggars pleaded for coins, merchants hawked their wares, and people rushed along the cobblestone streets, hats low against the sun. The smell of sweat, manure, and food rose above it all. It wasn’t a completely intoxicating aroma, but it was familiar. It was reassuring. It was something Roman understood.

The door slammed and Virgil sunk to his knees, leaning against the wall. “No, no no no no no…”

“Virgil!” Roman stepped forward, hands hovering, unsure of how to help. “What’s upsetting you?”

Virgil swallowed. “P-people? A lot of people. I didn’t—so many—”

“People—” Roman started in confusion. There weren’t even that many people visible, it was only one corner of town—

Then he realized. How could he have been so foolish? Of course Virgil was overwhelmed. He’d never been outside in his entire life. The most of the world he had seen was servants and the books lining his library.

“Oh.” Roman glanced at the door. “I get it.”

“Y-yeah.” Virgil shook himself and pushed off the wall. “It’s fine! It’s fine. I can do it! It’s just a…stupid town. That’s all. You can—go work on your posture. I’ll…I’ll handle this.”

“Hey, hold on.” Roman took the letter from Virgil’s hand. “It’s clearly freaking you out. I’m not sending you out there alone, you’d probably die of shock.”

“Are you going instead?” Virgil’s eyes betrayed his hope.

Roman glanced at the door again. It would be easier to just do it himself without a socially-isolated co-king at his heels.

“No.”

“What?” Virgil asked.

“You’re coming with me, actually.” Roman made no attempt to hide the grin on his face.

“What?” Virgil frowned. “We don’t need two people to—Princey, what the—”

“You’re a King now, correct?” Roman teased. “And there are things a King needs to know. There are things I need to teach you. Things that matter. Of course, you’re a pretty hopeless case,” he added, smiling to make sure Virgil knew he was kidding, “and we’d need more than a day to really turn things around, but this could be a start.”

Virgil looked at him warily. “This is revenge, isn’t it?”

“No!” Roman declared, which was a complete lie. “This is a teachable moment, young one!”

“We’re the same age.”

“You need to learn something very important.” Roman wiggled his eyebrows. “C’mon. Ask me what it is.”

Virgil folded his arms.

“Please? It needs to be dramatic and—”

“Fine.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Oh great and wondrous Princey, what knowledge do you refer to?”

Roman grinned evilly.

“Social skills.”

And he threw open the door.

Chapter Text

It was silent inside the witch’s cottage. Even the birds outside had quieted. Logan kept his lips pressed together, one hand skidding around to tug at loose branches behind his back. He was making no real progress with any sort of escape plan, but trying and failing felt better than doing nothing at all.

“Do I—" Janus’s voice cracked. “How much time to I get to decide?”

“As much as I’m willing to give you,” the witch said coldly. “And I don’t exactly have all day.”

“Okay.” Janus glanced at Logan, who looked back helplessly. He glanced at Patton, who mouthed ‘Don’t.’ Logan didn’t know what Patton was warning against, agreeing to work with the witch or getting them all killed, but knowing Patton’s disposition he guessed it was the latter.

“Well.” Janus took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline, then.”

The witch made a strangled hissing noise. “What?”

“Decline,” Janus repeated. “It’s a generous offer and I appreciate it, but I’d rather not work for a murderer, and I have places to be.”

“You can’t just—” The witch’s face contorted. “You can’t—”

“I can and I did.”

“Your friends will die!” she hissed.

Janus shrugged. “We’re not on great terms anyway.”

“You will die!”

“It seems like I will no matter what I choose,” Janus said. “Anyway, I’d advise against killing me. My parents would be…rather put out if their only son was murdered. And the things that offend them tend not to last very long.”

Logan almost smiled. So that was his angle. A bold move, extremely risky, but then again, the time for caution was long past.

The witch stared at him for a second. Logan prayed that she would see sense and open negotiations.

Instead, she laughed.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” The witch grinned. “I’ve seen better excuses from baby dragons.”

Janus looked nonplussed. “I—I wasn’t lying—”

“Sure you weren’t.” The witch reached into a thicket by her elbow and pulled out a staff. “You and I both know that you and your parents aren’t on the best of terms. They barely looked for you after you disappeared—the only thing you’re worth to them is a possible marital alliance, and since you turned down all those suitors, you’re not even that. Sure, the family line might die out, but they don’t want you as the face of it, either. You’re egotistical, duplicitous, and frankly, a complete jerk.” She pointed at Logan and Patton with her staff, and Logan flinched involuntarily. “These two are the only people that would possibly ever miss you, and you just doomed them to death.”

Patton made a little sad noise. Logan guessed it was less about the death threat and more about the parts before that. He was pretty sure the witch was lying, or at least embellishing, but what if she wasn’t? Was that why Janus came with them? He didn’t have anywhere else he was wanted?

“Well.” Janus raised an eyebrow. “Are you finished?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You talk too much.” Janus spread his hands on the table. “I still stand by my decision. Trying to hack away at my oh-so-fragile self-esteem isn’t going to work.”

“Playing hard-to-get?”

“I’m saying no.” Janus smirked. “You’re the one who thinks, or rather, hopes that I’ll change my mind. You really want an apprentice, don’t you? Is it personal, or are you just that lonely and desperate for power?”

“Enough!” The witch slammed her staff on the ground, and the branches around them began to writhe like snakes. The room grew smaller and smaller as more trees covered the windows, sliding over the bark and dimming the lights.

“You want to negotiate?” she hissed. “Fine. We’ll negotiate.”

Something tugged at Logan’s feet. He looked down and saw branches crawling up his legs, wrapping around his knees and crackling as they grew. The bark dug into his skin. He tried to kick at them, but they didn’t budge. Reaching a hand he tried to pull the branches off. They might as well have been carved from granite. The next moment, another branch whipped around and bound his arms to the chair.

Patton was struggling, branches already up to his shoulders. Janus glanced between them, mouth open but no sound coming out. His chair held him more firmly in place. No branches came for him, and Logan didn’t have time to parse out whether he felt relieved before the branches wrapped around his shoulders. They kept going—were they going to cover his face and strangle him? He tried frantically to think of a solution. There had to be something, anything, this couldn’t be where it ended—

His mind was blank. Panic clogged his throat. He tried frantically to take a deep breath and calm down, but he couldn’t. A branch had covered his mouth.

Patton was trying to say something. Or scream. Or cry. But all that came out were muffled sounds behind a gag of leaves.

Janus was clenching his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. His jaw was set and stony, his eyes trained on the table.

“Have you changed your mind yet?” the witch asked. She flicked a finger, and the branches tightened around Logan. He swallowed a shout of pain as the bark dug into his skin.

Janus stiffly shook his head,

“I’m going to kill them. I hope you know that.”

Janus swallowed, still staring at the table.

“So selfish,” the witch cooed. “So proud. It would be the worst thing in the world to work for me, would it? You’d rather die than learn magic? Rather your friends die?”

“They’re not my friends,” Janus muttered.

“Pride will be your downfall,” the witch said. “Why don’t you talk to your friends about it? I’m sure they have opinions on the matter. I’m sure they’d like to live, for instance. Have a little chat with them and tell me what you decide.”

She snapped her fingers, and the ground opened up. Before Logan could speak, he was falling, branches unraveling as he plummeted. There was darkness all around him, shifting and curling and undulating. He heard Patton scream somewhere near and blindly reached out, afraid to call his name, afraid something or someone would hear.

How long had he been falling? Would he ever reach the bottom? Would he die on impact? The air was thick and muggy and he could smell dirt. He was falling fast. His hair whipped against his head and his glasses almost flew off.

Then there was a yell right below him and a loud thud. Before Logan could do anything with that information, he hit the ground.

It wasn’t as hard as he expected, given the height, but it still knocked the wind out of him. He lay there for a second, skin stinging from the branches, trying his best to breathe.

It was dark all around him.

He closed his eyes and opened them again.

It was still dark.

The ground beneath him shifted, slightly, and he realized it wasn’t earth.

It was branches, packed tightly, squirming like they were something alive.

Maybe, Logan realized, they were.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, despite Roman’s amazing dramatic timing, they couldn’t actually go outside immediately. As Virgil put it, “They'll think the circus is in town.” Roman sadly had to change out of his cape and sash, wrestling on some servants’ clothes they found upstairs. They stretched a little tight across his shoulders and hung loose by his waist. But they were inconspicuous, which was all that mattered.

Virgil, for his part, refused to take off his patched cloak. Roman eventually decided it wasn’t worth the fight. It didn’t look royal, at least, though it did look like Virgil was a marauding vagabond about to knife someone for their money. He did wish Virgil had chosen a different color than purple for the patches—purple dye was hard to come by, and it might give away Virgil’s wealth. But there was nothing to do about it now.

They kicked their way through the bushes and found themselves on the edge of the road. Market was still in full swing. Someone ran down the street past them, not giving them a glance. A newsboy hollered from a street corner, a young milkmaid led a cow around the bend, and a wagon full of hay was perched in the middle of the road, several people arguing beneath it. Roman shivered in the sunlight, taking deep breaths of air and feeling the breeze on his back.

He turned to see what Virgil thought and saw him holding his sleeve to his nose.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asked.

“It smells,” Virgil said in a strangled voice. “It’s like piss and sweat and poop all together.”

“Oh,” Roman said. “Yeah, the horses unload on the street all the time, and most people just dump their waste out the windows.”

Virgil made a disgusted noise. “Can we go home now?”

“You’ll get used to it, don’t worry.” Roman waved a hand. “Besides, just look at this! The people, the places—isn’t it wonderful?” He laughed giddily, spinning around. “It’s all so alive, Virgil!”

Virgil gave him an apprehensive stare. “Are you sure I’m the one who’s never been outside before?”

Roman pouted. “But just look!” He grabbed Virgil’s arm and tugged him down the cobblestones, jumping over the uneven sections. “There’s a tailor’s shop, and a miller’s, and a cobbler’s, and a cooper’s—”

“We’re delivering a letter, remember?” Virgil grumbled. “Not going to the coop-whatever.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know what a cooper is.”

“I don’t need to.” Virgil pulled his hand away from Roman and crossed his arms. “I’m doing this once. Outside once. Then never again.”

“Sure, sure, whatever.” Roman’s eyes lit up. “Oh, there’s a silversmith? Ours died in the plague, I wonder what he makes—”

“Princey!” Virgil glared at him. “Letter. We are delivering a letter. We are not making friends with every craftsman in the area.”

“Fine! Fine.” Roman stuck out his tongue. “You don’t know how to have fun, Virgil.”

“Well, there are a million people here and they’re probably all staring at me and the sun is warmer than I expected and we’ll never make it to the post office and everyone’s probably going to see right through us and we’ll get hanged or something, so forgive me for being a little on edge.”

“Whoa!” Roman held up his hands. “Okay. Um. Well, do you want me to help?”

“Help?” Virgil asked.

“I could try, I guess. Give you some advice?” Roman shrugged. “I’m supposed to be teaching you, right?”

“Um, okay,” Virgil said. Roman noticed he was rubbing at his cloak almost feverishly. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Roman agreed. “Okay. First lesson? Relax.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Oh my gosh, really? I’d never guessed.”

“I’m serious. Take a deep breath and try to relax. And remember: nobody cares about you, okay?”

“Wow, thanks. Inspiring.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Roman ran his hand through his hair. Teaching was really hard. How did Virgil do it? “Like, nobody’s looking your direction. Everybody has things to do and places to be. Odds are, they’re barely glancing at you. You don’t need to worry that they’ll hate you or judge you or anything. Nobody has the mind-space to remember you. It’s nothing personal, of course. Everyone’s in their own little world, and you’re just another person walking down the road.”

Virgil didn’t look convinced.

“I mean, there are exceptions,” Roman said, smiling. “Like, remember that newsboy on the corner?”

Virgil frowned. “Who?”

Roman smiled wider. “Exactly.”

Virgil huffed and shoved Roman lightly, but he did look somewhat more confident. Roman took that as a successful first teaching session. It wasn’t so hard after all.

“Lesson two.” Roman waved a hand around. “Don’t worry about getting lost.”

“All your lessons are just ‘don’t worry,’ aren’t they?”

“Well, you seemed worried about a lot of things, so I’m working with what you gave me.” Roman pointed at the street signs. “Can you read those? I can’t, because I can’t read. So I use landmarks to guide myself. As long as you have an idea of where you’ve been, based on what you’ve seen, you’ll know where to go. Plus, almost every town is a grid, so if you know your directions you can never really get lost anyway, unless you’re a complete fool.”

Virgil chuckled. “That street sign says Montgomery, if you were wondering.”

“Good for you, applying your knowledge!” Roman clapped his hands. “Play to your strengths, Virgil, play to your strengths.”

“Okay, okay.” Virgil laughed. Roman tugged him onto the sidewalk to avoid a horse and they maneuvered through a few racks of laundry. An older woman greeted Roman and he waved back, giving her a smile. Virgil hunkered deeper into his cloak and looked about to bolt.

“Rule three,” Roman said teasingly, “people are nice to you when you don’t look about to murder them.”

Virgil scowled even deeper. “This is my default expression.”

“I’m sorry for your hardship,” Roman said, “but at least try. Okay? Think of something that makes you happy. Patton always told me to think about puppies.”

“Patton?”

“I—” Roman glanced away. “A friend of mine. From back home.”

Virgil chuckled. “You had friends?”

“Excuse me?” Roman gasped. “I am a very friendly and sociable human! I’ll have you know that everyone in my town loved me, except for Janus, but Janus doesn’t count because I don’t think he has a soul!”

Virgil laughed harder, holding his hand up to his mouth. Roman swelled with pride. He made Virgil laugh! Virgil had such a nice laugh, too, and his eyes wrinkled when he smiled and his grin was slightly crooked and wow was Roman very, very gay.

“What’re you staring at, Princey?” Virgil asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You,” Roman blurted out.

“What, I’m too beautiful to look away from?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Virgil’s face reddened. He curled into himself and sped up, hugging his chest with his hands. “Good!” he squeaked. “Cool! Yeah! Nice!”

“Aww, did I break you?” Roman leaned forward and brushed his thumb against Virgil’s hand. “I’m sorry you can’t handle flattery, dearest, because I have so much more where that came from. Your eyes, for instance, are as beautiful and mysterios as the night—”

“Stop!” Virgil almost screeched. Even the tops of his ears glowed with red. “Oh my god, Princey!”

Roman laughed. “Hey, what’s a little bit of flirting among friends?”

Virgil paused, worrying his bottom lip. “Um…we’re friends?”

“What—” Roman frowned in confusion. “Of course we’re friends, Virgil!”

“We’ve known each other for three days.”

“Yes, but I enjoy your company, help you out, and regularly consider murdering you.” Roman waved a hand. “Is that not friendship?”

“I…I dunno, I…” Virgil stared at his feet.

“Are we not friends?” Roman swallowed. “I—I’m sorry if I misinterpreted things—”

“No, it’s fine,” Virgil whispered. “It’s just—I haven’t had. A friend. Before.”

“Oh.” Roman had a sudden urge to hug Virgil and never let him go. “Right. I don’t suppose you met very many people in your secret hallway.”

“Yeah.” Virgil chuckled wryly. “You could say that.”

“Well.” Roman nodded to himself and pulled Virgil along. “I guess I’ll just have to be the first and best friend you’ve ever had, then!”

“What—” Virgil looked horrified. “What have I unleashed?”

Roman smirked. “Only the most wonderful and fulfilling friendship ever, my bestest friend!”

“I regret everything.” Virgil shook his head. “I’ve decided I’m okay with being alone forever. Stop this. Stop this now.”

“Aww, you love me! Because we’re friends!”

“I also want to kill you,” Virgil added. “Wasn’t that on the list, too?”

Roman gasped loudly. “You admitted that we’re friends! Kind of!”

Virgil growled and rolled his eyes. “It’s…it’s, like, an unspoken thing. Shut up.”

Roman pumped his fist. “It’s an unspoken thing!”

“Dork.”

“Recluse.”

Virgil shoved Roman, and Roman shoved right back. “Any more lessons for surviving in the great wide somewhere?”

“Just one.” Roman smiled at Virgil. “Go out there with someone you trust. Focus on them instead of everything around you. Talk to them, make them laugh, threaten to eviscerate them, whatever you want. And if things go well?”

Roman stopped Virgil and pointed up at the nearest building. A wooden sign hung from the window.

Post Office.

Roman squeezed Virgil’s hand. “You’ll find it really wasn’t that hard after all.”

Chapter Text

It was silent, wherever they were. Logan stumbled to his feet, reaching blindly around. His fingers met a wall—a wall of branches, twisting slowly in his hands. Not the most optimal surface, but Logan grabbed it anyway. Nausea swam in his stomach as the branches poked curiously at his hand.

“Logan! Janus!”

Patton! Logan let go of the branches and ran towards the voice, almost stumbling into Patton. Patton caught him with a relieved laugh and slipped his hand into Logan’s. Logan squeezed back, telling himself it was only so they didn’t get separated.

“Where’s Janus?” Patton whispered.

“Shh!” Logan wobbled for balance as the branches beneath his feet shifted. “Something might hear us!”

“Well, how will we find him otherwise?”

“He might not even be down here.” Logan carefully stepped forward, pulling Patton along. “He—”

Logan’s foot collided with a squishy form. He bit down an undignified scream.

“Ow,” said the form.

“Janus!” Patton reached down blindly. “You’re here!”

“Ow,” Janus said again as Patton’s hand collided with something. “That’s my nose.”

“Sorry!” Patton left his hand there. Janus climbed to his feet, avoiding Patton’s offered hand. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Janus said, and Logan could hear the eyeroll. “We’re trapped in a strange cave by a witch, why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Like, are you hurt at all?” Patton squinted at Janus. “Ugh, can’t we get some light in here?”

As if answering his question, the air around them lightened. Small glowing orbs flew through the air, sending green light over their faces. They were in a small cave with branches woven around the sides like a basket. Logan reached his hand up and grazed the ceiling. That was strange. How could they have fallen here without a clear hole?

He firmly told himself to stop wondering. It was magic. The usual rules of science would not necessarily apply in this situation.

“Hey, look, you got your wish.” Janus cupped his hands around his mouth. “It sure would be nice for there to be a convenient exit! And maybe an anti-witch sword or something! Just a thought!”

No convenient exit or anti-witch sword appeared. Janus sighed in defeat, turning back to Logan and Patton. His eyes narrowed as he spotted their linked hands. Quickly, Logan whipped his hand out of Patton’s and smoothed his hair, trying to look nonchalant.

“You are hurt,” Patton cried, noticing a scratch along Janus’ face. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s fine,” Janus said, wiping the few drops of blood off his face. “I think we have more pressing concerns.”

“Janus is right,” Logan said. “What do we do?”

“Well, obviously,” Patton said, “Janus accepts the witch’s invitation!”

Both Logan and Janus stared at him.

“That was not what I expected you to say,” Janus said slowly. “Any particular reason for that?”

Patton frowned. “You don’t agree?”

“I think he should continue denying the witch,” Logan said.

“I think I should find a dramatic escape plan and dramatically escape.”

“Huh.” Patton looked between them. “Why not? Yeah, she sounds terrible, but if you don’t say yes we’ll all die. I don’t want you two dying!”

“But if he does accept,” Logan countered, “and the witch utilizes him to put countless others in danger, that would be far worse!”

“We could stop her,” Patton said.

“With what army? We’ve stumbled through this forest blindly, we’re not equipped to go toe-to-toe with a witch! Accepting her offer is equivalent to aiding and abetting the destruction of this kingdom!”

Patton stepped away from Logan, looking wounded. “Lo, I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“No, it’s not.” Logan looked away. “But it’s the right thing to do in this situation.”

“I can’t let you two die,” Patton protested, eyes wide.

“There’s no guarantee that we wouldn’t anyway. The witch may not keep her promise.”

“If we agree for now, we have a chance to figure out a plan in the future—”

“And what if we are too late to come with a plan?”

“Logan, you’re being too harsh—”

“Well, you’re not thinking of the big picture—”

Janus looked between them. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No,” Logan snapped.

“Well, too bad.” Janus folded his arms. “I think you are ignoring the best answer to this scenario—cheat the system and escape.”

Patton frowned. “How would we do that?”

“Simple.” Janus walked over to the wall and began breaking off the branches. “We just…break through…and then escape.”

“It’s doubtful that she doesn’t know of your plan,” Logan pointed out. “She’s probably listening to this entire conversation.”

“Shh.”

“And she said escape was impossible, so I doubt—”

“Shh!” Janus tossed broken branches aside, making a divot in the wall. “You need to have faith.”

“You can’t remain in denial,” Logan insisted. “We have only two options here.”

“Think outside the cave,” Janus fired back, ripping apart an especially large branch. Beneath it was only packed dirt.

“Oh,” Janus said, staring at it.

“Exactly,” Logan said, grabbing the wall for stability as the floor shifted again. Branches curled up from the floor and covered the hole again, leaving barely an inch of dirt visible.
The orbs were moving faster now, their green lights steadily shifting to yellow. Did that mean they were running out of time? Either way, Logan figured they couldn’t go wrong with hurrying up a bit. He never liked to rush decision-making, but this was an exception.

“Maybe we should make a list of pros and cons,” Logan suggested.

“We don’t have time or paper!” Janus pushed himself off the wall. His face was pinched with irritation. “If nobody comes up with a good alternative, I’m going to keep saying no to the murderous psychotic witch.”

A branch wiggled over and struck Janus on the arm. He hissed with pain as it withdrew.

“I suppose that answers the question of whether or not she’s listening.” Logan sighed. “How on earth did we get into this situation?”

“It was most likely your fault somehow,” Janus said, examining the angry red line on his arm. “Very classy, Ms. Witch! I thought you wanted me to be on your side!”

His face was bathed in yellow. Logan reached for an orb and caught it in midair. It was a little bug with antennae and small wings. It ran around in his hand for a second before lifting off. Was the yellow darker than before?

“I don’t want you guys to die,” Patton pleaded.

“I’m not exactly keen on it either,” Janus agreed. “But I also don’t want to work for her.”

“Why not?” Patton paused. “Okay, there are a bunch of reasons why not. But isn’t servitude better than dying?”

“I disagree.”

“Speaking as a servant,” Logan said, “it’s not an intellectually stimulating job, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. Unless you work for a tool, like Janus here.”

Janus glared at him. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You filled the outhouse with oatmeal so I had to clean it.”

“A funny, wholesome prank!” Janus snapped. “Anyway, I thought you were on my side, here! Why are you defending Patton?”

“I’m not,” Logan protested. “Just making sure you have an understanding of the stakes.”

“I know the stakes!” Janus snarled. “Either we all die, or I help someone take over the kingdom! Someone who, I might add, just whipped my arm because I insulted her.”

Patton winced. “Ooh…well, when you put it like that…”

“I don’t like any of the options,” Logan said, giving Patton a sympathetic look. “But I’m afraid that the greater good has to come before our own wellbeing.”

Patton sniffed, rubbing at his face. “I wish I never left home.”

“Do you?”

“Well, no.” Patton bit his lip. “I wish we’d gone the long way around the forest.”

“I wish I never left,” Janus said, looking away. “Nothing is worth this.”

Logan pressed his lips together, but curiosity won over prudence. “Janus? What the witch was saying…is any of that true? Did you just come with us because—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Janus said, his face carefully smoothed over.

“But—”

Janus clenched his jaw. “I don’t know. What you’re. Talking about.”

Picking up the hint, Logan backed off. Janus looked about to murder someone, Logan could swear he saw red in his eyes—

Actually, he did. The orbs had turned red and circled them, an inch between each one. Patton reached out toward one and yelped when red sparks leapt from the insect.

“That’s not good,” Logan said, watching the circling orbs warily.

“Is time up?” Janus asked, shifting into a fighting stance. Logan had no idea how he planned to punch bugs and trees, but he respected the intention.

“What’s your choice?”

The voice came from all around them, echoing in the branches. It was the witch’s voice, but it rustled like leaves and groaned like the branches that were shifting in the walls, moving faster and faster.

“I—” Janus swallowed. “I’m not going to work with you.”

A branch swung out from the wall and grabbed Janus’ arms, pinning him in place. Another branch whipped around and looped Patton’s chest, tugging him against the wall. Logan felt a pressure around his ankles and he stumbled to his knees, branches tying his legs together.

“I guess this is it,” Janus said, watching the branches move. The orbs pulsed dangerously, a dark circle that lit the entire cave in blood-red. “I had so much I wanted to do, like cover the entire outhouse in porridge, or tell people I hate them more—”

“Is this really—” Logan suppressed a yell as a branch snaked up his arm. “—the time for joking?”

“We’re about to die, of course it is.”

Patton made a little sniffle noise, and Logan realized he was crying. Logan felt he should be crying too, but instead he just felt empty. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all. He’d always been curious about the existence of the afterlife and perhaps this would be his chance to finally—

Patton was crying louder. Distress rose in Logan’s stomach. He’d have to watch Patton die, wouldn’t he? That was not…not…no. No, no, no—

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and the branch on his arm reached his throat.

The words died in his mouth as the breath was squeezed out of his lungs.

The pressure. There was so much pressure. It hurt, more than anything ever had, his throat hurt and his chest ached and his lungs screamed for air. He leaned on his hands, staring at the branches, trying to claw at the one wrapping around his neck. It wouldn’t budge. Someone was screaming—Patton, Patton was screaming. The whole room was spinning. He probably looked ridiculous—he was going to die—he was going to die and never see Roman again, never see Patton again—

He didn’t want to die—he didn’t—

He was crying—when had that started happening—he should stop crying, he must look so weak, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t breathe and the whole world was going dark, had the orbs finally gone out or was he just closing his eyes—

Patton was still screaming, tears running down his face—oh, look, Logan could see—but there were spots all around. His head swam. Wouldn’t it be easier to just sleep—no, no, he couldn’t—he just wanted it to stop, everything hurt, he couldn’t breathe and Janus was staring at him in horror. Was this what dying felt like? Because Logan hated it.

Maybe he was already dead, everything was tilting and he was gasping for breath and probably turning blue or purple like the spots clouding his vision and—

“Fine!” someone yelled. “Fine! You win! Stop!”

And the pressure eased.

He was free.

Logan collapsed to the ground, taking great whooping breaths, trying to fill his lungs with as much air as he could. It still hurt. It hurt so badly. Someone was rushing over to him, pulling him into their arms. Patton.

Logan tried to reassure Patton that it was alright, really, but he still couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t stop crying.

“Breathe,” Patton was saying. “Breathe, breathe, okay.”

I’m trying! Logan wanted to say, but he couldn’t remember how to talk.

“Breathe. Lo, honey, you have to breathe!”

Logan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The world stopped spinning a little bit. He realized he was clutching at Patton’s shirt and he immediately let go.

What happened? Why wasn’t he—why did she let him go?

Logan slowly looked up through tearstained glasses. Janus was standing two feet away, shaking, his eyes wide.

“What—” Logan’s voice was raspy, like he’d been screaming. Had he been screaming? Maybe he had been. “Janus, what—”

Janus covered his mouth, still shaking.

Fine. You win.

“No.” Logan jumped to his feet, ignoring the way his head spun. “Janus, no, you didn’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Janus whispered, “I couldn’t—”

“Well, it seems we’ve reached an agreement!” The witch’s voice thrummed in Logan’s bones. “I’m so glad you were willing to renegotiate.”

The cave cracked open like a split egg.

And once again, they fell.

Chapter Text

It was two days before they got a response. Roman had sprung for express shipping, figuring that the royal coffers could survive the expense. He pitied the poor person who had to ride a horse all the way to the other side of the kingdom and back. But it was important.

The first day, Roman gave a speech.

He kept it short and sweet, hitting all the points Roman and Virgil had agreed on. Roman had drawn pictures of each on a piece of paper. Virgil helped by doodling stormclouds on the edges and writing insults that made Roman really glad he couldn’t read.

Point 1, a drawing of a crown. Explain, briefly, who he was and why he was in charge. Of course most of that part was a blatant lie, but whatever.

Point 2, a drawing of a man with xs through his eyes. Talk about the King, explain that he died of a heart attack, and mourn his loss. Also a blatant lie. It was a good thing Roman was a good actor.

Point 3, a drawing of a letter. Explain that he understood this was not the most ideal circumstances and that they were in contact with nobles to decide the next path of action. The only real truth in the entire speech.

And point 4, a reminder—a little drawing of a sword. That Roman could not mess this up.

So he didn’t.

He delivered the speech with passion and panache. He mingled with the nobles, smiling and nodding at whatever they said, fielding all questions. He didn’t serve them dinner, didn’t even let them into the castle.

He placed flowers on the empty grave plot where the King wasn’t actually buried and did his best to fake-cry a little bit without fake-crying too much. He, according to Virgil, needed to straddle the line between compassionate and stoic.

Roman had been worried that the gravedigger or the many servants who got fired would speak up. But everybody bought their story. Roman got the feeling that they were kind of scared to question him. Which worked for their purposes, so he pressed down the icky feeling in his stomach. This was just temporary. Soon Emile would say yes, or maybe someone else, and he could shove everything onto them.

Was that fair?

Totally. Absolutely. He was not doing the exact same thing as the King did. He was choosing someone qualified.

Right. Absolutely.

Honestly, Roman didn’t even care who ended up ruling. Even a really bad King couldn’t be worse than the previous, and Roman certainly wasn’t going to help the kingdom at all. It couldn’t really get any worse.

He wished Virgil was prepared to be King. He wished Virgil was comfortable with stepping up. Because Virgil was smart! He was intelligent and funny and knew what he was doing. He was just so…anxious. Yes, he could be coached to the post office, but that was different than ruling a kingdom.

Maybe Virgil would be able to help Emile or something.

That is, if Emile even wanted to be King. They couldn’t convey the strangeness of the situation without telling him stuff he shouldn’t know. But Virgil said Emile trusted him and would understand how serious this was. Roman hoped so.

On the second day, Roman and Virgil spent the morning cleaning up the dining room. It was getting dusty and they’d want to have it available, just in case. Roman taught Virgil how to polish silverware, dust shelves, and sweep the floor. It was kind of funny. He’d gone through the forest and fought his way to the throne, and now here he was again. Cleaning the table, washing dishes, sweeping the floor.

Definitely not a hero’s life.

Well, whatever.

That evening, Virgil made the trip to the post office alone. Roman had already shown his face during that speech and couldn’t go outside anymore. It took ten minutes of encouragement for Virgil to finally step outside. He was back in fifteen minutes—Roman wondered if he’d ran there and back.

He was shaking. Roman took Virgil to his room and helped him breathe, apologizing over and over. Finally Virgil was calm enough to say it was fine. He opened the letter clutched in his hand and read it aloud. It was brief.

Dear Virgil,

Do you how do? I’ve put everything in order and will come as soon as possible. Thank you for contacting me. I hope you and your friend are well. A bit of advice—keep candles in the castle windows at night, people are whispering about how dark it seems.

Emile

“Do you how do?” Roman echoed.

“Inside joke.” Virgil smiled at the letter. “Knew I could count on you, Em.”

“He sounds like a good guy,” Roman said. “Even if your father trusted him.”

“He’s ten times the man my father ever was,” Virgil agreed. “He’ll do a great job, I know it.”

Roman nodded, kicking off his shoes and staring at the ceiling. “How are we gonna, you know, pull this off? You’ll still be the prince, you can’t just give the throne to someone else.”

“He’ll be my regent,” Virgil explained, reading the letter again. “I’m allowed to choose whoever I want as regent. Him and I will work together.”

“Huh.” Roman’s stomach dropped slightly and he didn’t know why. “Cool. Fantastic.”

“It is.” Virgil smiled again, his shoulders finally releasing the tension. “It’s almost over, Roman. That mess my father left behind is over.”

“Yeah.”

That night, Roman volunteered to light some candles in windows. Some of them had dripped all over the windowsills. Others had wet or broken wicks. He lugged around a small box and replaced all the ones that needed replacing, watching the little flames dance and reflect on the windows. Once again, he found himself stunned by the wealth. Glass for every window in the castle? He couldn’t even imagine having that much money.

But he did, kind of. Huh. That was…weird. Really weird.

Well, maybe not paying a million servants and buying new glass windows would help with the whole taxes issue.

Roman tried to be sporadic with the candles, not making it look like it was a planned thing. Finally he ran out on the top floor, in one of the towers. He could see the whole town and the forest beyond, a river on one side. The moon hung in the sky. He pressed one hand to the glass. It was cool and fresh. He knew he should probably be sleeping, but he didn’t want to go back to that bed. He felt awake and restless and…bad.

He didn’t really know why. He just felt all disgusting and worn-out and sad. Maybe it was just exhaustion. After all, he’d spent most of the day cleaning. But he did that all the time back home, and he never felt like this.

Roman’s eyes burned. Oh, no. Was he going to cry? Why was he crying? Everything was fine, everything was great—

Roman sniffed, trying to hold the tears in. He rubbed at his eyes, but that only irritated them. He took a big steadying breath. It hitched, and the tears crowded at the edges of his eyes.

“Stop!” he told himself. His voice cracked. “Stop—”

The next thing that came out of his mouth was a wrenching sob.

Roman sunk to the ground and curled up under the window. The stones of the Sand Castle pressed against him. He tucked his head into his knees and tried very, very hard to stop crying. It didn’t work. Hot tears rolled down his face and soaked his shirt. His nose was snotty and ugly and his whole face was itchy.

No, no, he shouldn’t—

Why shouldn’t he?

Nobody could see. Nobody could hear. Nobody could judge him. Maybe heroes didn’t cry, maybe there was no reason to be crying, but it didn’t matter. He could just cry now and get it all out. Better here, alone on a warm night, than in the middle of a meeting. Or with Virgil. Oh god, Virgil—if Virgil saw Roman like this, he’d never live that down.

So okay. He could cry. He should cry. He didn’t know why he was crying, he didn’t want to be crying, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

Roman shuddered. Curled up until he could almost convince himself he was invisible. Sobbed. Waited for it to be over.

If a tree fell in the forest, it didn’t make a sound.

If Roman cried quietly beneath a window in the tallest tower of the castle?

That was a secret between him and the moon.

Chapter Text

Logan didn’t know how long he’d been down here. He’d fallen into a small room with a door and no windows, the walls made of sticks and stones. He avoided the walls entirely, even though they never moved or tried to hurt him. He didn’t trust that they wouldn’t attack him if he got too close.

The witch gave him food, which he didn’t eat, until he got hungry enough to decide possible poison was better than starvation. The food didn’t seem poisoned. It was actually quite good, if in small portions. Food was delivered regularly. Or he assumed so, at least—time was hard to hold onto. It could have been one day or one week since everything happened. He didn’t know.

He did know that his neck still hurt, so it couldn’t have been too long ago.

He did his best to keep himself busy. He counted to a million and back again, recited old textbooks, drew on the floor. Old arguments with Roman came to mind, when Roman would paint on the walls or scribble on pieces of parchment instead of doing his job. Usually Logan would be able to argue his way to victory, or lead someone to the correct answer, but Roman was always the one person who never listened to Logan.

It was infuriating. It was baffling. It was tantalizing. Logan didn’t understand Roman at all, and that was probably why he spent so much time with Roman, arguing about this or that. Roman didn’t respond to logic. He did what he wished, tossed around by his own whims, fired up with spite, glee, and foolishness.

Why Logan had followed Roman, he had no idea. Misplaced guilt, perhaps? He could have stopped this entire pointless venture, saved Roman and by extension Patton and Janus, and he would be at the house now, probably feeding the chickens or sweeping the floors.

Logan tried not to think too hard about Roman, but it was hard. Usually he kept himself busy to avoid the feelings and irrational thoughts that clawed at him. Usually he could ignore the things he didn’t understand, like why Patton made him feel happy or Roman made him feel angry or life made him feel powerless. But there was nowhere to hide here. Logan was exposed on the empty floor, an open wound.

He wanted to see Patton. He wanted to make sure Patton was okay. And Janus, as well. Janus had made…a mistake. Had sacrificed everything for Logan. It seemed an out-of-character move. Logan didn’t fully understand it. Could it really be so simple that Janus didn’t want to see him hurt? Or was there more to it, a master plan Logan wasn’t privy to? Would Janus come and help him escape, or possibly leave him behind?

The witch had promised to let them go. Logan saw no sign of her keeping her promise.

He wanted to see Patton.

After some length of time, he asked to see Patton. Nobody responded. Perhaps it was foolish of him to ask empty walls for his friend, but then again, this was the witch’s domain. There was no guarantee that she wouldn’t be listening.

“Please,” Logan told the walls.

One wall opened.

Patton fell through, panting, a huge smile on his face. Before Logan could stop Patton he was wrapped in a hug, Patton giggling wildly and squeezing him tight. Logan leaned back and steadied Patton, not letting go. He allowed himself a few relieved chuckles as well, scanning Patton to make sure he wasn’t hurt. He was dirty and his hair was tangled, but he seemed to be okay. Logan couldn’t describe the relief that filled his body.

“Lo,” Patton said, pulling back and looking him over. “Your neck’s all bruised.”

“Oh.” Logan touched the skin on his neck and a jolt of pain hit him. “That would make sense.”

“Can I help?” Patton frowned. “I guess there are no bandages or anything. I don’t like that you’re hurt.”

Logan shrugged, ignoring the way the simplicity of ‘I don’t like that you’re hurt’ cut through him.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked quietly, brushing a piece of hair off Logan’s forehead. Despite himself, Logan leaned into the touch.

“I am adequate,” Logan said. “You?”

“I’m…” Patton’s hand stilled. “I’m alive.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed, “and I am very glad of that.”

Patton smiled at him. As if the simplicity of ‘I’m glad you are alive’ was enough for him. As if it said everything.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said.

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” Logan said. It was the truth. He didn’t know quite what he was sorry for, but he felt he should be sorry for something. “This shouldn’t—you shouldn’t—”

“Hey.” Patton leaned into Logan’s side, curling his hand around Logan’s shoulders and tucking his head under Logan’s shoulder. “No blaming.”

“But—”

“No. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is!”

Patton looked up, brows furrowed. Logan tried to swallow and get rid of the lump in his throat. His eyes stung.

“Why?” Patton asked, his voice painfully soft.

“I—” Logan waved a hand. “I saw Roman before he left. I didn’t tell you that. I saw him, and I could have stopped him. I didn’t.”

“You’re not responsible for his choices,” Patton said.

“I’m responsible for everyone’s choices! Because I’m responsible!” Logan rubbed at his eyes. “I’m supposed to know what to do, and to help my friends, and I failed, and I tried to fix it and failed again, and now everyone I care about is going to die because I am a terrible leader.”

Patton was quiet.

“I don’t know why I thought I could do this,” Logan whispered. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You know,” Patton said, “I have to agree. You’re not a great leader.”

Logan stared at him.

“You mess up sometimes.” Patton rubbed circles on Logan’s knee. “You fall down. You make mistakes. But you know what? Everyone does that. Maybe you are a terrible leader, but nobody expects you to be a leader, Logan. You’re just another person.”

“But they do,” Logan insisted. “I do. I have to handle everything. Who else is going to if I don’t?”

“You’re good at handling some things,” Patton agreed, “and not so good at others. That’s what we’re here for, Lo. That’s why you have friends. You help us, and we help you. And I have to admit, although you’re not always the best leader, you’re a pretty great friend, Lo.”

Patton looked up, a small smile on his face. “I—I’m glad to have you. I care about you. I hope you know that.”

“I—” Logan took a deep breath. “I care about you too, Patton.”

Patton nodded, curling into Logan’s side. “I know. I can tell.”

“I can’t,” Logan admitted. “Not always.”

“You’re not perfect,” Patton repeated. “That’s okay.”

Logan reached over and placed on arm carefully on Patton’s shoulders. Patton hummed and wiggled closer, his eyes slipping shut.

“Can I say something?” Patton asked, eyes still closed.

“Of course?”

“I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Oh.” Logan felt a small stab in his gut, but it was more manageable than he expected. “It’s quite alright. It was a long time ago.”

“Still,” Patton said. “Not nice.”

“It wasn’t, no.”

“I’m scared.”

Logan watched Patton carefully. The smallness of his voice was heartbreaking.

“I’m scared,” Patton repeated, burying his face in Logan’s shirt.

“I’m scared too,” Logan said quietly.

“And that’s okay,” Patton said.

“And that’s…okay.”

Patton squeezed his hand.

And soon Patton was fast asleep on Logan’s shoulder, his curls cascading over his face and his glasses crooked. Carefully, Logan reached out and straightened them, running a hand over Patton’s forehead and detangling his bangs. Patton hummed in his sleep and smiled.

Logan wrapped his other arm around Patton and they sat in the middle of the room together, no darkness and no light, no witches and no dragons, just the calm before the storm.

Chapter Text

Roman did his best to find his room without Virgil seeing. He really did. But he had to walk through Virgil’s hallway because he still didn’t know the castle that well, and retracing his steps was the only way he felt confident that he wouldn’t get lost for seven months in an upstairs corridor. Plus he’d chosen, for some bizarre reason, a bedroom near Virgil’s. And now he had to reap what he sowed—tiptoeing past Virgil’s door so Virgil wouldn’t see him and ask why his eyes were red.

But Roman was not stealthy. At all. And Virgil, apparently, had no real sense of a sleep schedule. So as Roman passed Virgil’s open door, sticking to the edge of the hallway and praying the floorboards wouldn’t squeak, Virgil said hello.

Roman may have squealed. And jumped in the air. And snatched at his sword. And swiped the sword at Virgil’s face. And missed.

Virgil stared at him, unimpressed. “You’d better hope you’re never actually in combat, Princey, because that was pathetic.”

“You startled me!” Roman sheathed his sword again, trying to look indignant, backing into the shadows to try and hide his face. “I nearly took your whole face out!”

“Sure.” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “You’re still awake?”

“Candles, remember?” Roman gave an elaborate yawn. “But a king needs his beauty sleep, so I’m afraid I must be off. Lovely talking to you, Virgil, try and get some sleep to minimize the horrific bags under your eyes. Goodnight!”

“Hold on,” Virgil said.

“What? Why?” Roman tried to laugh. “Seriously, Virgil, some of us aren’t vampires. I’m really tired.”

“You’re acting fishy.” Virgil pointed at Roman. “Like, fishier than usual.”

“Are you implying that I smell? Because rude.”

“No, I’m implying that you’re always acting weird. But you’re acting…weirder. Something’s off.”

“What something?” Roman chuckled weakly. “Nothing’s off, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look, I don’t know.” Virgil sighed. “Just, you’ve been acting weird all day, now that I think about it. You’re…good, right? We’re good? ‘Cause if I messed up or something, I’m sorry—”

“You didn’t mess anything up!” Roman declared. “You’re doing great, Virgil, in your own strange shadowy way. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bed calling my name—”

“You’re definitely acting weird.” Virgil frowned. “Are you sure you’re good? I heard you walking around for a while, all stompy ‘cause you’re really bad at stealth, but you stopped for a while. What happened?”

“Wh-what?” Roman rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t…I was just, you know, enjoying the view! It’s such a lovely night, there’s—there’s a moon out, did you see that?”

“I did.” Virgil looked Roman over one more time. “I mean, I guess if you say you’re good, I’ll believe you, but—”

“Thank you!” Roman waved and tried to dart down the hallway. “Nice seeing you, Virgil!”

“Can’t return the favor,” Virgil teased.

“Oh, you—” Roman turned around to annihilate Virgil with a quick and witty quip. Then he realized he was in full view of several candles.

Crap.

“What, can’t think of a retort?” Virgil stepped forward, smirking. Then the smirk fell off his face, and Roman knew he was caught.

“Have—” Virgil’s voice was soft. “Have you been crying?”

Crap, crap, crap.

“No!” Roman said, carefully sidling out of the light. “No, of course not, what are you talking about?”

“Your eyes are all red.” Virgil stepped forward, looking closely at Roman. “You have been, haven’t you?”

“Allergies!” Roman declared, his back hitting the wall.

“What are you allergic to?”

“Ah…um…castle?”

Virgil gave him a patented you’re-an-idiot-Roman stare. “We’ve been in this castle for days.”

“Then, well, dust!” Roman raised a finger, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah, dust! It was really dusty upstairs and my eyes started watering. We should probably sweep up there.”

“I’ll admit that it is a dusty mess anywhere we didn’t clean,” Virgil agreed, “but for some reason—can’t put my finger on it—I’m not inclined to believe you.”

“Look.” Roman sagged, the smile falling off his face. “Can we just—drop it, okay? I’ll go to my room, you can keep reading, we can pretend like this never happened. Okay?”

“Why?” Virgil asked, his voice sharp.

“What do you mean, why?” Roman sighed. “I know, I know, this is a perfect opportunity to make fun of me, but I’m really gonna ask you to pull your punches tonight. Just save all the insults for later. I’m—I’m really not in the mood.”

Something flashed across Virgil’s face. “You think I’m going to make fun of you? For crying?”

“…Yes?” Roman hoped he didn’t sound as confused as he was. “Yeah, duh, that’s what you do, right?”

This time, Roman identified the something. It was guilt.

Virgil swallowed. “That’s really what you think of me?” he whispered.

“What?” Roman pushed himself off the wall, holding up his hands. “No, no, I wasn’t trying to—aw, jeez, I messed this up, didn’t I—you’re great! You’re wonderful! And I completely get it, I wouldn’t like me either, I—”

“Roman,” Virgil said, his eyes widening.

“—and I know you’re only my friend because you don’t have anyone else and I know you’ll dump me as soon as you get someone more qualified because I know I’m stupid and I can’t keep up with you, I promise you don’t have to tell me, I know—"

“Roman,” Virgil murmured. “You’re crying again.”

“I—oh.” Roman touched his fingers to his cheek. They came away wet. “Oh. I—sorry.”

Virgil was watching him closely, something soft in his eyes. “Is that really how you feel?”

“No,” Roman said automatically. “I mean, well, not usually. But, bad night!” He did little jazz hands and tried to smile. “It’ll pass, it always does—”

“Do you want a hug?”

“—what?”

“Do you want a hug?” Virgil repeated, looking awkward. “I mean, you don’t have to, I just thought—”

“Really?” Roman breathed.

“Uh, yeah?” Virgil said it like it was obvious. “We’re, like, friends. You said so. And if you help me when I’m upset, I’ll clearly do the same for you, you deserve it—”

Roman tackled Virgil in a giant hug and buried his face in Virgil’s shoulder.

He didn’t have time to pull away or even begin to regret his decision, because Virgil pulled him to the ground and cupped his head, rubbing circles in his back, and it felt really, really good. When was the last time he had a hug? Probably one from Patton, way before all this happened.

“Hey,” Virgil said, running his fingers through Roman’s hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Roman took a heaving breath, his cheeks burning with shame. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Come on.”

“I just—” Roman wiped at his eyes, still hiding his face from Virgil. Trying to enjoy the comfort and warmth without the fear that Virgil will hate him for this, will judge him, will pity him. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, you think I do?” Virgil chuckled. “This is some messed-up stuff. Just because I was trained to rule a kingdom doesn’t mean I can actually, you know, rule a kingdom.”

“You can do it better than me.”

“I do it differently than you,” Virgil corrected. “I’ve got strengths, you’ve got strengths, and we’ve both got weaknesses, too. We cover for each other. Like my dad said. There’s a reason we’re co-kings. Neither of us has to be perfect.”

Roman sniffed. “I—I’m not sure if I believe you.”

“Fair.” Virgil wiped at his cheek, pulling his chin up and meeting Roman’s eyes. “But I got you, Roman. This is a mess, yeah, but…I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t choose anyone else to have by my side. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

Slowly, Roman nodded. “O-okay.”

“Awesome.” Virgil stood up, helping Roman to his feet. “Now, you should actually get some sleep.”

Roman dried his eyes. “Hypocrite.”

“Shut up, Princey.”

Roman laughed a little bit. Then he paused. “You called me Roman.”

“What?” Virgil looked disconcerted. “Um, no I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie!” Roman’s face split into a wide grin. “You called me Roman! You did!”

“Shut up,” Virgil hissed. “Don’t you have some sleeping to do?”

Roman opened his mouth to continue teasing Virgil—because yes, they were on pretty good terms, but that didn’t mean Virgil could get away with that—but then there was a loud crash.

Virgil stared at the floor. “What was that?”

Roman drew his sword. “Sounded like glass breaking. Did you leave a piece of glass dangling from a string?”

“I-I didn’t.” Virgil’s voice was shaky. “I think that was a window.”

Roman’s grip tightened on his sword. “Someone—broke in?”

“I think so?”

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay.” Roman took a deep breath. “What now?”

“Well, either we hide and wait for them to go away, or…” Virgil slipped a dagger out of its sheath. “We investigate. And I have a feeling I know what you’ll choose.”

Roman grinned. “Onwards?”

“I think this is a terrible idea,” Virgil muttered.

“Onwards!”

“Fine, then.” Virgil gave a weak smile. “Onwards.”

Together, they ran down the hallway.

Chapter Text

Logan was awoken by the sound of branches shifting.

He hadn’t even realized he fell asleep in the first place. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t. Quickly he checked on Patton, still nestled on his shoulder. Patton seemed alright. The branches all around them were shifting, though, especially on one wall.

“Patton,” Logan hissed. “Wake up.”

“Hmm?” Patton yawned. “Whuzzit, Lolo?”

“We have a situation. Please wake up.”

Patton shifted and rubbed at his eyes, blinking up at Logan. “What kinda situation?”

Logan looked at the walls again. They didn’t seem to be closing in, but odds were, something bad was happening. Perhaps they were being transported somewhere else. Perhaps the branches would whip out and finally kill them.

Logan pulled Patton closer to him.

“What kinda situation?” Patton repeated, looking around. “Oh, branches?”

“Yes,” Logan said, eyeing the wall where the movement seemed to stem from. Branches were slithering away from a spot in the center, making a hole. “I think…someone is coming?”

Patton’s eyes opened wide. “The witch?”

Logan didn’t know. But it couldn’t really be anyone else.

The branches moved faster, peeling away from the growing hole. Beyond it was only darkness.

Logan stood up and clenched his fists, stepping in front of Patton. Patton stumbled to his feet as well, but Logan kept his shoulder in front of Patton’s chest, staring down whoever was about to intrude.

Then there was a loud snapping noise, the branches flew apart, and someone stumbled through an archway.

It wasn’t the witch.

It was Janus.

Patton gasped and ran forward, probably about to hug Janus. Logan grabbed Patton’s hand and stopped him. He didn’t trust this. Yes, it was Janus. Yes, he looked relatively unharmed. But the dark brown shirt and pants weren’t his.

“Janus?” Patton asked.

Janus glanced between them. He looked wary.

“Patton,” he finally said, voice quiet and restrained.

“What’s happening?” Logan asked. He was plagued by the fear that this was a trick. Perhaps this was an illusion. Or perhaps it was the real Janus, watching them like he didn’t know them at all. Logan couldn’t decide which was worse.

Janus met Logan’s eyes. “Follow me.”

“What?” Logan scoffed. “You think I’m just going to follow you?”

A flicker of a smile played around Janus’ lips. “I think we’d be in more danger following you, if memory serves.”

Logan laughed. He couldn’t help it. Janus’ eyes gleamed and his mouth was in the same crooked smirk as always, and for a second, it was like they were still entering the forest with big dreams and bigger egos.

Then Janus swallowed and turned away. “Come on. We need to go.”

“In there?” Patton asked. “It’s all dark.”

“Where are we going?” Logan asked, stepping forward. “Janus, I don’t trust this situation at all.”

“Well, do you trust me?”

Logan froze, mouth open. “I—yes. Yes, I do.”

“You—” Janus took a deep breath. “Then follow, okay? I promise it will be fine.”

Logan nodded, ignoring the part of his mind that screamed at him to stop. “Okay.”

“It’s so dark,” Patton whispered, snatching Logan’s hand.

Janus pulled out a small torch and lit it. It sent shadows flying over the walls. He turned and walked back down the little hallway—that’s what it was, a tunnel of branches, just big enough for them to walk in a single-file line. Janus paused, torch glowing, waiting for them to follow.

Logan took a deep breath, wrapped his fingers around Patton’s hand, and followed.

It was a long, silent walk. Patton tried asking Janus how he was, but Janus didn’t respond. His uncharacteristic silence set Logan even more on edge. Occasionally a gust of wind would blow the torch out and he’d pause to relight it, sparks flying, his face unreadable.

“Are we going to die?” Logan blurted out after five minutes.

Janus stumbled, just a bit. “No.”

“Are you?”

Janus’ knuckles were white on the torch. “Hopefully not.”

“What happened between you and the witch?” Patton asked. “Are you okay?”

Janus stalked forward, not turning around. “We negotiated.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hurry up.”

Logan shot Patton a glance, but Patton looked just as lost as he did. His hand was hot in Logan’s grasp, but Logan didn’t let go.

The tunnel turned a few times. The branches were uneven under Logan’s feet and he tripped several times, scraping his arms and hands on the rough bark. Patton always caught him, though. In return, Logan kept Patton upright. Janus never seemed to stumble, or if he did, he was good at hiding it. The torch flickered in a wind from somewhere, making the shadows dance along the wall. Logan had a sudden memory of being afraid of the dark as a small child, back when he didn’t have anything real to worry about. He might just understand now. This dark was intense and foreboding and unknown. The end of the tunnel was forever out of sight.

Then they actually reached it. Another wall of branches, locking into each other neatly.

“Oh, come on!” Janus yelled. “We agreed!”

A small branch snaked up out of the floor and split into ten pieces. One piece fell down, then another.

“Why can’t you talk like a normal person?” Janus sighed and grabbed Logan and Patton, shoving them in front of him. “Get ready. When I say run, run.”

Pieces were falling off the branch now. It was getting smaller and smaller.

“Trust me,” Janus said, hand on the small of Logan’s back. “Stick together. Go to the moon. Don’t look back.”

“What—” Logan started to ask.

The final piece fell off the branch and the tunnel opened up.

Janus pushed him. Hard. Logan stumbled through. Patton followed.

“Run!” Janus yelled again.

So Logan ran, blindly, the world falling into place as he tore across the ground. There were trees around him, only a few, and he managed to avoid them by sheer luck. Patton bounced off a tree nearby and Logan pulled him closer, skidding around roots, heading for a brighter area where he could see grass and moonlight and sky.

He heard footsteps behind him and risked a glance back. Janus was running too, hair flying. Behind him, Logan could see the tunnel. It was dissolving now into a carpet of branches, slithering towards them in a mass. Janus swore under his breath and ran faster, right on Logan’s heels.

Logan turned around—don’t look back, Janus had said—and kept running.

They were almost to the moonlight. For some reason, Logan just knew if they got there, they’d be safe. The trees were thinning out. He could make out grass, a hill, buildings—

Janus yelled behind him. Logan whirled and saw Janus fall to the ground, a root wrapping around his legs. It started to pull him toward the rest of the branches. Janus scrabbled at it, swearing loudly, grabbing for any sort of handhold.

Logan didn’t even hesitate. He let go of Patton’s hand, shoved him forwards, and ran back. Janus was still struggling. Logan lunged for the branch around Janus’ feet. With a huge yank, he snapped it in half. The end wrapped around Logan’s own hand almost curiously, and Logan threw it away from him.

Janus stumbled to his feet and Logan grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the sunlight. The ground shifted beneath him. The trees moved to block his path.

But Janus and Logan slid between them, kicked away the branches that snapped at their arms and legs, and burst into the moonlight. The branches behind them hit the trees and stopped.

They were staring at a grassy hillside. Beyond that was a small town and a stone castle, each window filled with candlelight.

“It worked. She actually fell for it.” Janus sunk to his knees, laughing. “It actually worked.”

“We’re here?” Logan asked. “We...we’re out.”

“We’re out!” Patton tackled him in a hug, sending him to the ground. He didn’t even mind. The grass was soft and ticklish. “We made it, Lo, we did it!”

“We did it,” Logan repeated. A huge smile bloomed on his face. “We did it!”

“We did it,” Patton agreed, his own smile outshining the moon.

“For now,” Janus said, the smile falling off his face.

They all turned to look back at the forest, shadowy and dark, the trees meshed together. Deep within it, something roared.

“Go?” Logan suggested.

“Go,” Janus agreed, jumping to his feet and leading them down the hill into town. Logan followed, each step wobbly. He breathed deep, enjoying the scent of fresh air, feeling it dance across his skin.

“We made it,” Patton whispered, his eyes shining.

“I knew we would,” Janus said, waving a hand. He seemed back to his confident self already. “She bought everything hook, line, and sinker. I only agreed to work for her in order to escape with you.”

Logan remembered Janus’ scared face.

Fine. You win.

“Are you sure?” Logan asked gently.

“Yes,” Janus snapped, turning away.

“Okay,” Logan said.

“Anyway, she’s gone now,” Janus continued, walking down the hill with ease. Logan skidded on a tuft of grass and Patton held him upright. “We don’t have to think or talk about this again. What happens in the forest stays in the forest.”

Logan brushed the bruises on his neck.

He hoped so.

Chapter Text

Okay, Roman was starting to really hate this castle.

It was one thing to not get lost when it was light outside and he had all the time in the world to try and figure out which direction the kitchen was in. It was another thing entirely to not get lost when it was extremely dark outside and there was possibly an intruder who could absolutely be trying to kill them or something.

No, Roman wasn’t panicking. Definitely not. He was only breathing fast because he was running. His heartbeat was only pounding in his ears because he was running. He only jumped every time something moved because—

Well, okay. Maybe he was a little nervous.

But that wasn’t his fault! Anyone would be on edge! The already creepy situation was kicked up several notches by the fact that it was night. The moon shone through the windows, sure, and the candles glimmered on the walls, but they barely began to illuminate the clusters of shadows between every door, hanging from the ceiling, lurking around the corners. He had already tripped on the carpet four or five times and had no idea where the heck he was. Virgil was running in front of him and Roman was following blindly. Someone could be right next to him and he probably wouldn’t know—

Okay, why did he think that? Now the goosebumps on his neck spread down his arms and made him shiver even more violently. He kept his hand on his sword. His sides were starting to cramp from all the running. He hoped they’d reach that window soon. On the other hand, he hoped they wouldn’t reach the window ever.

This was fine. This was fine. They’d find out that it was just a stray pigeon or something and Roman would be able to go back to sleep unharmed. Who else could it be? Roman wasn’t expecting any guests at two in the morning, and he figured most people would knock first.

You didn’t, an irritating little voice whispered in the back of his mind. It sounded like a cross between Virgil and Janus. When you wanted to kill the King, you broke into the castle, too.

Okay. No. This was not like that. Nobody was killing anyone. It didn’t matter that Roman was feeling déjà vu now, remembering the last time he’d torn down the hallways holding this sword, when he was the one breaking into the castle and not the one defending it. Had it really only been a week ago? Everything had changed since then.

He had Virgil now, for instance. Which made things better and simultaneously worse. Yeah, Virgil was probably great with the knives glinting in his hands, and he was definitely faster and sneakier than Roman, based on the way he was running soundlessly through the halls. But now Roman couldn’t just worry about himself. He had to worry about Virgil, too.

He should ask Virgil to run behind him, instead, because Roman didn’t know the way but also didn’t want to put Virgil in the line of fire. Plus, Virgil was the king nobody knew about, so having him running around after some random dude would kind of blow their cover.

Roman opened his mouth to suggest that Virgil go behind him, or maybe even go entirely, but before he could speak, Virgil stopped running.

They were at a set of wooden doors. Roman recognized them immediately, even in the dim candlelight. The throne room.

“You’re sure this is where you heard it?” Roman whispered.

“I have a hunch,” Virgil whispered back, clutching his knives. “Oh, this was a bad idea. You’re sure you don’t want to run out of this castle and set it on fire or something?”

“It’s an intruding human, not a spider.” Roman watched the doors warily. “Um, on three?”

“Sure,” Virgil said weakly.

“You can back out if—”

“No.” Virgil reached out and brushed Roman’s hand, so quick Roman could almost believe it was an accident. “You’d just get yourself killed, Princey. We’re in this together.”

“Okay,” Roman said slowly, stepping forward and placing a hand on the doorknob. “Three…two…one…”

He wrenched the doors open.

Roman expected a lot of things. He was bracing himself to see someone else, maybe dressed in a dark cloak or carrying a crossbow. He’d prepared for an intruder, an assassin, anyone at all.

Instead, the throne room was empty except for one broken window, spilling glass all over the floor.

Roman stepped forward cautiously and scanned every corner. It was hard to tell in the candlelight, but nobody seemed to be in the room. He listened closely. All he heard was the rustling of leaves outside and the chirping of birds.

“Where are they?” Virgil whispered.

“There’s no one here.” Roman ignored the itch at the nape of his neck, the part of him that was almost more worried at the emptiness. “Looks like it was just an accident, after all.”

“I’m not convinced.” Virgil stepped lightly around the edge of the throne room, knives out. “What do you think could have happened?”

“Tree branch?” Roman suggested.

“There aren’t any trees near it.”

“A candle fell or something?”

“The glass landed inside. That means it got hit from the outside.”

“Um.” Roman wracked his brains. “A really confused bird?”

“We’d see the bird.” Virgil paused and gave Roman an incredulous look. “Also, what the heck, Princey?”

“It’s possible!” Roman complained, probably louder than he should have. Virgil flinched at the noise and Roman immediately quieted.

“It’s more possible than someone breaking in,” Roman elaborated, walking over to Virgil, who was staring out the window. “Why would anyone do that? How would they do that? It’s like two stories up, did they climb the whole way?”

Virgil swore quietly.

“What is it?” Roman asked. “Please say you just stubbed your toe or something.”

Virgil shook his head and reached through the window, carefully avoiding the glass. With one hand, he brought up a knotted rope.

“Oh,” Roman said faintly. “Okay.”

“It stretches all the way to the ground.” Virgil sliced the rope through and tossed it out. “This is not good.”

“Um, understatement much?” Here came the hyperventilating, right as planned. This night had gone from bad to okay to very, very terrifying. “Someone was here! I mean, maybe they left, but—”

“I doubt that,” Virgil said, checking behind a few of the curtains. “The…the back door to the room is open. The one that leads up to my hallway.”

“Oh,” Roman said again, because he couldn’t think of what else to say. “Okay.”

“Who knows where they are now?” Virgil gripped his knife, staring up at the ceiling. “If they made it this far, we probably won’t be able to hear them.”

“So we’re alone in the castle with some random person,” Roman said.

“We’re alone in the castle with some random person.”

“Because there are no guards since your dad fired them all.”

“There are no guards,” Virgil agreed.

“And they probably want to kill us.”

“No.” Virgil gave Roman a worried look. “You’re the one the public knows about, right? They probably want to kill you.”

“Great,” Roman said bitterly. “You really know how to make a person feel better.”

“Look, happy-cheerful-positivity? Not my thing.” Virgil glanced around. “You should hide, Princey. I’ll track them down.”

“Are you kidding?” Roman blurted out.

“No.” Virgil shoved him towards the curtains. “I know combat, I’ll be fine. Go somewhere safe.”

“Let go of me!” Roman swatted at Virgil’s hands. “You’ll just get yourself killed if you go alone! Two heads are better than one!”

“You’re the one they’re after!”

“I’m not letting you put yourself in danger!”

Virgil stepped forward, glaring at him. “Well, I’m not letting you--”

Roman waited for the rest of the sentence. It never came.

Instead, Virgil glanced behind Roman at the curtains lining the throne room, and his eyes widened.

“What is it?” Roman asked.

“Don’t turn around,” Virgil mouthed. “Keep talking.”

“Well, you’re an idiot!” Roman continued, sweat pooling in his hands, trying so hard not to turn around. “And I don’t think you know anything about combat either! So stop trying to be superior!”

“You’re the idiot here,” Virgil fired back, but there was no bite. His eyes were on something just over Roman’s shoulder. He shifted his stance slightly, knives at the ready.

“Oh, really? Big talk from someone who, um, doesn’t know how to make toast!” Roman declared. He was having trouble with this. His entire body was screaming at him to run. But Virgil told him not to turn around. And Roman trusted Virgil.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Virgil stepped to the right just a bit, camouflaging the motion as a weak shove at Roman’s shoulder. “Can’t you shut your mouth sometimes, Princey? Your problem is that you never—duck.”

And Roman’s stupid tired brain took a second too long to process exactly why Virgil’s tone had shifted from mocking to firm. And his stupid tired legs took a second too long to move. And his stupid tired body took a second too long to dive to the floor.

Then Virgil dove at his chest and sent them both flying.

Roman landed on the floor, Virgil on top of him.

And a knife buried itself in the throne, inches from where they’d both been standing.

Chapter Text

Logan couldn’t see much of the town, except for the little spheres illuminated by the lanterns on either side of the road. Janus led the way. He wove between streets and led them to a central square, where Logan saw several large trees and a few huge buildings. A few people shuffled across the street. One lonely carriage rattled along behind Logan, making all three of them jump.

“What now?” Patton asked.

Janus shrugged. “What makes you think I know?”

“We were following you,” Logan pointed out. “I assumed you had some sort of plan.”

“Well, I’ve been here before.” Janus waved a hand when Logan raised his eyebrows. “My parents are almost nobility, of course they’ve been here before. It’s harder to remember directions in the dark, so I led us to the main square. I could probably take us about anywhere from here.”

“Can you take us someplace where there’s food?” Patton asked in a little voice. “Please?”

“I can.” Janus folded his arms. “Do you have money to pay for said food?”

“Nope!”

“Me neither.” Janus glanced around. “I suppose we could steal food—”

“That’s wrong,” Patton protested.

Logan bit his lip. “Janus, I don’t think any of us are in the condition to steal things right now.”

Janus paused. “Good point.”

Logan was still reeling from the fact that Janus agreed with him when he noticed Patton walking over to the tree in the center of the square. It was bulky with what Logan soon realized were little beams, criss-crossing the front of the trunk. He followed Patton—he didn’t know why, he just wanted to keep Patton close. Patton was running his hands along some papers bolted to the beams.

“What are these?” Logan asked, squinting at them in the dim light.

“Wanted posters,” Janus said, appearing by his side. Logan flinched violently and tried to steady his breathing. “Notices, verdicts, lost pets, all sorts of things. Like a newspaper except less professional.”

“Don’t—” The words came out more strangled than Logan wanted them to. “Please don’t sneak up on me.”

“Oh.” Janus’ voice was dark with an emotion Logan couldn’t name. “Right.”

“I’m here.” Patton reached out and ran his hand down one piece of paper. “The bakery…they must have sent out flyers. How much did that cost?”

“Seventeen,” Janus said. “Give or take.”

“Seventeen,” Patton repeated. “That’s more than we make in a month.” He stared at the poster. His eyes were glassy in the lamplight. “We’ve been gone for a week. A week. I thought this would be a few days, I—”

“You couldn’t have known,” Logan said, slipping his hand into Patton’s. Patton grabbed it immediately. “What did you say before you left?”

“Said I was visiting family,” Patton said morosely. “Must have figured out I don’t have any. Or they just got worried. It’s been a week.”

Logan leaned gently into Patton’s shoulder. Patton pressed back and gave Logan a shaky smile.

“We’ll go home,” Logan said. “Once we find Roman, we can go home. Maybe even send a letter beforehand. You’ll be fine, Patton.”

Patton nodded.

“Or,” Janus said, “and I’m just throwing this out here, we go home now.”

“What?” Patton asked. “But we haven’t found—”

“Roman. I know.” Janus sighed. “Look around, Patton. This is the biggest town in the entire kingdom. Hundreds and hundreds of people live here. The last time we saw Roman, he was planning to attack the castle of the king over taxes, because I made one single snide comment that he would never amount to anything because he’s lower-class—”

“You did what?” Logan and Patton said in unison.

“I was trying to make him angry, it worked a little too well, can you let me finish?” Janus spread his arms wide. “Finding Roman will be like tracking down a needle in a haystack. And even if we find him, what then? He might be in jail, he might not want to see us, and there are good odds that he’s already de—”

Patton froze, his hand gaining a vice grip in Logan’s. Logan gave Janus a don’t-even-think-about-finishing-that-sentence glare. Janus let the words trail off in his mouth.

“Good odds that we won’t be able to get ahold of him at this time,” Janus corrected, each word crisp. “So I propose that we cut our losses, find some beleaguered farmer we can hitch a ride from, and make our way back.”

“We’re here to find Roman.” Patton stepped forward. “Why did you come with us if you’re just going to give up?”

“In fairness,” Logan whispered, “I don’t think he signed up for witch kidnappings—”

“Roman could be in danger,” Patton continued. “He could be hurt! And you’re just turning your back on him?”

“I don’t care about Roman!” Janus snapped. “I hate him. He’s a selfish, egotistical, dramatic little prick who never fails to make my day worse.”

“Then why did you come with us?” Patton’s voice was gaining strength. Logan would almost call it a yell. But that couldn’t be right. Patton never yelled. “Why did you choose to come with us if you don’t like him?”

“Because I—” Janus huffed. “Because—” He ran his hands through his hair. “I—”

Logan watched Janus, brow furrowing, as he struggled for words.

“I thought it would be entertaining,” Janus finally said.

“Entertaining,” Patton repeated, sounding as disbelieving as Logan felt.

“Yes, entertaining!” Janus sounded defensive now, his shoulders tightening. “I thought it would be entertaining to watch you all fail spectacularly.”

“Well, we did,” Logan snapped. “Did you enjoy it?”

Janus opened his mouth, closed it, and curled into himself, just a bit. “It was entertaining. At first. Not…the almost-dying took most of the fun out of it. Then we got kidnapped, and that wasn’t pleasant, and then we almost died again and I—” Janus stopped himself. “Suffice it to say, I have regrets, and I would like this to be over.”

“It’s not over until I say it’s over.” Patton lifted his chin. “I’m staying. You can go home, Janus, but I’m staying.”

Logan barely hesitated before nodding. “Me too.”

Janus’ eyes flickered over them. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Logan said.

Janus swallowed and turned away. “Is Roman on any of those posters?”

Patton blinked before smiling, just a bit. “I’ll check, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me kiddo.”

Patton ran his hands over the posters. “Wanted thief, wanted smuggler, callout to a neighbor who won’t stop throwing raw turnips over the fence, lost cat—oh no, I hope they find the kitty—wanted thief. Someone’s hiring an apprentice, someone wants to get rid of an apprentice, a chair for fifty-percent off. Me, lost dog, lost seven-year-old…I don’t see him.”

“That’s good,” Logan said. “Is that good?”

“It could mean he stayed out of trouble.” Janus glanced at Logan, lowering his voice. “It could also mean—”

“I know,” Logan said tightly. “I’d rather not think about that, thank you.”

“Um.” Patton glanced at Logan and Janus. “There’s—there’s no you guys either. If you were wondering.”

Logan knew there wouldn’t be. He didn’t have any family or friends besides Patton and Roman, and he would be easily replaced as a servant. So why did that sting?

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Janus muttered, and Logan’s own hurt was eclipsed by curiosity. Janus’ parents could easily afford to put up flyers. So why hadn’t they? Had Janus even given an alibi, or had he just disappeared without them caring?

“We should find a place to sleep,” Janus said louder, avoiding Logan’s gaze. “Maybe to eat. Do you want to try and find an inn?”

“Thought we didn’t have any money,” Patton said.

“Yes, and we’re not in any condition for robbery.” Janus smirked. “But that doesn’t include highway robbery, does it?”

Logan was beginning to feel rather apprehensive. “Janus, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing anyone will prosecute me for.” Janus turned on his heel and strode down the road. “Look. I’m in a terrible mood, I just got kidnapped, and this will make me feel better.”

“And what is this?” Patton called after him. “Exactly?”

Janus looked back and grinned. “Why, Patton, a good old-fashioned scam.”