Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Y’know, if Techno knew getting shot in the chest would end up with him transmigrating into the body of one of the chief antagonists of a web novel he recently finished, he wouldn’t have gotten shot in the chest. Well, not that he’d had a choice there; still, though. If he had, he wouldn’t a’ made it. 

Regardless though, he’s here now, in ‘The Sun Always Rises’! Only five months after throwing away a sword to rip people apart with his limited bootcamp training, after nearly getting his head chopped off, after dying to being shot in the chest, did he realise who he was; excuse him, no one really wanted to talk and he was kind of busy trying not to die in a war to bother. 

He knows now, though! Well, ‘now’ being six years later, about when the war ended, thank you Reigning Prince Soot, but whatever. In his defense, Techno had to figure out who he was accidentally, and painfully too. Being referred to as ‘the Blood God’ isn’t exactly his idea of fun . 

But alas, he’d killed on the battlefield in an even gorier manner than the original Mad Prince, and he must reap what he’s sown. At least the banners he fought under all these years are pretty? His platoon hasn’t been afraid of him in a while either, not since he rammed through a wall, allegedly by accident. 

Ramming through a wall was fun, though. Long story short, he’s incredibly beefy so someone daring had wondered out loud if he could do so within ear shot. Sam- the commander of Techno’s platoon- tried to chastise them, but it was too late. The idea was planted, and soon so was Techno’s face. Into the ground. Because the brick wall burst into smithereens when he smashed into it full-force. Listen, he hadn’t expected to succeed ! 

Their laughter was a nice gift, though. Calmed down the voices.  

it’s DEMONS you fucking heathen awww he hates us? he totally hates us, what an asshole IT WAS SO GOOD. GIVE ME TEN MORE SMASHING THROUGH WALLS. DELICIOUS. GOOD. PERFECT. you guys are so loud and for what. can’t even make him do shit HE WILL BEND TO OUR WILL !! no he wont u fuckin bitch. he's too much of a disaster DISASTER !! disaster disaster idiot disaster 

Aaand now they’re busy repeating the same word over and over. Perfect, Techno barely had to do anything. He tugs at his blood-soaked sleeve, taking a deep breath in front of the massive door to the peace celebration banquet. Sucks that he still had to kill that guy, but seems some stuff had to stay the same from the web novel. 

Ugh- that sounds bad. Wasn’t his fault, though! He was attacked first, his invitation was delivered by an assassin, it was just a whole mess. Now, the amount of blood might’ve been, but! But. He only knows how to rip people limb from limb to kill them, never really learned how to wield anything, so like. Please be gracious with him. 

The voices, naturally, pick this exact moment to pay attention and go off again. Fun Fact! His and Silvanus’ have different vibes, so he can tell that his are the ones making fun of him, while Silvanus’ are delighting in the gratuitous amounts of violence he is forced to commit. Quaint, really. 

Anyway, he has to enter at some point or the guards silently side-eying him will have heart attacks. How should he do this? He’s not carrying a corpse with him, which is already an improvement over the original, and- well, he can’t be as irreverent, it’s probably not physiologically possible. Plus, he should definitely express his gratitude for the ‘diplomatic' end to the conflict that ate six-ish years of his life. 

Now don’t get him wrong, a couple good things came from that! He got some good friends in Sam, Foolish and Quackity while there, and his platoon loved ‘Oxxie the Wall Eater’, buuuut… War is war and he probably- definitely- has severe PTSD now. 

Quaint, really! Don’t call him repetitive, demons- and don’t celebrate that he’s finally calling you what you want, or he’ll come up with some stupid name again. Do you want him to call you ‘the titterers’? No? So shut up and let him think.  

you could always just walk in. idiot   NOW THAT IS HALF-ASSED IF I’VE EVER HEARD HALF-ASSED you lot are worse NO U he could try walking in and being polite! oh wait, he doesn’t know what that means ‘cause he’s stupid. there, better? YOU’RE JUST BEING SPITEFUL. HE SHOULD KILL THE FIRST PERSON HE SEES AND SING ACAPELLA! i vote lady gaga

He will not kill anyone! Singing may be a good idea, though. Break the tension and all a’ that. 

Techno cringes. That would not be quaint, that would be mortifying. Thanks but no thanks, he’s gonna just walk in and be polite and sweet and respectful and kneel and treat the prince as, y’know, the Reigning Prince that he is, and it’ll go great! Definitely, yeah. Okay. Techno puts his hand on the door handle- it opens on its own to a massive crowd of people. They turn to him as one. 

Well. Showtime. 

. . . 

An actor dances upon a stage, speaking hollow words and telling empty lies. Hello there, it’s nice to see you again, we love to have you here. His teeth are plated with gold to hide the tarnished copper wrapped around his soul.

Hiding, he claims, and yet Wilbur knows all too well that everyone can see him for what he is. Not a royal, not a prince. He is a fish in a birdcage. Pins cut through his skin, forcing him to sit in a glimmering throne more expensive than his life.

Upon his head lays a crown that he is unworthy to even look upon, let about bear for all these years that the true monarch remains away. Wilbur holds steady, not daring to shift against velvet cushions, sitting on the edge of a throne built for wings he does not have.

Before him lies the people, the spotlight, the audience. Nobles who look upon him as if they can see the dirt staining his skin. No matter what he wears, how far he rises, how much he scrubs until the water begins to run red, he is never anything more than a soiled street rat in their eyes.

For once, however, that is not the cause of the underlying tension in the room, covering every surface in a thin layer of static. The true reason is the double edged sword tied above his head like a guillotine, hovering ever so close to his neck.

On one hand, this banquet is one of peace. Wilbur has proven himself in his reign as Regent, he has ended a decades long conflict. A war finally comes to an end. Blood will no longer be spilled, homes no longer burned, all for the peace treaty signed away with his soul.

King Dream is quite the stubborn man, it’s a surprise he allowed it. Perhaps the only reason is because Wilbur is not His Majesty, the King. Whatever ancient grudge between Arctica and Essempii falls to the wayside before someone who shares not a drop of blood with those who started it all. No blue blood, no noble lineage.

The very thing these nobles looked down on him for is the same thing that saved them. Yet, Wilbur knows he cannot flaunt that. Nobles will never admit to being wrong, they will only smile a bit emptier, a bit less maliciously, and step on a few less toes.

If only that meant Wilbur were allowed off this gilded throne, formed of more bone and blood than the golden sheen belays. Alas, one boon, one moment of triumph, is not enough to ignore the centuries long traditions that bind him.

Here at play is a rather simple one, containing relatively few of the untold rules that dominate the political sphere Wilbur stumbles through. The Reigning Monarch, no matter why they reign, may not move from the throne until all members of a gala have entered. He must greet each with warmth.

Albeit the ‘warmth’ is fake and the ‘Peace Gala’ is hardly as peaceful as the name implies. It’s fitting, he believes. That brings him to the other side of that sword. The much sharper edge, the threat that may kill him.

The only person still missing from the Gala, by Wilbur’s count, is the Crown Prince. And what a person he is. Wilbur takes a deep breath, the dull ache in his lungs and gills hopefully unseen by those who stare at him, a fly under a magnifying glass.

One person should not bring such terror to his heart. One person should not threaten a hundred nobles protected by hundreds more guards. One person should not have cause the Gala to nearly get canceled, for the foreign envoys fear his very name.

Crown Prince Silvanus Blade is unfortunately far more than merely a man. He is the Mad Prince, the very reason Wilbur sits upon this throne. How mad must a man be for his father to throw playmate after playmate at them with the quiet expectation those children will die?

How mad must he be to score scar after scar into Wilbur’s skin? How mad must he be to have been sent to war as if that might pacify him? How mad must he be to go through all that and yet… he still calls Wilbur ‘brother’.

Unanswered letters burn in the corner of Wilbur’s mind as if they will sear through the desk drawer. As if they will grow wings to hunt him down and peck at his eyes for the insult of leaving them unopened.

Even if the letters stopped, even if Wilbur had thought for a moment that perhaps the prince had died, he still feels… strange… for letting them rot. That does not make him a bad person, does it? Wilbur searches the room once more.

A fluff of golden hair and a flick of dove white feathers soothe his racing heart. Lord Theseus does not think him evil, does not think him less, does not think-

Large wooden doors press open as if the golden ladened things weighed less than a feather, the darkened night beyond filling the doorway with a void. The gaping maw yawns before them.

An unfamiliar man steps past the threshold. For a moment, Wilbur cannot recognize him, and does not want to recognize him. There is barely anything to recognize.

Blood red hair piles atop a scarred head, one eye made blind by a gruesome slash, left to blink sightlessly back at the silenced nobility. A cape coated with a thin golden chain and rubies like blood drops outline an impressive form of more muscle than not.

Wide shoulders, large hands with a slight dusting of feathers on the back, an unfeeling gaze sweeping about the room and never settling until… until it lands on Wilbur. He straightens in the throne, though doing so risks his spine snapping should he pull any further.

Measured steps draw the unfamiliar figure forward, a man who can only have one name that Wilbur’s cannot fit into his mouth. Dress shoes click against the ground, echoing in the silence in mockery of their fear. Do the nobles know what he knows?

“Reigning Prince Soot,” the man greets as he finally stands before him. Wilbur smiles. He does not want to but he must. Wilbur greets back, praying his is wrong though he knows the Sun God does not smile upon him so.

“Crown Prince Blade.” It doesn’t feel right. This is not who Wilbur remembers his old playmate being. Yet, there is no one else it could be but him, no one else who commands such insidious fear. No one else who speaks such sly insults as if they were less than air.

“I must welcome you to this illustrious Peace Banquet, in honor of your efforts of course. We have heard a great many things about you, dear Prince Blade.” The faux-familiarity burns his throat. As if Wilbur weren’t called merely ‘ Reigning Prince’ , a reminder his time is short. A reminder that he is ‘Soot’ and not ‘Blade’.

“Thank you,” the prince says, and then considers, “Your Highness.” He goes on one knee, and bows his head, “I believe your efforts were the more important ones, I just tore stuff.” 

It’s then that Wilbur notices the blood. Crimson stains once hidden by darkly covered fabrics, stains that are still wet and left to smudge against the once pristine floor. Wilbur peeks past Prince Blade’s imposing form and there are indeed red stains where his footsteps tread.

“My efforts were no effort at all. I was merely doing my duty, you see, and I would do it all again to see peace between our kingdom and the next. You were the one who had to dirty yourself among the lessers. Is that not the harder task?”

Wilbur glances at their audience, drawing a few murmurs of agreement from those brave enough to speak at all. It is not that he agrees, soldiers are in no way lesser, but he knows how to play a crowd. Garnering favor is a requirement of ruling.

Crown Prince Blade, however, furrows his brows, “Yeah, the uh, the blood of the assassin I had to deal with when getting my letter was bothersome. War itself, though, mostly fine? I mean- I mean not fine-” he stops himself, shutting his mouth so harshly his tusks click, “I enjoyed the company I kept there, let me just say that.” 

A company of corpses, according to the reports. Wilbur suppresses a shiver. Perhaps His Majesty, the King, had had the right idea sending Prince Blade off. It seems the bloodshed really did soothe him if- if an assassin is a mere bother. 

“How terrible, I can’t believe any would seek to harm our beloved Crown Prince so soon after he returns. Rest assured the culprit will be found,” Wilbur promises. He knows, of course, that there is likely little left of the assassin and, as thus, little evidence to use to find the culprit. Still, he must make false promises lest this bother become a problem. Wilbur would rather not become Prince Blade’s stress toy at this supposed Peace Gala.

“Thank you, Reigning Prince Soot, that’s really sweet- I mean- thank you. My deepest apologies for being so unsightly-” he grunts out the word, “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my manners while away.” 

Oh please, like this monster ever had manners- Wilbur twitches, forcing himself to calm. There is no reason to be upset. Prince Blade is being downright pleasant right now. Even if he repeats that foul title Wilbur claims to carry with honor. 

“I have utmost confidence that you will manage, you were always such a quick learner-” which really made things worse when it came to weapons training, “and there is no need to thank me! I am merely doing my duty as Regent and as your…” For all his efforts, he can’t manage to keep the pause from hanging for a fraction of a moment.

“ Brother.”

Wilbur smiles, hands limp against the armrests, as if his claws don’t ache and his secondary teeth don’t scrape the back of his much more humanoid pair. That word, that insult, that curse which binds him. He hates it.

“No- uh. I’m pretty sure I won’t manage, sorry, there’s no hope for me. Actually, can I leave? I’m really sorry for cutting this short and my atrocious manners, I mean you know how it is, crowds and all, PTSD, kinda fighting the urge to kill everyone here and then myself, I’m just gonna- gonna wait for you to dismiss me, that’s the correct procedure, yeah? Yeah! Yeah. Thank you.” 

Dismiss him? Prince Blade remains bowing at Wilbur’s feet, only his head raised so that his eyes, one blind and the other ruby red, can bore into Wilbur’s own. Wilbur, dismiss Prince Blade? As if Wilbur has the power to order Prince Blade anywhere.

Prince Blade is not a knight, he is not gallant or kind. Even now, the madness that runs within him has his hands shaking and his eyes dilated, the promise that he will kill if forced to remain only sinks that in. Perhaps the war made him worse in that regard.

At least before, Prince Blade would not say such things so blatantly, would not threaten to kill himself along with the crowd. Perhaps because that would be the end of his fun? A crime now unforgivable when off a battlefield where every man is merely a walking corpse? Wilbur cannot pretend to understand the Mad Prince’s mind.

“You may leave, Crown Prince Blade. Have a good night, may the Gods be with you,” Wilbur dismisses anyway. If it gets Prince Blade to leave, he will play along in this farce-

Crown Prince Blade stands suddenly, his shadow overwhelming Wilbur, so much smaller and lither than this imposing figure. Wilbur tenses, preparing himself to face a punishment he cannot name.

Yet there is no pain. There is only the quick, harsh clack of dress shoes across the floor as Prince Blade uses his expansive gait to cross the room far quicker than any other man would. His speed scares off even the few brave nobles Wilbur can see trying to edge towards him.

The doors are shoved open again, this time matched with a shriek metal as the lock and hinges are forced in a direction they do not belong. Doors which open inwards slam out instead. The show of strength is dizzying. 

Not a bit of attention is paid to anyone else. It’s as if they don’t matter, as if they world itself if clay and mud at Prince Blade’s feet. Lord Theseus is the first to move, slipping to Wilbur’s side. His presence is a breadth of fresh air.

That breath might be the first anyone breathes since the Crown Prince had entered. Wilbur puts it out of his mind.

. . . 

LOSER. DIDN’T EVEN KILL ANYONE, L idiot, idiot, fucking idiot THOSE DOORS THOUGH, SHEEEESH you fucking ruined it, you piece of shit, he must be terrified now BROKE, BROKE, BROKE, YOU BROKE ‘EM SO COOL who the fuck do you think you are, destroying such expensive wood idiot piece of shit LMAOOOOOO. DID I DO IT RIGHT OPPOSITES DAY US? 

The chattering will drive Techno mad faster than the hammering of his heart, he can feel it. Dammit, what’s he supposed to do now? Catching his breath, leaned on the wrought gate at the outline of the castle’s property, he tries to calm his shaking. That was a disaster, god, please never let him do public speaking ever again- 

we’d gladly stop you from embarrassing us all like that, but sadly you’re doomed to repeat this floundering soon yet again. wasn’t there multiple events where Prince Blade presented before his people? WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T EAT ANYBODY’S BRAINS IN PUBLIC wow, excellent reverse psychology, you almost have it  

Unable to help himself, Techno giggles at his chattering tormentors starting to torment each other instead of him. Finally, he straightens, and looks to the guards, “Can any of you call me a carriage? I’m kinda stranded, don’t really remember where my palace is. Been too long, y’know?” In spite of his anxiety, he manages to go for ‘casual and friendly’, which really has no right to make the guard look like they’re about to defecate. 

“Of course, Your Royal Highness!” The guard salutes him, the customary Arctica salute only slightly frantic and shaky. Well, maybe a lot frantic and shaky. Why must Techno’s very presence freak people out, again? Sure, he was the one who earned the title ‘Blood God’ and currently has blood all over himself, but- 

Okay, he can see how that’s problematic. Still, though. He hasn’t even threatened them. 

you really think your mere presence doesn’t count as a threat? idiotic halfwit HE NEEDS TO THREATEN THEM FOR REAL. TECHNO BLADE! JUMP THAT MAN’S BONES! HAHA, JUMP HIS BONES, LIKE SEX I CHANGED MY MIND, DON’T JUMP THAT MAN’S BONES. BREAK EM! all of you are heathens and i loathe to say, our idiotic halfwit may just be the sanest one here

Thanks for the vote of confidence, demons. Techno leans harder on the gate’s posts, and takes a deep breath, finally able to truly fill his lungs. 

Worst part is, it wasn’t even the running that triggered this bout of breathlessness. Oh no, it was the crowd, the stares, the way he fumbled absolutely horrifically as Reigning Prince Soot tried so hard to mollify him- 

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULDA KILLED HIM god, no, imagine how embarrassing that would be. father, whoever and wherever he is, gets home, and our brother is dead? mortifying FATHER WOULDN’T CARE!!! WOULD BE SAD MAYBE BUT HE’D BE FINE FATHER NEEDS TO DIE THE BLOODIEST DEATH if you attack someone we call father, you’re getting actually eviscerated 

Another deep breath of the slightly sweet-tinged air, Techno finally looks around to have more ammunition to distract the voices with. Flowerbeds litter the entry gate on both sides, filled to the brim with slightly-glowing, nearly star-shaped flowers here and there, yet mostly all in bright pinks, blues and purples staining the world vibrantly even in the all-encompassing, blue glow of the moon. 

He regains more of his senses, listening to nightingales- or whatever birds sing so late- twitter elegant tunes through the air, to the bustle of the city down at the foot of the hill, to the slight clink of the guards’ armour as they shift uncomfortably in his presence- aaand the chatterers are back to chatting him to death. Maybe he should call them ‘Chat’. Like the twitch feature, seems pretty fitting. 

His side of the chattering family jump on the opportunity to lord knowledge of what that is immediately, and he’s relieved once again. He sighs, and plops down to sit on the gravel path. Why stand around while waiting for the guard who had ran off to get a carriage? He’s working smarter, not harder. 

He manages a few minutes, maybe, of staring off into literal space overhead, before someone’s footfall drags him back to dreadful, Chat-triggering reality. 

“Ah, Greetings to Crown Prince Blade. This one is Envoy Theseus of the Esempii. Were you also seeking fresh air? I understand it can get quite stuffy inside,” Theseus greets, voice as light as his smile. If Techno didn’t know any better, he’d think the kid innocent.

“Yeah, hi,” he winces as his side of Chat rips into him for how informal and improper he’s being, “hello, Envoy Theseus. Anything else that brings you out to Chat up a monster?” Sarcasm, his security blanket, nice to see you again.

“A monster? Why, I’d never call someone as illustrious as you that,” Theseus laughs brightly, “and no one else will either, if you’d like.” Theseus slips into view, leaning over Techno as best he can when Techno’s head reaches his hips sitting slouched.

“Yeah, sure. Whaddaya want?” 

Chat yells even louder. Techno solemnly swears he will forever ignore them. Learn to behave, please. 

“To be friends, hopefully. I like having friends.” The phrasing is childish, matching with the Envoy’s boyish appearance. If Techno didn’t know any better, he’d think King Dream sent a minor to the gala. Alas, Theseus is somehow an adult.

Or maybe he just lied. Techno narrows his eyes. 

“Friends, you say. What does being friends with you entail, young man? The scars don’t deter you at all, the disastrous handlin’ of the gala? I’ll drag your reputation to the ground by existin’ in proximity, you know how to do yer job better than that,” he mildly snaps, shutting his mouth with a click of tusks. He stares down at the ground. Eugh, handling a reputation as disastrous as his while also battling Silvanus’-Chat’s attempts to force his hand to violence is not even close to quaint. 

LLLLL you really are an idiot if you’re still hoping for quaint KILL KILL MAIM KILL HIM KILL-   

Shut, Chat, Theseus is talking. 

“Of course not!” The envoy chirps, wings fluffing, “Honestly, I’m impressed. I’ve never gotten such a pure reaction from so many people. Really, I’m applauding you, Blood God.” Doesn't feel like an applause.

“Reputation has nothing to do with it. In fact, my reputation could greatly benefit you, and perhaps beyond what the rumors might say. Perhaps I could… free you, so to speak.” Theseus’ fancy loafers crunch against the gravel, the envoy slowly circling to Techno’s front. Bold. 

“Free me,” Techno deadpans, “free me from what?” 

“Consequences. They’re such terrible things, you know. If we were friends, I would have never sent you to war.” As if Theseus was even alive when Silvanus was sent off to die- well, no, he’s definitely older than six but- like- shut up.

“Bold words for an embryo.” 

 “A what?” 

Oh. Right, medicine is not where it is in Techno’s universe. Chat laughs at him, mostly, though there’s still demands of violence, “That’s what we call young people in the army. Uh, so you’re saying you wouldn’t a’ thunk that war would calm someone’s murderous instincts? Almost sounds like you have a fully formed brain.” 

A soft sigh from above him, almost morose. Theseus crouches in front of him, tapping lightly but audibly at his thighs, humming softly. Furrowing his brows, Techno raises his head. 

“Could I confide in you, for a moment?” Theseus asks, glancing to the side. And look, Techno knows this kid is a child spy basically groomed to be a perfect liar from birth, he knows. Still, for a moment, he can believe Theseus is hesitating, as if about to say something that he holds a lot of grief over. Wild. 

gullible idiot! KILL, KILL, KILL SMASH HIS HEAD IN MURDERRRRR my god, this is a disaster

For once, Techno can’t help but agree with his personal tormentors. Jesus Christ, what has the world come to? 

He blinks at Theseus. Theseus looks back, eyes earnest and big like a puppy-dog. Honestly, Techno can almost empathise with Silvanus’-Chat, ‘cause he’s kind of getting cuteness aggression. 

Wait, is he expected to respond? 

“Uh, yes?” He asks more than states. 

“People who come back from war never come back better. I… had a friend, much like you- albeit less physically imposing. His parents had assumed similar to your father but they didn’t see him, didn’t hear from him or read his letters.” Theseus sniffles.

“He got so much worse and people expected him to be fine when he was sent home. An early dismissal for injury, as I'm sure you’ve heard. All the pressure built and he… I don’t hear from him much anymore. I don’t want that to happen to someone else.”

Is he crying? The kid is crying, tears like crystals glittering in his eyes, as ridiculous as that feels to think. Uh, um- 

“I’m, sorry? That really sucks. I promise I’ll be fine, though. Wouldn’t want an embryo to be burdened by my problems, I promise I’m a grown man who can handle himself.” Techno pauses, “Even if that stunt at the gala was kinda cringe. Either way! I promise you don’t, uh, need to… Take this additional weight on you? Thanks, though,” he withdraws slightly- 

“Don’t think about me, think of your brother. Imagine the stress he must be under now that you are home. Please, give me the weight so he might feel just a bit better?” Theseus pleads. God, dammit, fine! Fine, Techno will say yes and he will doom both himself and the protagonist- unless? He does need more proof before he can call the kid out as a spy, this is totally a strategic decision he’s making. 

He looks back down to the ground. Raises his arm a bit in offering of a hug, “You’re… Right. I’m sorry for being difficult, uh-” Chat screeches, “do you… Peace?” If Theseus tries to backstab him, they’ll probably both die, so it’s definitely fine. 

“It’s not your fault, things are stressful. You can confide in me, though, trust me.” Theseus wipes at his eyes, falling forward into the hug like he trusts Techno too. Trusts ‘Silvanus’ not to hurt him. Maybe that would have been the final nail in the coffin for actual Silvanus, that ‘innocent’ trust.

“But I shouldn’t keep you. You need to go and I need to stay here. Perhaps we can meet again soon? If you, ah, don’t mind. It would be nice to have a real friend here, I don’t have many.” Theseus nuzzles into his chest with a sigh, so much smaller than Techno thought he was. Seriously, this can’t be an adult. This is a child, baby, tiny.

Patting the kid’s head, Techno hauls him up by the armpits to put him to stand. That he barely has to raise into a half-crouch to do it should really not send so much worry through him, thanks Chat, you don’t need to rub it in, yes he fell for it, yes his justification is crap, please shut up now, but it does, so fine. Standing himself, Techno is easily almost twice the height, and he pats Theseus’ head again. 

Theseus bops under the pats, not at all prepared for them. His wide blue eyes squint a little. Seriously, is this an avian kid or a confused puppy? At least now he understands how Theseus was so effective.

“I’ll tell your brother you said hello. Thank you for being so nice to me,” Theseus gives a half-bow, “In the future, Crown Prince Blade.” He straightens, turns his back on Techno -the first person outside his platoon to do so- and leaves back towards the gala.

“Tell him I’m sorry!” Techno calls after Tommy, and leaves it at that. What else does he say? Nothing, that’s what. 

The carriage has been there for some time now. Techno had heard it arrive, of course, but it didn’t really register. He hums to himself, and walks to get in, nodding at the shell-shocked guards on his way. 

They look rather unimposing, if he’s honest. With Chat continuing to scream in his head about all his shortcomings and how appetizing Theseus’s wings look, he settles in the carriage and signals the driver to go; whelp. Getting emotionally manipulated by a child, here he comes. 

At least he’ll be alone for a bit in his castle. He’d never thought he’d say this, but: thank god Emperor Father Dad Person wanted to isolate him. 

On his merry way he goes. 

. . . 

In the early hours of the morning, the Gala draws to a close. Envoys are in their guest suites, nobles back to their homes in the capital, and the servants have begun to clean the banquet hall. At times like this, Wilbur is left freeingly alone.

Not that there isn’t anything for him to do. Paperwork will persist long past the end of time and there are always his hobbies, the music room appealing, but nothing his strained mind wishes to accomplish. He has had enough of double speak and backhanded compliments over the past few hours.

Thankfully, the only person who slinks to his side is Lord Theseus, a wonderful young man who is neither deceitful nor crass, instead a wonderful mischievous mix that brightens Wilbur’s day.

He smiles as they settle into a tea room, technically belonging to His Majesty, the King, but Wilbur’s for however long he remains regent. Lord Theseus grins back, flopping against the lounge chair with no regard for propriety. Truly a breath of fresh air.

“Your brother is weird,” Lord Theseus announces. Servants, poor people who set down their treats and tea, flinch back at the mention of Prince Blade. Wilbur stiffens himself, waving them off.

“Is he now? I wasn’t aware he spoke to anyone but me?” Wilbur asks through clenched teeth, soothing himself with idle pets to the velvet chair. Lord Theseus huffs, flapping his wings lightly. The way he avoids Wilbur’s gaze is telling.

“You and me, actually. I followed him. Just, got curious you know? I’ve heard so much about him but I’ve never met him.” A mercy Wilbur can only wish he were granted. His life on the streets may have been less certain but at least he had not known Prince Blade so keenly.

“Are you unharmed? You do know Prince Blade is known to be rather… unsettled,” Wilbur worries. He sits forward in his chair, leaning towards Lord Theseus. The young envoy pauses, shuffles to sit properly, and lets out a low hum.

“He did not meet my expectations, actually. Crown Prince Blade was rather intimidating but he did not harm me, perhaps he’d had his fill of violence on the battlefield? How good must that feel, to know your loving King’s efforts were not in vain.”

Wilbur tenses, clenching his jaw and digging his fingers into his knees. It is not the fault of Lord Theseus, who can’t know how much those words worry Wilbur. He does not know that Wilbur’s knowledge of Prince Blade is what keeps him safe. He does not know that the thought of Prince Blade changing concerns him as much as the quiet threat of violence that hangs around the madman like a shroud.

“That is good,” Wilbur agrees tersely, “Still, do be careful? I do not wish for anything to happen to you.” Wilbur cannot save himself, bound to his role by a thousand golden needles, but perhaps he can save Lord Theseus. Such a young lord does not deserve Wilbur’s scars. Wilbur had not deserved them. He knows that- he knows.

“Of course, I know you wouldn’t let me get hurt. Nothing will happen to me.” Lord Theseus smiles at Wilbur, all blinding trust and glittering white teeth. If only Wilbur could trust himself as much as Lord Theseus does.

He nods wordlessly, agreeing to Lord Theseus’ words even if he doesn’t truly believe them. Wilbur knows he can’t keep Lord Theseus safe from everything. There is always the barest of chances that Prince Blade will seek the young envoy out on his own now. Wilbur cannot control what he cannot see.

Prince Blade will not be dissuaded by mere words either. If words had worked, perhaps none of this would have happened and Wilbur would have never been named Regent, never known these hallowed halls that whisper of blood no matter how clean they appear. If words had worked…

A sigh leaves him from deep within his chest, taking most of his stress with it and leaving him merely tired. There is no use wondering about ‘what ifs’. Wilbur’s bed has been made for him, now he must lie in it or die trying.

“Hey,” Lord Theseus slides onto the lounge, sitting close to Wilbur, “It’s okay. You know me, I can get myself out of sticky situations. I will not be hurt. Trust me.” Fluffy dove wings brush against Wilbur’s back, the earnestness taking him off guard. How sad that he is not used to such gentle assurances, such quiet trust.

“I trust you,” Wilbur promises, leaning into the warmth offered. He finds that, while he may carry some uncertainty, he is not lying.

Perhaps Lord Theseus can manage what Wilbur could not.

. . . 

In his castle on the other side of the city, Techno sneezes over his personalised letters to Quackity, Sam and Foolish. Probably nothing, he thinks as he describes the events of the night in colourful language; he's likely never been so wrong in his life.

Chapter Text

bad boys bad boys, whatchu gonna do, whatchu gonna do when they come for you BOYS IS RIGHT BECAUSE THESEUS IS BASICALLY AN INFANT oh, he’s awake. hunker down everyone, mr. contrarian is here  

Techno groans into his pillow and pushes himself up. There goes his restful disposition, ruined as everything is by Chat, “Do you guys gotta be so annoyin’? First thin’ in the mornin’, too,” he complains, and blinks at his pillowcase. Apparently, he’d drooled in his sleep. Well sue him for truly melting in the very nice bed. 

messy messy MESSY MAN WISH HE WOULD MESS UP A SERVANT’S HEAD INTO PASTE. PUSSY how can we not be annoying when your grouchy ass gets annoyed if someone breathes too loudly mess maker. ew 

Huffing, Techno turns over on his truly massive bed and considers if he wants to get up, or what. ‘Or what’ seems very tempting, if he’s honest, but there’s early morning light streaming in through the windows so it probably won’t work; he makes a miserable noise and throws his legs off the bed, “I wasn’t annoyed by Quackity, ya absolute buffoons. What is the demonic world coming to?” 

He summarily ignores the indignant flames Chat goes up in, trips on his way to the massive walk-in closet that’s worthy of a billionaire- ew- because they hate him, and sighs, resigned, when he sees all his clothes are just like the nightgown he decided to forgo yesterday- too small. Well. It’s probably impolite to go out of the room in his birthday suit, and his yesterday’s fit is obviously in the wash, so…

Displeased by how everyone had apparently expected him to still be a thin waif in spite of the rumours, and no one even asked, Techno digs through his closet to find a whole skirt- way simpler than the rest of the clothes, maybe a maid’s? Unclear why it’s there, too, this place seems pretty set in its gender roles so far- and a very, very loose-cut blouse. It’s… Still too small, the skirt is short and barely below the knee and the blouse nearly creaks at especially the shoulder seams, but it’s something.  

Peeking out of his room, he cringes as the servants each side of his door pretend very hard they haven’t just jumped. 

“It’s fine, yer allowed to be scared.” He says, and steps all the way out even shoeless as he is, “Could you, uh, show me to the meal… Hall, room, whatever it is? I’m, uh, not the clearest on where everythin’ is.” 

“Of course, Your Royal Highness!” The woman on the left all but salutes, and steps to the side, “If you would follow me, please?”

He nods, and shuffles into step behind her. Even half-running, she’s still a bit slow for his usual stride, so he walks a bit awkwardly. That’s fine, it’s not very pleasant to step on the rough but pretty carpets lining the corridors but it’s fine. Techno looks around to have something to do, watching the wallpaper change as he walks, the trinkets decorating various hutches and side-tables that probably cost more than his former-life’s house, the massive fancy paintings that definitely do. 

It’s all very grand, with tall ceilings and arched supports done in frillwork and gilded, with half-columns separating out the flower wallpaper and flowery details at the edges of the long runner carpets. Parquet floors mirror white ceilings, all utterly expensive to the highest degree. Half of Chat screams at him to break, destroy, ruin the way he had the doors yesterday while the other half calls him unworthy; he ignores that, too. 

NO FUN ALLOWED. IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO SAY???? EVIL. EVIL MAN. DESTRUCTION UNALLOWED??? HOW DAREEEE i’d just say he has sense FUCK!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK I WANNA EAT THIS MAID’S HEART creep SHE’S PRETTY, IT’S NOT MY FAULT TECHNO SHOULD KILL HER ANYWAY

Techno trips again. Jesus, they’re really uppity today. It’s not his fault that Silvanus-Chat are creeps!

yes it is, they’re in your head now KILL, KILL, KILL RIP AND TEAR SHE’D LOOK PRETTIER COVERED IN HER OWN BLOOD you lot are insufferable

For once, Techno completely agrees with his Chat. Quaint, guess he’s gone mad. 

not mad, you’re actually becoming normal wow, can you believe this guy? calling us mad BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT YOU ARE. YOU DON’T EVEN SUPPORT HIM EVIL EVIL  

Chat begins to argue among themselves. Techno nearly groans, and only manages to catch himself because the poor maid doesn’t need more stress. Either way, they arrive into a big room with a big table and many chairs, and he’s temporarily got a distraction because there’s food already, somehow; magic communication? There was something like pagers for his splatoon, so he wouldn’t put it past this world’s monarchy to have something like that in their castles. 

But anyway, he has food to scarf down now! Yippie, hooray, etcetera. Yesterday, he got basically just army breakfast, so. 

He makes his way over to a served plate and settles, fancy breakfast at the head of the table really making him feel royal. 

Overly fancy, honestly; he’s not sure why the pancakes need all that whipped cream, and the three french omelettes stacked in a pyramid are just overkill. They’re decorated with some greens, too, and nicely cut cherry tomatoes line the edge of his plate along with pepper slices. 

Swallowing his saliva, Techno does his best to cut into the omelettes primly. He tastes the immaculately cooked egg. 

From that point on, he makes absolutely no pretence of propriety, truly and well scarfing all the food down at record speeds. The pancakes are just as heavenly as the french omelettes, and he’s almost too distracted to hear the door open but only almost; ears twitching, he ignores whoever entered in favour of swallowing bits of pancake without chewing. 

Wow, he’s hungrier than he thought. Almost done with the food, and still nowhere near full. It’s awful. Still, he finally looks up to the side of him, where whoever entered hovers. 

A teen about Theseus’ age, the half-and-half hybrid of some sort visibly pales under his attention and bows, “Good morning, Your Royal Highness! This lowly servant is named R-Ranboo, it’s a pl-pleasure to serve you,” he stutters, and straightens to full attention. 

Dang, is Techno really so scary? 

AWWWWW THEY’RE SO CUTE, DO YOU THINK THEIR GUTS ARE HALF AND HALF TOO? all y’all can think about is violence, huh? brutes SPLIT THEM DOWN THE MIDDLE, THEY’RE PRACTICALLY BEGGING FOR IT let’s start a betting pool, i bet that techno is gonna embarrass himself in three, two, one… 

“Hullooo,” out of spite and nothing else, Techno keeps his voice level as he drawls and doesn’t mirror the kid’s stuttering, “and who are you supposed to be?” 

“F-formerly, Apprentice Accountant Ranboo, Your Royal H-Highness!” The kid bows again, “Reigning P-prince Soot has sent me- this servant- to assist you now that you’re b-back, to get a hold of your d-duties and the castle and c-city’s layouts. Something like your personal butler?” They ask more than state, stuttering the entire way. How does Chat know their pronouns, though? 

brain demon priviledges WE ARE DEMONS. WE SEE SOULS. WE WILL HELP YOU NOT MAKE A FOOL OF YOURSELF! like anything could help him 

“Thank you,” Techno continues to be perfectly normal, “and please, pass my thanks to Reigning Prince Soot, if at all possible.” That’s normal, right? It’s totally normal to ask for his gratitude to be known, surely. 

Ranboo stares at him like it definitely isn’t, but hey. Can’t all be winners. He turns back down to his depressingly empty plate to avoid thinking about it. Is there a kitchen in this place, and how bad would it be if Techno went there? He considers with a hum as he spears the last of his pancakes onto the same fork as he used for everything else, because screw giving the staff more work than necessary and also water savings. 

Is it necessary or going to do much? Probably not. Is Techno still gonna do it to cope with the guilt of living in a massive palace of all things? Yes, yes he is. Shut up, Chat, it’s totally rational. 

Unsatisfied with what Techno has so far swallowed, his stomach rumbles. Okay, guess he has to ask. Bracing himself, he looks up to Ranboo, “Where’s the kitchen in this place? I’m, uh-” great, he finally stumbled, “I’m still kinda hungry, got a lot to feed and such.” Flushing a bit, he says. Great, now he’ll be an inconvenience to the entire kitchen staff. 

“Of c-course! Of course, Your Royal Hi-Highness, would you like me to call a tailor as well? I assum-me, this servant assumes you’re at a loss for clothes, no one quite expected you to be so-” Ranboo’s bi-colour cheeks each get a greenish hue- why green?- “um, fit.” 

“It’s fine, y’can say I’m built like an ox,” patting their shoulder, which seems to blue-screen them, Techno rises from his chair and pretends to ignore how everyone stares, “can you lead me to the kitchen now? Three omelettes, ‘s really not enough. ‘Specially ‘cause I haven’t eaten anythin’ but breakfast yesterday.” 

imposing so much, wow, you really are a royal EAT RANBOO’S ARM THROW SALT IN THEIR EYES he’s being a terrible glutton, honestly it’s shocking we have muscle instead of fat ARE YOU NUTS???? WHAT ABOUT WHEN WE TORE PEOPLE TO PIECES 

Beyond Chat’s barrage, Techno barely hears Ranboo affirm, and then ask if he’d like a tailor be called for now. He nods back, and steps out from the table. 

“Oh, um-mh, Your Royal High, Highness, would you like a cobbler to be called for as well?” Ranboo stammers out. 

“Yeah, sure, that’d be neat,” Techno shrugs, and shoves his chair back in, “lead the way?” 

Nodding so big their head practically falls off, Ranboo turns on their heel and marches off. They’re pretty tall, so it’s easier for Techno to follow them. They only go down one fancy corridor to reach a relatively plain staircase down into a basement of some sort, and hurry down probably because Ranboo is terrified Techno’s appetite might turn on them. 

Listen to Chat tell it, they’re right to be afraid. 

Anyhow, down in the basement, they reach the kitchen pretty immediately, and Techno takes a deep breath of the delicious smells draped around the entire place. Seemingly noticing, Ranboo smiles awkwardly, and shuffles to what appears to be the head chef. They explain the situation in hushed tones, and the visibly terrified chef sets about ordering the rest of the kitchen staff into prepping more food. First and foremost, Techno gets a plate of cut up fruits; more than satisfied with this turn of events, he gets to munching happily, letting out small chuffs as he goes. 

Chat insists his noises are undignified, at least half of them does. The rest is busy yelling about hot pokers, boiling stews and open flames, and how fun it’d be to shove Ranboo’s snow white half into them so it matches better with their charcoal black side. Just as he usually does to preserve his peace, Techno ignores them, quaintly. 

He’s given some cake and a couple crepes, and when he does grabby hands after finishing both, a bowl of jam, toast, and some compot to drink. Evidently he’s here too early for anything substantial to be cooked yet… Shucks. Still, he gratefully finishes his meal, bows to the servants and calls Ranboo- who’s snuck some snacks as well, he should check how well they’re being fed because they’re practically a stick- to leave. 

“Would Your Royal Highness like to- t-to, get started on re-learning your, uhm, princely duties? I hear- this servant hears you had, um, issues with- I’m so sorry to speak of it so crassly, your exuberant presence was surely appreciated regardless, but public speaking..?” Hurrying through the words so much they almost don’t stumble, Ranboo pleads. 

Techno pats their shoulder, “You can say I was terrible, it’s fine. I’ll uh, I’ll appreciate some public speakin’ lessons and such, gotta get back to it and all.” 

“P-perfect! We can read some b-books together while we wait for the, uhm, for the tailor and cobbler, yeah,” seemingly a bit more relaxed, Ranboo smiles at him, and they hurry together to some big room furnished a bit like a small library. Well, ‘small’- it’s probably the size of three of Techno’s old living rooms, with massive bookshelves lining the walls. Still, though. Not as big as a typical library. It totally counts. 

you’re just already spoiled truly, only took one day! gotta be some kind of record RIP THE BOOKS APART. SET THE PLACE ON FIRE EAT A BOOK EAT… RANBOO’S HEAD? 

Sighing as Chat gets up to their usual nonsense, Techno follows Ranboo to the section on public speaking and picks out a book for complete beginners. It doesn’t even get him a raised eyebrow, which really says a lot about his performance yesterday. Would Ranboo know about that? Probably, yeah? Probably. 

They settle on the sofas in the centre of the room, and spend the next while reading in silence. It’s almost peaceful, quaint without the sarcasm. Even Chat settles into book commentary instead of unwelcome ripping into Techno’s life choices, truly, miracles exist. 

An odd amount of time later, Techno stopped paying attention to the clock almost immediately, two sharp knocks ring out against the door. Before Techno can even move, Ranboo has already shot to his feet to answer it.

“R-Royal Tailor Niki Nihachu and Royal Cobbler Sicario Kitt, here to, to service His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Silvanus Blade!” They announce, bowing at a right angle in Techno’s general direction. Eugh. 

ungrateful. they try so hard for you and this is the thanks they get? disgusting of you tbh WEREN’T YOU LOT JUST CHIDING HIM FOR BEING TOO SPOILED listennnnn he totally is still spoiled for this,,, who cares he hates the over-respect,,, WHO CARES FOR CONSISTENCY MORE LIKE 

“Greetings to the Crown Prince, Blessed by our Lord,” A woman with cherry pink hair steps in first, half obscuring the other figure as she curtsies, “This one is the Royal Tailor, at your service.” While there’s nothing screaming ‘contempt’ about her, Techno still feels like she’s glaring at him. Except she’s not because he can see her eyes? What impressive petty energy.

The whole repeated ‘service’ thing is creepy, though. Miss Nihachu remains all bowed and on bent knees, holding her impressively embroidered skirts up as Techno stares at her, and- wait, is she planning to-? 

“Uh, are ya gonna just stay like that? I, uh, I dunno if that’s like, proper or what, I mean- to be honest I didn’t rise until Reigning Prince Soot told me to yesterday so-” he’s rambling, “you can rise. Thank you, uh, thank you for being here.” 

“It is an honor to serve His Royal Highness, The Crown Prince, in any capacity.” Niki does, thankfully, stand. She holds her head high, proud, yet keeps her eyes low as if afraid of his gaze. Or maybe she ‘knows better’? Silvanus hurting people who looked at him without permission is something that happened at least once in the novel. Maybe. Probably. He was incredibly violent like that.

SAYS WHO. MR RIPPING PEOPLE APART HERE HAS NO LEG TO STAND ON! it’s because of you lot, and techno has way better self-control than your stupid prince. it’s honestly often unfortunate HEY HEY. YOU GUYS CAN AT LEAST MAKE HIM STUMBLE, COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS BEFORE WE GET OVER THERE AND WHOOP YOUR ASS

“It’s fine,” Techno waves her off, “you don’t gotta pretend. Uh, can we just get on with the business? This blouse is painfully small.” 

He ignores Chat descending into squabbles, because honestly it’s less than worthless. His headache is bad enough as is, he doesn’t need their drama as well as his own. 

“Indeed,” Niki agrees slowly, eyeing his blouse like it might bite her. She steps forward, the Cobbler.. Sicario? Whatever their name is following behind so close they might be trying to become one with her skirt.

“May this one request His Royal Highness, The Crown Prince remove said article of clothing? It would be best to have a full range of motion while this lowly tailor takes measurements.” Niki stops a respectful six feet from him. Unless that’s disrespectful. Techno wouldn’t know.

“Yeah, sure, and should I take the skirt while I’m at it? I, uh. I’m in my birthday suit under there, no underwear was big enough.” pulling the hem of the blouse from under the waistband, Techno starts raising his hands to free himself from the tightness of it- 

It bursts at his shoulder blades. Well. That’s one way to get rid of the garment. 

HAHAHAHA THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL. I BET ALL THESE BITCHES ARE SUPER INTIMIDATED NOW are you sure intimidated is the right word i’d be second-hand embarrassed I’D BE HORNY 

Red in the face, Techno discards the remnants of the blouse. That’s- Good god, why did no one ask for his measurements before he got here?? Like he gets it, but why??? 

“Let it be known that this lowly Tailor has witnessed much worse sights. If any do not feel comfortable, they may leave the room for the duration of the fitting. Or, if His Royal Highness, The Crown Prince, is discomforted by me witnessing such a thing then this one can depart shortly to find a bit of fabric to cover any unsavory bits.” Wow, completely unflappable, that woman.

Is he jealous? He might be jealous of her sheer composure. Niki has not blinked once at anything he’s done so far, on accident or purpose. Can he have some of that, please? 

Either way, “You don’t have to talk like that, I’m only human. And uh, it’s fine? Let’s just get this over with, I’ll brave the nudity. Wouldn’t be my first time,” he shrugs. Hard to be precious about your ‘unsavory bits’ on the front lines. 

“Then would anyone else prefer to leave?” Niki nods in acknowledgement. The Cobbler darts out the door before she even finishes speaking.

Ranboo, blushing green as a piece of lettuce, raises a timid hand, “If, if His Royal Highness allows this lowly servant to leave, I-I’d gl-gladly take it!” Their voice peaks with their panic. 

Techno nods, “Sure, go on-” and blinks as Ranboo disappears behind the door seemingly even faster than the cobbler did. Wild. 

Chat, naturally, laughs, and proceeds to wolf-whistle as Techno unties the skirt from his waist- at least, half of them do. His OG Chat, naturally, only scream about how totally undignified this is and how embarrassed he should be. Get a grip, guys, he’s done this a myriad times before in front of wolf-whistling soldiers. Apparently, his nethers are a cause for celebration. 

whore YIPPIE!! WHORE!!! you know, i’m starting to think you guys don’t only have violence for brains, but sex for brains too. double dumb, anyone? WHORENOBLADE 

Niki pulls out a measuring tape from a pocket in her skirt, the first and only hint that those pockets even exist. Good for her, women deserve more pockets. Techno would also like some pockets that his thighs don’t render useless due to the fabric stretching. Maybe she can figure it out?

“This one will now begin measuring. Please verbally inform this lowly Tailor of any discomfort lest His Noble Highness, Reigning Prince Soot, be very upset.” What? Okay. He isn’t sure what Prince Soot has to do with this situation but sure. Stellar snideness from Niki, though. 

He nods anyway, even as Silvanus-Chat yell something about theirs, and stands a bit more straight and rigidly as Niki comes closer to start on her job. She surely has her work cut out for her; she’s like, almost half his height, she’ll surely need a stool to properly measure his shoulders, let alone his neck. 

Starting at his ankles, Niki measures each one, and nudges them apart to get the distance between them at shoulder width. She goes from his ankle to the middle of his knee on each leg, then around his knee, then the length of his calf from inner knee to heel; rising from her crouch, she moves on from knee to hip, and then circles around his thigh. 

“ Good Lord ,” she mumbles under her breath. Is he really so big? Dang. 

Still, she moves on to measure his crotch- Chat yells and hollers- and takes multiple measurements of his hips and waist, then from his navel to between his tits, and she sighs, “Unfortunately, Your Royal Highness, this lowly Tailor can’t reach. Usually, this one would have a stool but this room has not been set up with such things. Would it be much of a bother for us to transition to the sofas?”

Now that she mentions it, he doesn’t know what the plan originally was when she had to reach any higher. Honestly, can she even fit her arms around his torso? What’s the plan there? Techno doesn’t know enough about tailoring for this.

He does step to the nearest sofa, though. She scales one like a champion even in her floor-length skirt, and continues on with the measurements; between his nipples, is that really necessary, and around each of his arms, plus down the length of each and around the wrists. It takes her considerable effort, given one of Techno’s arms is, like, her entire wingspan, but she perseveres! Even manages to measure his torso- which is in fact too broad for her- by throwing the measuring tape from one hand to the other. Real champion. 

condescending bitch SLAM HER HEAD OPEN WOULDN’T IT BE FUN TO BREAK HER HANDS SO SHE CAN NEVER SEW AGAIN god, you guys are disgusting, but techno is worse. flaunting himself, really, how can he?  

It’s considerably harder for Niki to measure around his shoulders. After the second time dropping the measuring tape, she sighs, “If at all possible, could His Royal Highness, The Crown Prince, hold one end of the tape for this lowly Tailor?” 

Mmh. Sure, he can do that, “Yeah, but please stop calling me that entire title. It’s a mouthful, sounds terrible frankly- uh, thanks,” he takes the measuring tape that she moves a bit more insistently in his field of vision, “but really, call me Techno. Uh, army nickname. One of them, anyway.” 

“This one could lose their position for such a slight,” Niki responds, half distracted as she pulls the tape tight, “but, if ordered to, this one would not be able to deny.” So is that a no? A yes but Techno has to phrase it better?

Okay then, “Please talk to me like I’m a normal person. No ‘this one’, no ‘your royal highness crown prince blade’, please just. Techno. Please,” entirely unashamed of how he begs- shut up, Chat, he totally isn’t- Techno stands rigidly as Niki finished up around his neck. For once, Silavnus-Chat is actually a bit harder to ignore as they yell for him to deck her. 

“ Define ‘normal’,” Niki mutters to herself, “What is the preferred title then, if I am to be rude?” He literally just answered that.

“No title? Just ‘Techno’ is fine,” repeating himself, he shrugs off Silvanus-Chat being all blood-thirsty about it. To be honest, it does suck to repeat, “And uh, normal is just… How would you talk if I wasn’t a royal? I guess. Y’know. The normal definition.” 

rude-ass YIPPIE, MAYBE SHE’S OFFENDED NOW. MAYBE SHE’LL ATTACK US AND THEN WE CAN MURDER how stupid must you be to think she’ll do that. god. surrounded by idiots 

“Well, if you were a noble, the ‘normal’ way to talk would be calling you ‘duke’, ‘baron’, ‘count’... perhaps ‘lord’ since you are still the crown prince and do not own a duchy or barony. For a peasant, I would refer to you as your last name ‘blade’. The definition you appear to be using is that of behavior between equals,” Niki summarizes as she tucks the measurement tape away and pulls out a pad of paper, scribbling down numbers from memory. Impressive, honestly.

“I am not your equal, Prince Blade, by any account. Perhaps it is what you want but those beyond these walls would not be aware of such a request. Again, if I am still allowed to be rude, I cannot refer to you by anything less than ‘Prince Blade’ lest I risk losing my livelihood. I do hope you understand.”

Techno blinks, “Well. Thanks for the lesson. It’s no problem, I don’t want you to, uh, stick your neck out for me,” rubbing at the back of his neck, he shrugs for good measure and goes back to pick up his skirt. 

“Of course, Prince Blade. Whether it is appreciated or not, I am at your service. If there are any other questions feel free to ask, whether me or your butler,” She pauses, “though perhaps find me. I don’t believe Ranboo likes you very much.”

Damn, brutal. Fair, though, Ranboo seemed pretty terrified, “Yeah, will do, thanks. Can we, uh, can we call everyone else in? I’ve got the skirt back on,” and thank god for that, his Chat at least calms down about his dignity. 

“As you wish,” Niki curtsies, notebook held in one hand, “feel free to relax while the Cobbler sets up their station.” With that, she turns towards the door to let everyone back in.

Hopefully, the Cobbler won’t pass out while trying to do their job. They seemed even less composed than Ranboo and Techno hadn’t known that was possible. Sure, he might’ve assumed people would be terrified of him because of Silvanus but he hadn’t known.

Honestly, it’s terrible. Chat rambles among themselves as Techno buries himself back in the book, waiting for the cobbler as they putter around his sitting place, and tries to pretend very hard he’s not in the room; naturally, that fails to calm anyone down. 

Still, though. He’s promised shoes. And when Ranboo brings an invitation to a personal meeting with Reigning Prince Soot, he’s almost okay with it. 

Even if he’ll have to wear the same clothes from the night before, though at least not bloody now. Honestly, again. 

It’s terrible. 

. . . 

Sitting atop a chair formed of winding metal, a prince awaits his execution. No, perhaps that’s too dramatic even for him. Wilbur does not know for certain that he will die in the next few intervening hours but he cannot rule out the possibility.

The sky does not reflect this mood, the solemnness inherent in the Mad Prince’s return, continuing to shine brightly against a clear blue sky. Soft winds brush through his hair, dancing about the balcony with a freeness he envies. Wilbur cannot remember the last time he was free.

He twists a delicately painted teacup in his hand. Light dances over fine bone china, expensive even by Wilbur’s tastes. Unfortunately, he has become used to the frivolity of royalty. It disgusts him.

It also shows that there is a hierarchy even amongst the so-called ‘elite’. This is not a china set Wilbur would have access to if he were not meeting the true Crown Prince. His own sets are cheaper, less impressively crafted, and the sweets lining the table made by chefs far more talented than Wilbur’s. Yet comparing the two…

Yes, this must be disgust. He does not wish to feel envy over the Mad Prince’s belongings, not when he keenly remembers his years where he had nothing. No fancy foods nor water nor the assurance of a roof over his head.

Once, Wilbur did not know where his next meal would come from. How far must he have fallen to be wishing for more when now he has everything? Or, just maybe, this is merely the envy of a dying man.

Maybe, instead of envy, this is a desire to be anywhere but here. To be somewhere where he will not await his tormentor and executioner. Of course, he would not ever say this out loud. He would not even write these thoughts.

Giving the Mad Prince the benefit of the doubt, he would likely never intentionally kill Wilbur. His hands are callous and cruel but he does care for Wilbur in some sick way. Wilbur sets his teacup down with a shaking hand.

But he does not care enough to free Wilbur from pain. He neither cares enough to let Wilbur go nor to finally kill him. The anticipation of six and a half years of war nearly outweighed the momentary freedom he got from his… ‘brother’.

As if summoned from that word alone, sharp clicks echo behind Wilbur. Crown Prince Blade approaches with no care for Wilbur’s fraying nerves. He does not care. He doesn’t, not truly.

“Hello… Wilbur.” Crown Prince Blade greets like the name is unfamiliar to him. In fairness, it always has sounded… off coming from him, like an ill-fitting coat, “Thank you for the lovely invitation, and uh, sorry ‘bout the clothes, Niki seems nice but she can’t work miracles that big. I, uh, nothing else in my closet fit, so- yeah, maybe this is improper,” he begins to ramble, same as he did at the ball. 

“I just- yeah. Picked the only thing that fit. So. Sorry ‘bout that. D’you, uh,” face reddening, he fiddles with his cuff links, “mind if I sit?” 

Embarrassing as it is to admit, it takes Wilbur a bit longer than he expected to register Crown Prince Blade’s words, mind lagging behind at his name. When was the last time the Mad Prince said his name? The last time he treated Wilbur like a person?

Wilbur stares. It’s strange too how the words sound, lacking much of Crown Prince Blade’s noble accent, bred into him from centuries of royalty and nobility, an accent Wilbur lacks. Instead, Crown Prince Blade sounds almost… peasantry.

“Do I seem like someone who’d tell you what to do?” Wilbur laughs, empty and clear, “Clearly the years away have damaged your memory, do whatever you’d like.” The faux-familiarity hurts. The teasing, the smiles, how he leans forward as if basking in Crown Prince Blade’s presence- none of it’s real.

They both know it’s not real yet they play this game anyway.

Crown Prince Blade winces, putting a hand to his head. He glances at Wilbur with something wild in his seeing eye, something so much more animal than he’s supposed to be, something awfully familiar; he squints it away, and sits, “Thank you. Uh, be- be more- no, never mind. What, uh, what did you want to talk about?” 

“Nothing in particular, Dear Brother. I’m merely checking in on you, it’s an awful long way from the frontlines to here and you spent so much time away. How was it, if I may? I’ve merely heard rumors of your accomplishments, though the numbers the generals report certainly back up what little I know,” Wilbur flatters.

He takes a delicate sip of his tea to hide how his smile is really more of a grimace, not nearly as used to being eyed like that as before. Wilbur is not a piece of meat anymore. Well, maybe he is since he’s sitting opposite of ‘Brother’ once more. He is only the person that his ‘Brother’ demands he be, nothing more and nothing less.

“Oh yeah, rumors’re true, uh, can you not- sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to-” Crown Prince Blade quickly takes a cup, it shatters immediately in his grip, “ah, sorry. Seems my hands really are made of brambles, sorry-” he takes a deep breath, “I mean. Thank you for the concern, Wilbur. It’s very sweet of you,” mechanically, he forces out. 

Wilbur pauses mid sip, warm tea burning against his lip, staring over the rim at Crown Prince Blade. How… odd. Last night wasn’t a fluke, it seems. This behavior is… oddly genuine for the man he called Brother.

Of course, it’s not too out of the ordinary. For all Silvanus had been violent and crazed, he did have these moments of… lucidity, if he could call it that. Moments where he could almost be considered normal if not for the voices in his head intercepting his speech. What has them so prominent now when they were so easily hidden before?

Curiosity grips him, that dangerous thing. What happened at war to crumble those barriers? Did they really succeed in making the Mad Prince less violent? Wilbur… doubts it, admittedly. This behavior has never lasted long before.

He lowers the cup, questions on his tongue, eyeing the Mad Prince as he avoids Wilbur’s gaze. Perhaps something terrible occurred, something that made him realize how Wilbur felt back then, and now he feels shame. Except, no, he had always felt some manner of shame. It simply hadn’t been enough to get him to stop. Nothing had been enough. Nothing ever changed no matter the promises or please. Nothing, nothing, nothing-

“Though uh, you could’ve written more,” through gritted teeth, as though the words were needles in his tongue, Crown Prince Blade growls, “Brother.” Ah, better, a more fitting title though it burns to hear.

“Deepest apologies,” Wilbur drops his head immediately as if he could bow while sitting down, “His Imperial Highness, the Emperor, advised that it would be better for us to remain apart. He said I would cause you to lose focus and it might cause something… unsavory to occur. I did not want you to be hurt because of me.”

The words rushed from him, almost panicked in their intensity. It’s the truth, the honest truth. Wilbur remembers the exact words the Emperor used with startling clarity. He just- he doesn’t know if Crown Prince Blade will accept them as the truth, not when he is so clearly upset.

“I merely steeled myself to ask my questions once you returned. If there were any friends you have made, any occurrences of note. All I know is the numbers, those that died and those that didn’t. You… impress me greatly, so many of your platoon made it out alive, the best statistic in the nation.” Another truth.

Even more impressive for they all expected the Mad Prince’s platoon to die by his own hand. The fact they did not… what did they have that Wilbur did not? That the servants killed in the line of fire did not? Not one incident report, not one case of the Mad Prince hurting another made it to Wilbur’s desk. Not. One.

“Well. I ran through a wall at one point. Got the nickname ‘Oxxie’ for that one. Like it better than what everyone here calls me. Sorry, I- impressed? I am dearly pleased-” his voice lowers to a purr for a moment, “what the, okay, thank you for that. Jesus. Yeah, thanks. Terrible. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, just, kind of out of my depths after the years. Niki said I should come to her with that. Do you know her?” Mechanical once again, he returns to a normal tone with what sounds like gargantuan effort. 

“Ah, if you do not like your title, you can always talk to me- though Niki is a wonderful intermediary. You could say we’re… close enough, she’s my preferred tailor, though she’ll never measure up to my relationship with you, of course,” Wilbur picks through Crown Prince- Oxxie’s?- words with the practice of someone whose used to their conversation partner falling into nigh-meaningless babble.

“I could make an announcement if you’d prefer Oxxie, I’d do anything for you,” Wilbur smiles, wishing more than anything that that were not true, that he was brave enough to deny Oxxie, “Please, come to me with anything. Nothing is too little when it comes to you Brother-”

“Thanks, lovely chat,” Crown Prince Blade gets up suddenly, “bye!” And turns to the wrought iron railing upon the balcony. Wilbur startles back, suddenly cut off by those words.

Before he can question Crown Prince- Oxxie- any further, he’s already hiked a leg up and thrown himself from the balcony. There’s a moment of silence, a crunch of bushes compressed under all that weight, and the rapid steps of a running man.

Pardon? All that’s left of Oxxie’s presence is the shattered teacup, an aromatic spill of lavender tea, and a single drop of blood where a shard had pierced skin.

He… he doesn’t understand.

That scares him more than anything else.

Chapter Text

idiotic, holy shit WHYYYY DID WE ALREADY LEAVE BROTHER, WE DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH HIM, WHY, IT WAS ALMOST FUN YOU SHOULD’VE BROKEN HIM, WHY NOTTTT how could you let these brutes- these rapscallions!- control you!! GO BACK RIGHT NOW, CUT HIM WITH THE CUP EDGES, HE CRIES SO SO PRETTY SO PRETTY, SO PRETTY!! BROTHER IS SO PRETTY WHEN HE BLEEDS!! AND JUST IN GENERAL shit, this is actually terrible GO BACK, GO BACK, GO BACK!!!!! 

Techno gasps a deep inhale and sticks his head under the water again. Breathing out roughly, he bubbles air against his skin, and stays under in the blessedly cold fountain as Chat yell and yell and yell and don’t shut up. Note to self, Silvanus-Chat are terrible around Wilbur. 

He yanks himself from the fountain, splashing water all around as he dries himself off like a dog. Scraping his lungs, air burns down the way. 

This is awful. He’s in misery. Why must god hate him? He coughs weakly, and drops back to sit on his hunches. Staring up to the sky only yields him sun in his eyes. Misery! Awful!! Techno hangs his head, and takes his hands from the- now crumbled- edges of the fountain. Like the cut he got back with Wilbur wasn’t enough. 

Fisting his bleeding hands into his hair, he whines, doing everything in his power to overpower Silvanus-Chat with his own. 

Like that worked back around Wilbur. 

don’t think his name, god, you’ll just aggravate them BROTHER IS BROTHER. NOT WILBUR MISSED HIM SO BADLY, AND YOU CUT OUR PERSONAL MEETING SO SHORT!! but you look pathetic, now. it’s kind of sad how much power these idiots had over you back there i think we should fix this, techno’s almost too pathetic 

Blessedly, the yelling lessens after that statement. Normally, Chat pray for Techno’s downfall, so how helpful they are should probably raise red flags and alarm bells and all of it. Breathing heavily, Techno puts his head against the stone fountain edge, “That sucked,” he wheezes, before finally raising his head and looking around at where he ended up.

Only then does he notice a man, startled on a bench. Well. That’s not good. 

“Are you well, Your Royal Highness Crown Prince Blade?” The man asks, his golden hair- darker than Theseus’ and much straighter, held back with a ribbon- glinting beautifully in the sunlight, “This lowly advisor apologises for not stepping in earlier, however you seemed to need a moment,” he’s got a pleasant enough voice, at least. Silavnus-Chat try to start screaming about how much worse it is than ‘brother’s’, and Techno summarily ignores them. 

“Yeah,” Techno manages, and pushes himself up, “no problem, no problem. You, uh, you come here often?” 

are you coming onto this man?? already??? you don’t even know him! WHORE!! HE REALLY IS A WHORE awful. why must we be stuck here with him? THIS MAN WATCHED HIM WATERBOARD HIMSELF, MAYBE HE’S SADISTIC JUST LIKE US???? yes, because that makes techno coming onto him so much better

Shut up, Chat, he’s just being polite. This man’s well-trimmed beard and broad, winged shoulders have nothing to do with it, honest. Also, he has a stupid hat. Techno could never be attracted to someone with a stupid hat. 

Properly closing his book, the unfairly hot man stands to mirror him, “I suppose so. It’s my reading nook, Your Royal Highness,” he smiles, and waves the book vaguely in demonstration, “I was nearly finished with this one, though it wasn’t very good. Nowhere near the honour of your illustrious presence,” bowing slightly, he holds the book in front of his chest when he straightens. 

Techno nearly bites his lip before remembering he has tusks and last time he did, he bust it. But really, what is it with these people and saying ‘illustrious’? Is it like, a royal term? He should ask Niki. 

“Thank you,” he fiddles with his thumbs instead of biting himself, because the last thing he needs is more embarrassment in front of Mr. Attractive, “I uh, I hope it wasn’t too weird to suddenly have me here, sorry for the mess,” and looks back to the fountain, mildly ashamed. Only mildly, promise.

“Oh, it’s nothing, the servants will surely clean it up.” The man attempts to reassure, instead setting off Techno-Chat on a tirade about making work for those with the minimum wage which honestly stings a bit, “May I see your hands? It seemed to me you were bleeding. Can’t do to have the Crown Prince catch an infection on my watch,” he jokes. 

He must be higher ranked than Niki, then. Dry-mouthed, Techno nods to the winged guy and extends both his hands palm-up, “Had an incident with a teacup,” he explains, “uh, also, name? Ya can’t just be ‘wing guy’ to me forever.” 

oh, techno’s definitely got the hots for this dude EWWWWW BUT WHAT ABOUT BROTHER shut up, incest kink central TO BE FAIR THIS GUY IS HOT. IMAGINE HIM BROKEN UNDER US! BROTHER WOULDN’T MIND

“Oh! Philza Mycroft, newly Chief Royal Advisor for His Highness Reigning Prince Soot, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” taking Techno’s hands into his own, Philza inspects him, “ah, I’m afraid you aggravated the wounds. Would you like to follow me to the palace’s hospital wing? I hear you’ve been having trouble recalling where everything is, or else I wouldn’t offer.” 

Oh right, Techno left Ranboo outside Wilbur’s quarters. That sucks. Anyway, “Yeah, nice to meet you, let’s uh, let’s get there.” And his conscience catches up to him, “Might want to grab my butler first, though.” 

“Of course, Your Royal Highness,” Philza smiles, his name rings a vague bell but he probably wasn’t that important in the story if Techno doesn’t remember him, “off we go!” he whoops, “To adventure, if you will.” Finally lowering Techno’s hands, he walks to the arched exit from the dead end garden. 

Techno follows, Chat murmuring in his head about ‘what adventure, being a lame nerd’ and ‘I hope we see Brother again’ and other nonsense. At least they’re not yelling. 

It doesn’t last, because Philza is silent and Techno-Chat very swiftly pick up on the awkwardness hanging thickly in the air between them. 

jesus, he totally thinks we’re a freak, doesn’t he? deserved MAYBE HE’S TORTURING US ON PURPOSE! MAYBE HE REALLY IS LIKE US! PLEASEEE PLEASE LET HIM BE LIKE US HE COULD HURT US!!! OH THAT’D BE SO FUN- no one is like us. we’re alone, if only because we got spliced into this universe. no one can know, and no one will understand. i can’t help but think the brother obsession of these fucks is worse than us being an impostor HEY. 

Ough. Should Techno talk? He’s just gonna make his own Chat even louder, but honestly, it’s much preferred to the off-chance Silvanus-Chat will start to wander their thoughts back to the Reigning Prince- 

WHY DO YOU HATE BROTHER :( how did you just do that with your voice BROTHER IS AMAZING AND AVOIDING THINKING ABOUT HIM IS A CRIME YEAHHH WE LOVE BROTHER!! NEXT TIME WE SEE HIM WE SHOULD RE-CARVE OUR NAME INTO HIS THIGH!! 

Okay, Techno didn’t need to know about that. He huffs, “So, uh-” he begins, to the screeching of both his Chats, “you uh, you were readin’, yeah? Whatcha got?” 

Slowing down to walk in step with Techno instead of in front, Philza reddens adorably, “Oh, it was a court romance, one of those pulpy things,” he says, “just about an artist who becomes patroned by a baron, it’s, um-” giggling lightly, just the most offensively beautiful noise, “it’s got some… Far more interesting scenes than others, admittedly the author’s understanding of human anatomy is electric.”

Oh. It’s porn. Chat seems to reboot with the information. 

ASK HIM IF THERE’S SADISM IN THERE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE jesus you guys are desperate TECHNOOO ASK HIM. TECHNO PLEASE PLEASEEEE he really was reading that in broad daylight, wasn’t he. why do you find him attractive again? TECHNO PUNCH HIM, HE’LL TOTALLY PUNCH BACK AND IT’LL BE SOOO HOT

Grunting, Techno tries to fight off his own blush and wrings his bloodied hands, “That’s. Fun. Can’t say I understand the appeal, but uh, you do you,” he intonates. 

Giggling again, Philza looks away coyly, “Come on, Your Royal Highness, don’t make me feel like a heathen. What do you like to read?” 

Hm. To be fair, it’s been a while since Techno’s read a book beyond the beginners guide to public speaking, not exactly many of those on the front lines. He hums, “Can’t say I read, exactly. Just came back from the army, you understand. Hadn’t had the time,” shrugging, he says. 

uneducated swine ASK FOR PHILZA’S BOOK ASK FOR IT ASK FOR IT!! LET’S READ INDECENCY I WANNA KNOW IF IT’S SADISTIC… don’t you dare ask for this man’s porn, technoblade 

“Would you like to try mine?” Already offering out the book, Philza asks, “I’m almost done, anyway, and the ending is admittedly easy to guess.” 

Oh, god. If Techno refuses outright, he’s totally violating some sort of unspoken social code, isn’t he? He’ll have to ask Niki, but in the meantime, “Uh, I probably shouldn’t touch the book with bloody hands, but thanks. What’s, uh, what’s the ending going to be, you think?” 

“The main character will elope with the Baron’s hot slave, mark my words,” Philza grins, “anyway, how was the army? Have you enjoyed your time there? I hear you were sent off so young to ease your spirit, do you reckon it worked?” 

Hm. How does Techno express ‘it definitely didn’t, but I swear I’m not a threat anyway’? Sylvanus-Chat pipes in with entirely unhelpful suggestions of exclaiming Techno’s violent intrusive thoughts and explaining the entire situation Techno is in, while Techno-Chat berates the very idea something like this could ever work. 

Pinching his lip with his front teeth lightly, careful of his tusks, Techno hums, “I wouldn’t say it worked. It, uh, what worked was havin’ people like me in the army, community and all that good stuff, y’know? I gotta say, I love my platoon, taken plenty of arrows for them in our time. Uh. I figure it was a little helpful to have an outlet for the violent thoughts? But uh, I don’t need it anymore,” hopefully. 

“Ooh, I see. You sound like a very noble warrior, Your Royal Highness. Anyway, we’re almost at the castle, so it’s best if we both shut up. This lowly advisor is not supposed to be so amicable with Your Illustrious Royal Highness,” Philza winks. 

It’s so annoying how no one is allowed to talk to Techno like a normal human being. He grunts, “Sure. Wouldn’t wanna get ya in trouble. Thanks.” 

wow, way to sound ungrateful WE SHOULD MAKE A LAW THAT ANYONE WHO SPEAKS TO US FANCY GETS RIPPED A NEW ASSHOLE JUST LIKE BROTHER SUGGESTED!!! you guys sure came a long way from insisting everyone was disrespectful WE LIKED TALKING TO PHILZA!! HE’S NO BROTHER BUT HE MAY BE LIKE US do you have any proof of that, you fucking weirdos yeah, don’t insult him

Now that there’s silence, Techno has no better entertainment than to listen to his Chats fight, Silvanus-Chat quickly devolving to violence as Techno-Chat rounds in on them. Not particularly thrilled with them, Techno tries to distract himself from their squabbling by studying the exuberant castle halls. Really, who needs this much gold everywhere? To be fair, the carved wood of the furniture is pretty beautiful, he’s got to give them that, but everything else is excessive. 

Silk curtains drape over the windows, printed with elaborate florals, immaculately cared for flowers dot the halls and the rich carpet covers shiny parquet floors; really, the place is incredibly expensive. The midday sun filtering in through the massive windows with stained glass crows at the top, dancing colourful light from them, and ugh, Techno didn’t realise until now he’s hungry again.  

Honestly, his stomach might just digest itself. Really, what is it with him and terrible hunger? He’s not even worked out while here. To be fair, he does seem to have somewhat of a healing factor, so maybe that’s it? He swallows thickly. 

OH MY GOD CAN WE EAT A SERVANT NOW??? what is wrong with you. REMEMBER WHEN WE TORE OUT SOME OF BROTHER’S FLESH AND ATE IT? THAT WAS SOOOO GOOD i preferred when you lot only remembered him for long enough to complain he wasn’t writing 

Good lord, Silvanus-Chat are insane. Again, Techno agrees with his own Chat, and that takes years off his life as it usually does. 

Anyway, Philza pauses to ask a servant where Ranboo is, but Techno is frankly too deep in a headache to really pay attention. He merely continues to follow Philza like a lost duckling, all the way until- 

Ranboo paces, muttering seemingly to themselves, all but tearing at their own hair. Philza’s polite throat clearing alerts them, and they jump straight, “Y-Your Royal Highness! This lowly butler apologises deeply for losing you! P-please don’t be too mad, I’m so- this lowly butler will never make that mistake again!” 

Ough. Whatever deity is listening, please spare Techno. He manages an awkward smile, “It ain’t yer fault, kid, I was the one to jump off a balcony. Uh, unless Philza wants to stick around, can ya show me to the hospital… Room, wing, whatever?” 

His Chat bristle as per usual at his awkwardness, while Silvanus-Chat coo yet again over how cute Ranboo is. 

“This Royal Advisor must sadly go, but please accept this gift for His Royal Highness on his behalf until he is healed enough to hold it.” Passing the book to Ranboo, Philza says, and turns around, “Goodbye to His Royal Highness Silvanus Blade, blessed he be by our Lord,” he smiles just on the wrong side of impish, and finally prances off. 

Alright. Alright, hot guy is no longer present, thank god. Techno breathes, and looks to Ranboo, “So, uh. Hospital place?” 

“Yes, Your Royal Highness! Right away, right this way, p-please follow me,” Ranboo motions down a corridor, and at Techno’s nod, rushes over. Thank god for their long legs, Techno barely has to stumble to keep himself from stepping on them. 

WE STILL DUNNO IF PHILZA IS LIKE US… IT’S CLOSE. WE’LL READ AND I BET YOU A MILLION GOLD HE IS be ready to lose, then

Ough. Techno almost hopes the book gets lost somehow, even if it’d be mortifying when Philza hunts him down to ask where it went. Though, maybe reading something for fun rather than because he has to learn how to do public speaking is a good idea… Plus, it’s not like he has a lot to do. Regardless of if Silvanus-Chat gets a rare W, which honestly wouldn’t be so- no, Techno will shut himself up right there. 

OOOH BET YA HE WANTS PHILZA TO BE SADISTIC TOO. WHORE GOOD!! PLEASE LET US HAVE THIS, WE NEED NEED NEED SOMEONE JUST LIKE US I WANT THE HOT BIRD MAN TO HURT US… jesus christ, these guys are horrible. techno, you can’t encourage them! AFTER ALL WE DO FOR HIM… 

Red in the face, Techno grunts. Do what for him, Silvanus-Chat? Make him act a complete fool in front of the Reigning Prince? Constantly shower him in gorey imagery? Call him names? Have some shame, please. 

SHAME ISN’T TASTY au contraire, shame is possibly the most delicious of emotions. GUILT IS BETTER BUT THE EUPHORIA OF HURTING SOMEONE IS BEST YOU FORGET RELIEF!! RELIEF WHEN YOU NO LONGER HAVE TO HOLD BACK are we comparing the taste of emotions? i personally prefer loneliness 

The only reason Techno manages not to groan is, they have made it to the hospital place and Ranboo is talking. Something about how Techno should check his hands as soon as possible. Nodding at them, Techno enters the hospital room, wing, whatever. 

Time to find out just how badly he messed up his hands. 

. . . 

Shards of glass litter the table, broken so easily under Slivanus- the Mad Prince- Oxxie’s? Under his hand. Bone china is delicate, yes, but not so much that it should have shattered so easily.

Beyond that is the dent made in the wrought iron railing of the balcony, the imprint of a hand. Wilbur does not know what he did wrong to deserve such a reaction. Perhaps it was his mere existence that was wrong. It is not as if his fellow prince had needed much of a reason to do things before.

Wilbur shudders out a breath. He takes a moment, rubs at his eyes like that might change the sight. If nothing else, at least it seems that Silvanus was unharmed by the fall? A mediocre remedy to his growing discomfort.

It’s fine. There are various tasks to distract him, other things he has to do today. Letters to write, meetings and public appearances to organize, future galas to hold, and guests still to be entertained. Guests of whom he wishes to see only one.

Theseus is busy, he must remind himself. Theseus is more than Wilbur’s ally and friend, he is also the Liaison of an entire kingdom. No, Wilbur must entertain himself.

A distracted wave lets the servants know they can finally enter the room. In a way, his very appearance walking out of the tea room tells them that much. He is not the only one who is surprised to find himself unharmed.

So surprised that his skin still buzzes, drawn tighter than his already pristine practiced posture allows, with anticipation for a new bruise or other such wound. He resists the urge to claw at himself. Others are still around. He can’t worry them.

He also can’t stand to be around them. Adrenaline is such a heady thing, bringing his head ready to burst. It’s easy to decide his next course, then. There’s only one place in this particular palace where he will be alone.

Wilbur glides into one of the official offices. There is nothing wrong with his gait yet it feels like a stumble, unsettled by the constant shifting of the world, the repeating wonder of what he did wrong and why Silvanus ran. Why didn’t he just hurt Wilbur if he was bothered? Wilbur does not want to be hurt of course…

Although his paperwork is in his main office, letters can be written from anywhere, provided he remembers enough of the letter he’s replying to. Even then, the majority of the things are easily replicated with a simple template.

It’s unclear how long he writes. Wilbur puzzles out responses, scratches out almost as many words and phrases as he keeps, and generally keeps his head down. No one comes to bother him- yet.

As if summoned, the door creaks open and one of his dear advisors enters. Thankfully for Wilbur, it’s one he actually holds dear rather than a remnant of a regime who’s… well… who even knows where the true King is.

“Greetings to Reigning Prince Soot, may he be blessed by our Lord,” Philza says smoothly, his usually warm voice so much deader than it ought to be, “does Your Highness have time for a friendly chat, right now?” 

“I always have time for one of my dearest advisors. How has your day been, Advisor Mycroft?” Wilbur gratefully sets his quill to the side, smiling slightly at Philza. He seems a bit scattered, hair a bit mussed and feathers half-puffed up like he’s yet to recover from a great shock. Clearly, his day has been at least somewhat eventful.

Shutting the door behind him, Philza glides over to the seat opposite of Wilbur’s desk, and settles with his wings uncomfortably mantled around the chair back. Wilbur should invest in more wing-friendly furniture while he still has control of the palace treasury.

“I’ve met your brother.” 

He what.

Wilbur jolts, nearly knocking over his ink pot in a rush to stand, palms hitting the top of the desk with a hearty ‘thump’. It’s barely heard over the racing of his heart. Nerves, already on edge, poise to snap.

“Did you now?” Wilbur smiles thinly, playing at being in control, “How interesting. I hope your meeting went… well.” His eyes scour what of Philza he can see. No torn fabric, no blood, no obviously blemished skin. Somehow, that bothers him more.

“It did, actually! He’s an interesting… Character. Y’know, mate, I kinda expected him to be more murder-y, but all he tried to kill is himself in the fountain,” Philza shrugs awkwardly in the chair, eyes not meeting Wilbur’s. 

“A fountain, yes, I imagine there was one close by to our own meeting location. He left rather quickly you see. I don’t imagine there was much time between our respective interactions. I am glad you are unharmed. That being said, of course, perhaps we should still check ,” Wilbur rambles, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, I’m fine! I offered him my book and he tried to politely refuse, but I snuck it in anyway. He didn’t seem offended, and through the entire interaction, I never once felt threatened. He seemed… almost small, in spite of his impressive build. Like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself,” fiddling discreetly with his robes, Philza drops his smile, more subdued, more plainly thoughtful, than Wilbur has ever seen him. 

And Wilbur stares. It’s improper, of course, terribly improper, so he flits his eyes away as though his gaze may burn his dear friend, “That… Is uncharacteristic of him.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know, but it didn’t seem right from what I’ve heard. It’s as though… As though he’s a completely different person from the rumours. Someone I wouldn’t mind being friends with,” Philza says. 

What is it like to have your soul shrivel? Wilbur’s stomach wars between a pit and a knot, and he stares holes into Philza once again. It, it can’t be that Brother is no longer so horrifying anyone in their right mind runs as far and as fast as they can, it can’t be that the monster has learned restraint. 

How come Wilbur was never enough to have him be soft? 

“I… am glad he left a good impression,” in spite of wanting to scream, to claw at his skin, to curl up on the floor and wail, Wilbur forces on a smile. It fits awkwardly, far too stretched, too toothy, too crooked. How much until Wilbur can no longer pretend? 

“I can’t imagine, mate,” sounding concerned, Philza says, “he hurt you a lot, I hear. He tore you apart for fun, didn’t he? Must suck, to hear he’s not like that anymore. I mean, it’s not certain yet, but the maddest behaviour I’ve seen from the Mad Prince is dunking himself repeatedly in a fountain because, and I quote, ‘that sucked’. Doesn’t seem like someone who’ll harm others to me.” 

‘That sucked’. He was surely speaking about his meeting with Wilbur. He hurt himself in place of Wilbur. Because Wilbur displeased him. Why wasn’t it Wilbur who paid the price, then? Wil doesn’t understand. His control jitters, stretches thin. He still manages to smile. 

“I’m overjoyed his time in the army did finally make him better, just as His Majesty, the King had predicted. Perhaps he can finally take his duties from my unworthy hands,” the words burn. Wilbur smiles. Will he ever be harmed again? Is the Brother he’d known finally gone for good? 

Why does it hurt, if he is?

Now, it’s Philza’s turn to stare. Pretty lips downturn in a frown, and Philza rises from his chair, “Cut the crap, Wil, you’re not unworthy. You ended the war, didn’t you? Your brother, as he is now, can hardly string a sentence together. Guy’s a disaster, you are a far better option.” Hands in Wilbur’s hair, so improper but so kind, Philza says, “Listen, I know you have appearances to uphold, but- no one is here. Relax, would ya, mate?” 

Of course, Philza is right. He’s a stellar advisor, surely the one Wilbur treasures most. Shuddering, Wilbur sinks into his hands and whines, he’s so- confused, why must the Mad Prince be so maddening? He’s never been so unpredictable before, never so strange, what has come over him? 

“Y’know,” Philza speaks, voice soft as though he’s dealing with a scared animal, “he said he took arrows for his platoon. I really don’t think he’ll ever hurt you again, mate, I really really don’t. And it’s good. You don’t deserve to be hurt.” 

He speaks with such conviction. Wilbur doesn’t know whether he’s worthy of it, whether Philza is wasting breath on a dead man walking. It’s so strange, to think Brother won’t do the one thing Wilbur could always expect, and yet- Sylvanus, Oxxie, whatever his name now, is such a different man now he’s protected others with his life. 

Was that what he was doing when he ran? It’s so far-fetched, yet he was clearly tormented by his voices… 

Unable to comprehend, the man who should never have been a prince starts crying. 

. . . 

So, neat news, apparently Techno’s healing factor is not really supposed to exist??? Apparently he didn’t use to have it?? Apparently, also, he’s supposed to be putting ointment on all his scars anyway, which is just excessive. Still, Royal Physician Puffy Seaver is a scary woman even while perfectly polite, so Techno accepts the ointment and even asks how he’s supposed to apply it to his back wounds- between the feathers, no less- instead of concealing the massive scar tissue knot he has there. 

That’s how Ranboo gets ointment duties. Embarrassing. Still, Techno takes it in stride. 

You know who doesn’t take it in stride? Chat. 

oh my god, like it isn’t enough we had to be naked in front of niki can we please avoid this at all costs thanks FINALLY!! SOMEONE WILL TOUCH US!!! good lord, and when ranboo is so uncomfortable with us already. poor thing must be terrified I’D BE HONOURED PERSONALLY something is deeply wrong with all of you.  

They’ve been yelling so much, Techno’s head might as well be a war zone. He stares off into space, and realises too late Puffy had asked a question. 

“Sorry, what?” He looks down at her, yes, totally, he saved it. 

“This lowly Physician asks if you will let her check your back. It is unlikely your Royal Highness’ wounds were treated properly back on the battlefield, no matter this Physician’s respect for field medics our royal troops simply do not have access to the optimum equipment for dealing with such severe cases,” looking at him like he’s dirt through her round-rimmed glasses, Puffy says. 

“Sure, why wouldn’t I want to undress in front of a woman for the second time today,” Techno says, already unbuttoning his shirt in spite of Chat’s wailing, and because of Chat’s wailing, backpedals immediately, “I mean, nothin’ wrong with you being a woman. Or needin’ me to take off my clothes for the check-up. Just, weird that it happened twice, is all,” he winces when the yelling in his head just gets louder. 

“Of course. This lowly Physician apologises for the inconvenience,” Puffy says. In the background, Ranboo tries to become furniture. 

To the tune of Chat’s inconsolable grief and abject horniness, Techno frees himself from his coat and button up, setting both- wet- articles of clothing on the bed in Puffy’s office. She moves behind his back with deliberate steps, taking a wide margin, which is honestly fair. Gentle hands touch down on the nubs of scarred muscle and apparently bone- probably once wings?- and Puffy seems to massage them, or something, but either way it relieves some of the tension Techno is used to. 

A quiet hum, “They appear in perfect condition, beyond the slight chapping. This Royal Physician shall put ointment on them now, as to not waste time, and advise Your Royal Highness do the same before you head to bed. Please, sit on the stool,” Puffy orders, and really, it’s not even really veiled. Moving over to said stool, Techno settles, and flinches when cold ointment makes contact with his back. 

Puffy pauses, but at no further reaction- none of the violence Silvanus-Chat is demanding for sure- resumes the procedure. 

Techno’s stomach growls. He kind of wants to beat his head on a wall, because today has truly been too much. He still has Philza’s book to read. Is he prepared? Nope, not in any way that matters. Will he do it anyway? Yes, because there’s a real chance to make a friend there. Without his platoon command, Techno really isn’t eager to see how much harder Silvanus-Chat will get to ignore. 

They were basically omnipresent when he started out, only reason he managed to stop himself from snapping under their pressure was his own Chat being too mortified and Silvanus-Chat being easily distracted. Normally. They are not normal about the Reigning Prince. 

BROTHER??? WE’RE THINKING ABOUT BROTHER AGAIN! I WANNA HEAR HIM SCREAMMMM great, you’ve gone and set them off again WE MISS BROTHER :( we miss when you knew how to shut the fuck up  

Ough. Come on, think about Philza being a potential sadist instead, that’s honestly preferable- aaand Techno-Chat are screaming bloody murder about not soiling Philza’s name again. They’ve totally got a crush too- 

“This Physician is finished and shall not hold you up any longer, Your Royal Highness. Please, feel free to put your illustrious clothes back on and hurry to eat,” Puffy says, and okay, she managed to bandage Techno up while he was out of it. Crazy stuff. 

“Thanks,” Techno manages, “this, uh, Prince? Thanks you for your service. I think. Well I don’t think, I know I’m grateful- y’know what, never mind. Movin’ swiftly on, Ranboo, is there a kitchen somewhere nearer to here? I could eat a horse,” trying desperately at normal, whatever that effort means, Techno drawls as he shrugs his shirt and coat back on. 

Having been unsuccessfully pretending to be part of the wall, Ranboo startles, “Y- yes! Yes, Your Royal Highness, I- this Butler shall- shall show you there n-now!” 

“Thanks,” Techno intones without even trying to be ‘proper’ by this stupid world’s standards, “lead the way,” buttoned up, he follows Ranboo like he has been for the past… Since breakfast, basically, and tries to ignore Chat to the best of his ability. Silvanus-Chat has moved on to teasing his Chat about their apparent crush on Philza, which turned into discussing the merits of cannibalism somehow and seems almost civil in contrast. 

No, wait, he meant to ignore them. What else is there to focus on? The corridors, while pretty, are all more or less the same, and Ranboo hasn’t changed since Techno last seen them. Now that’s a thought, shapeshifter butler. 

SHAPESHIFTER BUTLER??? WHERE he was just imagining it, you idiot man, this hunger thing is getting out of control. do you think we’ll ever feel full again? WE WILL IF WE EAT RANBOO’S HEAD ew, have you ever heard of prion disease OOOH WHAT’S THAT 

Aaand Techno has thoroughly failed at ignoring them. He had one job! At least they’re distracted talking about the horrors the human body is capable of for now. It’s not exactly pleasant to hear about people losing the ability to sleep period, but it’s better than what Chat normally gets up to. 

Sylvanus-Chat, naturally, now wants to experience prion disease. Techno resists a groan. By god, his head hurts.  

HEY, DON’T SAY YOU AREN’T CURIOUS for all his faults, he’s not suicidal, no BUT… RANBOO’S HEAD… all of you are terrible and i want a refund on being in this head 

“God, me too,” Techno says, and only realises he’s spoken aloud when Ranboo jumps like some sort of runaway slinky. 

“Are- are you speaking to me, Your Royal Hi-Highness?” They look miserable. Techno kind of wants to pat their head. 

Alas confined to putting a hand on their shoulder, he shakes his head, “No,” and he doesn’t elaborate, merely taking his hand away and gesturing along the corridor. 

Seems the poor guy is even more afraid of him now, all but running away. Well. Fair enough, Techno can’t say he didn’t deserve it. His Chat yell and scream and thrash about his blunder, while Silvanus-Chat coo over how adorable Ranboo is and how precious they would be if Techno broke their ribs, we could make his spine into an actual slinky, imagine, and yeah, a refund would be about right. Oh, well, some people are born to suffer and apparently Techno is in their number. 

He really preferred when his Chat manifested as just really extreme anxiety. Never thought he’d say that. He wants to lay down and maybe cry. 

WOW HE TASTES AWFULLLL RIGHT NOW and whose fault is that ALL OF OURS. TAKE RESPONSIBILITY. shush, everyone, imagine if he actually cries right now??? mortifying WOULDN’T YOU LIKE THAT?? FREAKS wow. i’m pretty sure that’s rock bottom, guys. we hit rock bottom. these heathens are calling us freaks 

Because all of you are, Chat. All of you are freaks and need to perish forever. Please. 

They, naturally, don’t like Techno saying that, but at least it does seem they’re controlling their volume a bit more now. Small joys. 

Anyhow, through some servant passageways they make it down to a kitchen basement again, and Techno gets nearly knocked out by all the delicious scents in the air. They’re not even in the room itself yet! How will he cope!! This is amazing, Jesus Christ he’s so hungry. Speeding up his step, Techno makes it to the door before Ranboo, and knocking twice out of respect, throws it open. 

All the cooks stare at him like startled mice. There goes his good mood. 

“Uh. Food? Please?” Techno manages, and immediately has several bowls of soup offered to him. Potato leak, his favourite! Grabbing two, he plops on the ground slightly out of the way and digs in. Jesus it’s so good. He’s pretty sure the noises he’s making are certifiably not human, more like pig, but he doesn’t care, honest! No matter what his Chat thinks. 

Done with the two bowls already, Techno only has to look up expectantly to have a third one, plus potato mash, plus some sort of aromatic meat, plus a bunch of fancy-looking stuffed eggs- okay, being terrifying has some perks. Eating so fast he’s about to break a record, surely, Techno throws one glance to the uncomfortable looking Ranboo who’s trying very hard not to stare and immediately feels shame. 

“Uh, ya should eat too, if ya want,” he says, before stuffing his mouth some more for emphasis. 

Swallowing thickly, Ranboo nods, and walks away from Techno’s spot on the floor to ask around for food. Good, feed the baby. Techno stops paying attention immediately, he’s too busy with the delicious eggs. And the meat. And the potatoes- 

stop eating so fast, you’re worse than a dog REGAIN YOUR FREEDOM. EAT FASTER. you lot are awful YOU’RE JUST JEALOUS OF OUR SUPPORTIVE AURA supportive of what, being scum of the earth

So happy to finally have food in him, he’s basically glowing, Techno summarily ignores them all. The little chuffs he’s making are honestly adorable, he didn’t know he could make them when not around his platoon! But the food is just, such a relief after the stress of the day. Binge eating who? Techno is binge winning.  

He continues to ignore Chat even as he and Ranboo leave the kitchen after his dessert, and decides to read the book Philza left him on the way back to his palace. Ignoring Chat becomes harder when the lead love interest- not the baron but the slave- turns out to be incredibly sadistic, but Techno perseveres! The book isn’t half bad, even if it’s not necessarily a literary masterpiece. Really, what was Philza complaining about? 

Even if the sex scenes are awkward to get through with Ranboo literally right there, Techno enjoys himself. He can’t wait until he and Philza discuss the details. 

Maybe, just maybe, he will have a new friend.