Warning bells tolling at three in the morning were never a good sign.

Neither was the sound of footsteps outside Matthew's door. The blond had been instantly awakened by the bells. He straightened in his bed before swinging his feet over the side. What had happened? Was it a drill? No, unlikely.

Someone flung open his door and Matthew squinted to get a good look at who it was. The person strode in and grabbed him by the arm. Matthew fought off the urge to fight back, but only because he knew who it was. Carlos jerked him up to his feet.

"Williams, you're needed." Carlos's tone was so serious that it made Matthew start. Carlos was usually much like his brother, happy and cheerful despite the worst of situations. The man was an odd sight in the castle. With tan skin and long, dark hair, he looked very much like the foreigner he was. Yet, this had not made Carlos an outcast, but rather a man of interest. He was good to most people, though he didn't seem to like Alfred much. He always affectionately referred to Matthew as Mattie and other than his brother, Carlos was probably Matthew's best friend.

Dread crept up in Matthew's mind. What had caused this change?

"What is it?" Matthew asked, already reaching for his gun.

Carlos reached out to stop him. "You won't need that, Matthew," he said somberly.

A wave of surprise washed over Matthew. He wouldn't need it? But that was his job. Why else would he be summoned. "I won't?" Matthew asked, perplexed. "But then-"

"Matthew. The king is dead."

Time seemed to slow. Was it even moving at all? Carlos's mouth was moving, saying words, but Matthew couldn't think. Everything seemed to move slowly. Carlos was shaking his arm, asking him if he was okay, but Matthew couldn't hear him. Matthew couldn't hear anything except for the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

The king is dead.

This had to be a joke. Some sick, twisted joke. Or a nightmare. But no, Carlos was really standing in front of Matthew, his mouth still moving. There really were people running outside, their boots clanking heavily against the stone floor. And the candles were really flickering and wait, was the world really spinning?

Matthew stumbled a little and Carlos caught him. "Whoa, Matthew," Carlos said, holding him up. The fall seemed to jolt Matthew out of his stupor. "Sit down, we can wait, I'm sure they'd understand..."

"No." Matthew's voice returned. "No, I need to go." Everything seemed numb and Matthew's mind was blank and dull but that much he had to do. "I have to go...go see the king...go find Alfred..." He swallowed. "Walk with me, will you? Tell me what happened."

Carlos began to recount the details of the event as they hastened towards the king's chambers. Matthew's bedroom was located in one of the Guard Towers. It was part of the castle, but still a distance away from where his father and brother spent their nights. The walk seemed both too long and too short.

Matthew only caught bits and snippets of what Carlos had to say. There had been an intruder, guards had been knocked out, it had been a surprise. No one had sounded the warning. One of the guards woke up only to find that the king was dead in his bed...the intruder had fled. Gone, and no one even knew what he looked like. Vanished without a trace. They were searching the castle now, the prince had been summoned, his advisor hastening to the scene... The civilians didn't know, but they would soon...

Matthew absorbed all of this information but none of it was really processed. He couldn't make sense of it. All he could think about was his father and his brother...

Matthew had never been close to his father. That had always been Alfred. Alfred had always been the favorite son. But Matthew could not say he had hated the man. Their father had been good and kind to Matthew, and he understood why Alfred was more important. He may have resented him for a while, but that too, had faded in time. His father rarely talked to Matthew after he left, but that was only to be expected. He was the king after all. From time to time, the man would smile at Matthew, take a few minutes to speak with him, maybe send him a little something for Christmas. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Now he was dead. Even though he hadn't been there for Matthew the way Alfred had, even though they'd argued on a number of occasions...he was still his father. He had still cared. He had still been part of Matthew's life. And he was still Matthew's family.

Did Matthew grieve for his father? Yes. Maybe not as much as he should have (and for that, Matthew felt overwhelming guilt). But he grieved. He was grieving.

They came to a stop before they reached the king's chambers. Matthew hadn't even realized they were there. Carlos put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "You'll be alright," he murmured in Matthew's ear before he walked off. Matthew took a shaky breath. He wasn't so sure.

With that in mind, he pushed open the doors to his father's bedroom.

It was much like the way Matthew had remembered it. Large, grand. A bed (really, too big for one man) in the very center. Its legs curved and all around was a large red curtain, drawn to the sides. Ornate pillows decorated the bed, with their intricate designs and plush fillings. Beautifully carved desks, made from the best wood that the kingdom of Ismeria had to offer. Gigantic windows that in the daytime, would let in an earth shattering amount of light and bring life to the otherwise stuffy room. Lamps and lanterns and candle holders, sitting next to portraits of the king himself and of his family... Even Matthew was in those portraits, though he was clearly not the centerpiece.

There was a chill in the air though, that had never been there before. A dead stillness that seemed to fill the room. The silence hung heavily around Matthew, only penetrated by the quiet sobs that came from the figure next to the bed.

Maids and guards stood like toys around the room. Their heads were bowed, only turning to see Matthew enter the room before returning to their original positions. One of the women was crying silently, large fat tears rolling down her cheeks that she wiped at hastily. There were mournful looks on the men's faces. Matthew's father may not have been the best father, but he had been a much loved king in his own right. The people were grieving.

But they did not and could not grieve as much as the figure by the bed. Matthew didn't need to see the man to know that it was his brother. The sobs that came from his brother made it sound like Alfred had just had his soul torn and ripped in two. He had only heard Alfred cry this way one other time: when their mother died. Alfred's shoulders shook with each cry. His head was buried in his arms, his face unseen.

Matthew wanted to break down too. He had, when their mother died. The two brothers had held each other and cried for an hour. Maybe it was because he had never been quite so close to his father that Matthew was still standing now, his face dry of tears. He could certainly let himself cry. It wouldn't be hard. But no. Alfred couldn't be strong right now, so Matthew had to.

"Leave," Matthew said quietly, addressing the servants. They looked at him blankly. Most of them knew that he was the prince's brother, but few of them were used to taking his command. Matthew took in a breath before he repeated the order. "I said leave." His voice was low but it left no room for doubt. Quickly but quietly, the servants and guards all filed out, closing the door behind him.

Matthew squatted down next to his brother and put an arm around Alfred's shoulders. For the first time, his brother noticed his presence and looked up weakly. His blue eyes were tinged with red, his glasses abandoned on the floor. Alfred's cheeks glistened with tears. There was a broken look in his eyes that made Matthew feel just a tad bit broken too.

Alfred didn't say anything for a moment and Matthew didn't know what to say. They were alone, truly alone, forever alone. Their family was gone. It was just the two of them against the world now. Just the two of them left.

Suddenly, Matthew found himself enveloped in a hug. Alfred hugged him fiercely, choking and coughing a little as he began to cry again. Matthew closed his eyes and allowed the tears to slide down his cheeks as well. Their father was gone. Dead. Never coming back. Just like their mother. Just like how every single human being would go someday.

They didn't say anything. They simply held each other and cried.


"We are here today to honor the passing of a great man."

Matthew sat in the front row. Dressed in black, Matthew stared ahead blankly. His brother sat next to him, his blue eyes never leaving the green eyes of the reverend.

"King Theodore Jones was a good man. A just king, a fair ruler who was loved by the people."

The funeral was a grandeur sight. Hundreds, no, thousands had shown up to grieve the passing of their king. He was a good man, they said. He was a good man.

A good man to all, if a lacking father to Matthew.

"He was kind and to have his death come about in such a manner is a tragedy."

A tragedy. Matthew looked to his left and saw his brother. There were tears in Alfred's eyes, tears he was desperately trying not to shed, tears he was desperately trying to keep inside. Alfred had been strong after their father's death. He had accepted his role as the new king without flinching from his duty, setting the royal affairs in order. The coronation ceremony would occur tomorrow at noon and Alfred would officially be king.

Matthew too had returned to his duties. The commander had been kind, giving him a much lighter load than normal. Matthew didn't appreciate it much. He would much rather have things normal, to have people stop giving him pitiful glances and stopping to offer condolences. Matthew liked being noticed, but not like that. Not because of that. It was easier to forget to grieve when one was occupied. The time Matthew had off was too much time alone. Too much time to think.

The only thing that time had provided Matthew with was time to visit his brother. Alfred seemed to be operating almost robotically after their father's death. Matthew wanted to ask Alfred if he was alright, but he knew the answer already. Alfred was not okay. The whole country grieved for their king. Alfred was the only one who grieved for his father.

"King Theodore's legacy will live on," the reverend said. "His two sons are here with us today. His eldest will rule this land and will hopefully follow in his father's footsteps in the future." The reverend dipped his head at Alfred and the crowd craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the prince. "We were all honored to be ruled by a man like King Theodore, and we will be honored to be led by a young man like his son."

The crowd clapped and the reverend looked at Alfred. "I believe that Prince Alfred would like to say a few words in honor of his father's passing."

It took Alfred a moment to stand and for a second, Matthew feared he wouldn't. But Alfred stood up anyways and moved slowly towards where the reverend had been standing. Turning to face the crowd, Alfred looked upwards.

Alfred was dressed in his finest that day, his crown resting on his head. Matthew had a crown like that as well, though it was hidden under lock and key after he had given up his title. Alfred had never looked more regal or formal, never more just and royal.

He had never looked sadder either.

"Today, we stand here to talk about our king." Alfred's voice was loud and clear. Already, Matthew could see his brother changing from a young man to a prince. Alfred knew how to talk to a crowd. He had always known. He had been trained his entire life.

"Today," Alfred said, his gaze sweeping over the people, "we stand here to talk about our kingdom." There was a murmur of agreement in the crowd.

"But there's more than that," Alfred added. His voice was different now, more vulnerable. "We stand here to talk about my father."

Alfred stood up straighter. He hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes flitting towards Matthew, who nodded. Alfred refocused on the crowd. "Only one other man here today can understand the grief I am going through, and that man is my brother. My father was your king, but he was more than that to me. He was my family. He was a dependable man, a man I could count on. A man who I trusted. A man who I loved, as a son should love his father."

Matthew felt guilty. He had never loved his father the way Alfred had. Their connection had been so much shallower. Yet here Alfred was, standing and speaking of their father with such conviction in his voice that anyone in the world would have believed him and would have known that he was a truly devout son.

"I was shocked, like all of you, when he died." Here, Alfred's voice trembled just slightly. "I was angry too. Not only had the man who took his life taken away our king, he had taken away my father. A part of my family." Alfred was shaking a little and Matthew wanted nothing more than to stand up and steady him. "This will not go unpunished. I will see to it that my father did not die in vain."

Alfred's eyes glinted in the sun, their steely blueness flashing through. "There will come a day when we all die, the king and peasant alike. Let us not die without doing everything within our power to live a good life.

"To my father, the king."


The ceremony ended and as soon as it did, Alfred stood up. Matthew followed him as he approached the reverend, shaking the man's hand.

"Thank you for a good service, Reverend Carriedo," Alfred said quietly.

The reverend blinked, his olive green eyes softening. "Call me Antonio," he said, giving a small smile. "And thank you, for an inspiring speech."

"Antonio it is," Alfred said warmly. "I will not detain you for much longer, I am certain you have a wife awaiting your return."

"Ah, yes." There was a certain sparkle in Antonio's eyes. "I do have a wife of sorts waiting, though I doubt he would like to be addressed as such." He nodded at Matthew before his gaze shifted back to Alfred. "I believe I will see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Alfred responded. "The coronation."

Antonio smiled, picking up his Bible. "You will make a good King, Alfred," he observed. "I hope you are ready."

"I have always been ready." The conviction in Alfred's voice was very different from the doubt that Matthew had heard a month ago in the treehouse. But times had changed. His brother had changed.

Antonio nodded. "I wish you good luck." With that, the man walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Condolences were exchanged, people ignoring Matthew and talking to Alfred. About his speech, about his outfit, about his father...dozens and dozens of them. It was two hours before the pair of brothers returned to the castle, two hours before Matthew could finally ease up and take a breath.

Matthew's gaze was concentrated on his brother, who had been silent on their walk back. His usually cheerful eyes were still clouded with grief.

"Alfred," Matthew began as they returned to Alfred's room, "are you—"

"I'm fine, Matthew." Alfred's voice was dull. He gave Matthew a forced smile. "I just need some time." He slipped into his room without saying another word, leaving Matthew alone in the halls.

Matthew stood there for a moment before he leaned against the wall next to his brother's chambers. He looked upwards and suddenly, he felt tired. So...very, very tired.

He missed their mother, the way she would hug and comfort Matthew and kiss the top of his head when he was sad.

Matthew wanted someone now to comfort him as well. Was that selfish? His brother had felt so much more distant after yesterday. Numb. Matthew knew that Alfred had to have time to recover, time to grieve. Time to accept the new role that he was about to take. Matthew knew it was hard on Alfred. It had to be. The whole country needed Alfred to rise to the occasion. But...Matthew needed Alfred too. Because they were brothers, weren't they?

Matthew slid to the floor and rested his head on his knees. He shouldn't be so needy, he told himself. He shouldn't be so weak. He was supposed to protect Alfred...it wasn't the other way around.

He sat there for a long time.


"Yesterday was a day of grieving."

Yes, it was.

"Today though, is a day of celebration."

False.

Everything about that was false.

The false cheer in Antonio's voice. The false smile on Alfred's face. The false joy that was supposedly filling the room.

Grief didn't just fade. It wasn't something you could turn on and off.

Their father, the king, was dead.

Matthew's fists were clenched as he watched the coronation proceed. He desperately wished that it would just be over, that this would all be over, this horrendous nightmare. He had never expected his father to...to die. Matthew knew—had always known—that his brother would someday be king. But he had always thought of Alfred as Prince. That was what Alfred had always been.

And then, out of the sudden, he was now...

Matthew watched numbly as Alfred stood up and walked to the front, kneeling before Antonio. As his brother stared at the ground, Matthew took in the uncharacteristically serious look on his face.

"Today, Prince Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, I crown you as King."

Antonio lifted the crown from its satin pillow, the crown that until then, Matthew had only seen his father wear. Just before it settled into Alfred's golden hair, he saw his brother cast a desperate glance at him. Help me. Save me, it seemed to scream.

Matthew wanted to. He wanted to so badly.

But he couldn't. All his life, Matthew had been trained to protect the prince, to protect his brother. But the one time that Alfred really needed him, the one time that Alfred needed saving...Matthew was utterly helpless.

"Rise, Alfred, king of Ismeria."

As Alfred rose from where he knelt, the entire assembly stood up and began to applaud. Gone was the look of desperation, replaced by a confidence that Matthew knew was simply a cover. He watched as the newly crowned king smiled and as the crowd began to mingle, immediately slipped into the role he had been prepared for. People, stumbling up to greet the new king, to seek his favor. Alfred took this without a glance.

Matthew admired his brother from a distance. If he had been anyone else, he would've thought that Alfred was simply embracing his new role in the kingdom. He would've believed in Alfred's act. But Matthew would not and could not believe it now. So it was with urgency that he pushed through the crowd and grabbed onto Alfred's sleeve.

His brother turned around. Bleu eyes met violet with a questioning look in them. "Matthew, what's the problem?" Alfred asked.

He looked genuinely surprised.

Idiot.

"Are you sure that you...Alfred, no one would blame you if you..." Matthew struggled to put his thoughts into words. He had never really been the talker and now, with dozens of people watching the two of them, it only made things more difficult.

"Blame me if I what?" Alfred cocked his head a little to the side as if he was actually wondering what Matthew was trying to say.

Liar. Yes, Alfred could be pretty terrible at reading the atmosphere, but this was Matthew.

"If you needed to leave."

Alfred smiled. "I'm fine, Matthew." The words were too soft, too calm for his brother. It was like something had changed, like he'd flipped a switch. Gone was the rambunctious, reckless, foolish older brother that Matthew had always known. It was replaced by a king.

And Matthew didn't like it.

Yet there was a desperation in Alfred's gaze that remained when he looked at Matthew. It took Matthew a moment, but suddenly, he could see how Alfred was barely holding himself together. How the grief hadn't left his brother's eyes yet, perhaps would never leave his eyes. And he could almost hear Alfred begging him to not tell, to not let this be known. He had to be strong, for the kingdom. For himself.

Matthew straightened. "I understand," he nodded, perhaps a little stiffly. "Tell me if you need anything."

Alfred smiled at his brother before he started chatting with someone else.

Matthew swallowed and walked away. He could not help Alfred here. It was useless to try.


"Williams? I have a message for you."

Matthew glanced up in surprise. The day had dragged on for far too long. Shortly after their conversation, Matthew lost sight of his brother. He hadn't seen him since, though he had overheard from one of this friends that the pr—no, king—had made it back to his chambers without any dilemma. As for Matthew, he had ordered a pint before retreating to his own room. It had been quiet and tiring and Matthew longed for sleep.

He walked over to the messenger, not even fully registering his appearance before the man closed the door shut behind him.

Matthew squinted in the dim light, trying to decipher the scrawls on the slip of paper. It took him three tries to read it and when he had, it took him a moment to register what the message was saying.

Matthew sat down on his bed heavily, a lump in his throat. Already, his resolve was hardening. He'd made a vow. He'd made a promise. One that Matthew would never go back on.

Tell me if you need anything.

One word. That was all. Matthew didn't even need to know who it was from.

Revenge.


Carlos = Cuba