Hello! I'm back again!

This chapter and the next one were originally supposed to be one big chapter, but it got hella long so I decided to split it into two. Oh, well. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

Just a note before we begin: Toris is a very unreliable narrator at this point in time. He's just gotten out of an abusive household. Because of that, his perception of the world is going to be extremely skewed. Please keep that in mind while reading.

More author's notes to come at the end of the chapter!


Prologue (Part Two)

Toris Laurinaitis cannot stop shaking.

His whole body trembles in a small, shuddering way, like the tremors of a mouse or an old creaking clock. Sitting in the carriage, he digs his fingers into his pants - but instead of soothing him it draws more attention to the way his hands refuse to rest easy. So he rests them flat at his sides. Pretends that the shudders are from the bumpiness of the road.

The two guards sitting on both sides of the crown prince eye him intensely and Eduard places a firm hand onto his, but he still cannot stop shaking. Like he's thrown a bad punch that's made him dizzy.

Any minute now, Toris expects the world to fall on fire, to be engulfed by a giant saltwater wave. He expects to drown and die, and wake up back in that same gray-walled mansion like he has every day for the past ten years. Because this —sitting in an opulent carriage less than one foot away from their crown prince —is so grand that he can only expect it to be fiction.

He shuts his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Prepares himself for white rooms and burnt metal and soulless eyes.

When he wakes up in a gold-gilded carriage, he almost cries.

He's grateful, so grateful that he can't move out of fear of ruining everything. To even breathe the same air as the crown prince is a privilege greater than anything he will ever deserve.

But.

When he surveys his surroundings - when he looks out of the unfamiliar windows onto the unfamiliar plains -

Toris realizes that there is so much he does not know.

For all he knows, stepping into this carriage could have been a repeat of that night in the alleyway ten years ago, when a white-haired man smiled down at him, offered his hand, and spoke honey-sweetly about a better life in a beautiful white mansion. It could be the dream-like beginning to every nightmare he's ever had - the way the monsters grin at him before they bare their fangs and bite.

And it terrifies him.

His stomach twists into knots as his body kicks itself into overtime: fight or flight! Fight or flight! Fight or flight! The anxiety slithers up his veins, bombarding him with a familiar all-consuming chill. Numbing.

If he could, he would press himself onto the floor and sink deep into oblivion, far, far away from his worries.

But Toris knows that he can't afford to lose his wits. If he loses his wits, whatever bad intentions there may be win — and then they're back at square one, struggling to survive.

Besides - if he's terrified, his sensitive brothers must be panicked. Once glance at a red-cheeked, fidgeting Raivis confirms this.

Come on, Toris, he tells himself. You have to stay strong for them. Keep breathing. Keep going.

It's too early for him to give up, especially at a time like this.

So Toris straightens his back, pushes down the pit in his stomach, and surveys the unfamiliar carriage.

Ornate gilded carvings of eagle heads and flowers decorate the ceiling and backboards. As he follows the flower garden carved above the seats opposite to him, a gathering of polished red poppies catch his eye. Their stems reach out tenderly, curling delicately into oblivion the further down they go. Inevitably, the stems lead down to the backboard of the opposite seats — where the platinum haired guard to the right of the crown prince just so happens to catch Toris's gaze.

The guard's eyes are deep blue and placid, as still as the dark Fjordland lakes. They're oddly serious, almost eerie - and it feels like they're peeling back the layers of Toris's skin, revealing all of the morbid, rotting flesh of him.

As Toris darts his eyes away, he feels incredibly unnerved.

He looks for anything, anything at all to wash that strange encounter out of his palate. He trails the end of the flower garden, and just from the corner of his eye —

He sees the crown prince staring out of a window.

One of the crown prince's delicate, knife-cut cheeks presses against the glass as his green eyes survey the landscape intensely. For what, Toris doesn't know - and as the carriage transitions to riding on smoother roads, he wonders what could be capturing so much of his attention.

The crown prince has not spoken a word to them since they stepped into the carriage. He has only been pressing his face against the glass, waiting or wanting or both.

The lack of attention could mean anything, from disgust to pity to frustration. It could be something vile or it could be something bitter, or it could be something terribly, unimaginably cruel. Thoughts wrap themselves heinously around Toris's brain - painful thoughts, gruesome thoughts, thoughts with dark shadows and dark liquids spilling across concrete. He's used to those sorts of things, having been in that sort of business for so long - but thinking of having to face them again makes him nearly wretch. It's a real possibility, as real as the jackhammer of his heart against his rib cage.

When Toris stepped up the small steps, his ankle spattered a bit of blood across the floor - and though the crown prince said that it was "totally alright", he knows authority figures well enough to predict the disgruntled flow of thoughts that could be rolling across the crown prince's mind. 'What a useless kid.' 'How horrible.' 'He should've died there on the street.' 'Why did we even stop for him?' 'God, we gotta teach him a lesson.'

The familiar pit in his stomach reminds him that those in power have that power because they're ruthless enough to do what they want to do.

So Toris sits and makes himself small against Raivis and Eduard's shoulders, and he begins to plan for the worst, struggling to keep his breathing steady while the crown prince continues to look out of the window.

The road grows smoother and smoother until the carriage is practically gliding on butter. Toris knows that he could always ask Raivis or Eduard to scoot over so he can glance out of the window - but he's shuddering too hard to even entertain the idea.

Abruptly, the carriage stops.

And Toris's heart nearly leaps out of his throat.

"We're here, your Highness," the platinum haired guard announces.

The crown prince blinks.

"Already?" The crown prince asks. Moments later, he yawns lushly. His knife-cut face moves away from the window, and he suddenly he is stretching his lithe limbs out, his long fingers brushing the golden heads of eagles.

They do not look like the hands of an aggressive man. They are soft and lily white, and look more suited to piano playing than any physical means. But Toris knows better than to merely judge people on face value.

The platinum haired guard nods.

"The trip isn't long."

The crown prince shakes his head, reaching his arms up to the ceiling.

"Yeah, but it's, like, raining, so…"

As he brings his hand down, he brushes a bit of the platinum haired guard's hair, grasping its softness between his fingers. Toris recognizes it immediately: a gesture of want urging some reciprocation.

But to his horror -

The guard casually bats the crown prince's hand away.

With Ivan Zimavich, an act of disrespect like that would warrant a scolding or a beating or both. Churning, he prepares himself for the sound of a slap.

The crown prince laughs.

"You're so mean!" The crown prince pouts.

His voice sounds like the clever chiming of bells.

"Don't mess around," the guard chastises. "You're like a little kid."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being youthful~!"

"There is when you're being annoying."

"So rude, Łukaszek!"

"Whatever."

The guard speaks so coarsely, so roughly.

And yet - even though it is the ultimate act of disrespect for a subordinate to talk like that to his superior -

The crown prince not swear,

He did not throw. He didn't punch or slap or hit.

He joked with the guard, too.

He joked like they were equals.

The crown prince glances at them, sending a jolt through Toris's core.

He takes stock of them in the self-assured way that only the wealthy can afford, and as he does so, Toris catches a hint of green, something silent and catlike — but then the crown prince turns back to the guard, and the moment is over.

"Alright, Lukas, let's go." The crown prince says. "I'm dying to get inside."

"Mhm."

"Don't forget the umbrella. Get the fancy one, the cream one with the roses and the daisies on it. And, oh — they need umbrellas, too."

And for the first time since getting into the carriage, the crown prince looks at them.

His emerald eyes are sharp like a cat's. They're intimidating and a little held back like a jungle cat behind ferns - but they're not unkind, either. They glimmer with a little playfulness, some gold fleck that moves delicately under currents.

It's a strange mixture that leaves Toris breathless.

Moving past his starstruck stupor, though, Toris decides to tread cautiously. As kindly as those eyes seem, they are the eyes of a prince, and he knows fully well that royals are rarely the person they present on the surface.

The crown prince's order to Sir Lukas wavers tentatively in the air, and he pounces on it. He knows better than to ignore the benevolence of powerful men. "T-thank you, your Highness. That is greatly appreciated."

The crown prince nods dismissively, then turns to the brown haired guard on his left. "Sir Horvat."

Sir Horvat nods and opens the carriage door. He barely hesitates before heading straight into the rain. That brief, brief moment is enough for a few heavy raindrops to lightly pelt Toris's cheeks. The water chills his bones and his skin — and for a second, it is somewhat refreshing. But then the door closes, the carriage air grows suffocating, and they're left in tense silence.

The crown prince is the first to break it.

"So…" He says, still watching them. "After you three."

Sir Lukas nods.

"Go on," the guard says flatly.

There's a beat of silence where they can hear only the rain pitter-pattering on the roof top.

And then —

"I beg your pardon?" Toris sputters.

No one in their right mind would let a group of peasants leave before their superiors, let alone the crown prince. It's something completely unheard of.

But Sir Lukas nods again.

"You three will exit first," he says slowly, as if talking to a very small child. "Go on."

"Of course," Toris replies immediately.

But he does not move.

He does not think he can.

The situation is too strange to be anything but malicious. Leaving the carriage first, receiving no information about their location, the crown prince not speaking the whole ride - all of it reeks of interrogation and metal and imprisonment, all of them things he tried so hard to escape from.

Logic tells him to stop, to do what Sir Lukas orders before he and the crown prince become frustrated, but Toris ignores it — or, rather, he's paralyzed by by it. Because he knows that if he stands up, something bad will surely come. Something that will hurt his brothers and him.

So he stays still, unable to do anything but feel the crown prince's eyes bore into his skin, unable to think past anything besides escaping immediately.

The crown prince speaks first again.

"What are you guys waiting for?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows. "We're not gonna let you get drenched. Sir Horvat's running for the umbrellas. And the inside of the castle is pretty warm, too, so you'll be fine."

Toris stares.

And then that one word rings in his mind.

Castle.

"C-castle?" Toris says, at the same time that Raivis gasps.

"Yeah," the crown prince confirms, looking at them even odder. "We're at Lipska Castle."

Lipska Castle.

The royal palace of the Kingdom of Pospolita.

"Lipska Caste?" Toris repeats, reeling.

The crown prince nods nonchalantly, as if normal men just visited castles every day. "Yeah. Y'know, the place where the royal family lives?"

"O-of course, your Highness, of course. I j-just —"

"I know — it's pretty strange for someone who hasn't seen it before…" The crown prince trails off, thinking. A moment later he perks up. "Maybe if you can see better you'll believe me. Lukas, open the door for… hey, what's your name?"

"Toris. Toris… Laurinaitis."

"Toris," the crown prince murmurs. It sounds unbelievably wholesome when he says it - like rocks skipping over a placid summer lake - and Toris knows then that the sound will haunt his dreams for a good few years after. "Okay then. Lukas, open the doors for Toris and his… friends?"

"They're my brothers, your Highness."

"What're your guys' names?" The crown prince asks, looking at the two.

Raivis and Eduard answer.

"Cool. Okay." Seemingly unaware of the starstruck gazes he's receiving, the crown prince turns to Sir Lukas and jerks his chin towards the carriage door. "Lukas, open the door for Toris, Eduard, and Raivis. And hey - don't get any rain on my cape, okay?"

At first, Toris thinks the gesture oozes condescension. The crown prince speaks so loftily, so confidently. But the crown prince and Sir Lukas share an well-worn familiarity, one he sees in the way they look each other comfortably in the eye, and suddenly, the action becomes less of an order and more of a reminder.

He never knew princes could act like that.

Sir Lukas nods. He loops his fingers around the gilded door handle, and with a dramatic, flourishing flick of his wrist, he opens the carriage door into the silver pinprick rain.

"There it is," the crown prince announces as Toris, Raivis, and Eduard peer out with wide-eyes. "Lipska Castle."

"O-oh — oh my god," Raivis breathes.

And Toris stares.

From behind the gray sheets of rain, Lipska Castle shines before them. It extends gracefully off of the plains, its brownstone exterior gleaming like the finest bronze — and on the corners of the red tiled roof, Toris can see golden eagles perching with their heads raised. Behind a crack in the large oak double doors, he can see a hint of a magnificently lush red carpet.

He dreamt about this moment when he was younger. On the days when life was at its grayest, he would soak in the bath and pretend that darkness of the dissolving blood was the glint of Lipska Castle's brownstone walls. His mother and Iryna had told him so many stories of the castle that it became a fond, happy place in his mind, a place where he could retreat whenever he felt particularly terrible.

Toris always thought of how good it would be to be there, how full of life he would feel amongst the ornate walls and furniture. It would probably never happen, but oh, how happy he would be if it did.

And now —

Here he is.

Sitting before a place so corporeal it's almost unreal.

He struggles to find the words. When he does, they're soft and stumbling. "It's beautiful," he says.

"Like something out of a dream," adds Raivis hesitantly, craning his neck towards the sight.

"There's a story," Eduard begins, "about a girl who travels to a beautiful castle in a land far away." He pauses to clean his glasses, a nervous habit of his - and then, when the glasses are perched perfectly on his nose, he clears his throat delicately. "This is what I've always imagined that castle to look like."

Toris closes his eyes, thinking of that story - how when Iryna told it, he clung onto every word because he didn't know anything else.

"That story doesn't even come close to this," he murmurs,

Toris gazes at the castle for a moment longer, not even moving away when the rain hits his face. It feels clean, quiet. Real.

When he finally looks back into the carriage, the crown prince's lips are quirked up into a smile.

"Isn't it pretty?" He asks, his eyes shining brightly. A light rosy lilt colors his words, like the beat of a butterfly's wings. "It's the coolest building in all of Pospolita. You believe me now, right?"

"Yes," Toris says. "I do."

The crown prince's smile grows even wider, and Toris finds that it's incredibly easy to smile back. All of the anxiety he felt before seems to melt away. They share a warm look, impervious to the gloomy gray outside — and in that moment he knows it would be even easier to let some genuine kindness spill through his lips. For the crown prince seems kind, and he looks and acts and talks like a decent boy. A safe boy.

Maybe, just maybe… the type of boy he could be friends with.

His green eyes seem so terribly kind, after all.

But there was a time, a long while ago, that he thought the same thing about a certain other man. And that certain other man, as it turned out, was more terrible than kind.

And with that memory clutched between his teeth, the rosy facade Toris had built up vanishes.

Trusting people is a luxury he cannot afford. Even if it comes from the crown prince of his Kingdom - even if it seems to be more genuine than genuine can be - Toris cannot accept the far-flung kindness of strangers. Not after what happened the last time.

Out of everything in the great blue world, this he knows is true: decent men hide deceit under decent smiles. Wolves often walk the forest in sheep's clothing — and it's not until they've sunken their teeth into a soft underbelly that the prey knows it's been caught.

He must leave as soon as possible.

Before his illogical brain can give into the kindness.

He wills himself to look away from the crown prince's terrible eyes, focusing on the grassy plains instead. Though he does not know the terrain of the area, he does know where Lipska Castle is geographically - and if his calculations are correct, if he can somehow take his brothers and escape from the carriage right now, they can walk to the Fjordlands within five days. The only issues are the guards no doubt stationed all around the property - and, of course, his broken ankle.

The silence stretches between them, and the further it stretches, the more Toris becomes aware that the ball is in his court. He chooses his next words as diplomatically as possible. "I'm sorry… I still can't believe we're here."

"It's totally okay," the crown prince says. "It takes time to get used to."

And he's about to speak again, to bide time so he can think more about the escape plan when —

His foot shifts.

A burning fire swallows his ankle and he gasps out in pain, nearly doubling over from the sudden bout of nausea. Raivis and Eduard exclaim something that he can't hear over the ringing in his ears — and the crown prince jolts forward, his knife-cut face distorted with concern.

"Are you okay?!" The crown prince asks.

Toris grimaces.

"I'm — my ankle—"

He tries to go back to his previous position —

But he jolts his ankle again, and the pain worsens to the flame of ten thousand fires.

The crown prince's eyes are wide.

"We have to get you inside," the crown prince says firmly. But the words are lost. All Toris can focus on through Sir Lukas calling for guards and Eduard and Raivis whispering is the way the crown prince's wide jungle cat eyes fix intently on him.

From a long time ago, a man's voice floats blood sweet into his ear:

Torenka, could you take this broom and sweep the dining room?

And Toris panics.

"I'm fine," he says, forcing a sheepish smile for the crown prince - even when the pain shoots up his leg. "Really, you don't have to put yourself through so much trouble for me."

"Are you crazy?" The crown prince asks. "Your ankle is torn to pieces. You'll die if you don't get that treated."

"It doesn't hurt that much," Toris says.

"Even if you don't feel the pain, your body's still suffering."

"It's okay, your Highness, please don't worry yourself—"

"It's too late for that, because I'm already worried and I'm going to stay worried!" The crown prince straightens his shoulders firmly. "We're getting you inside right now."

Toris chokes.

Not now. Not now.

We have to leave right now.

"Toris," Raivis whispers, "Toris, come on - let's just go into the castle and get help."

"Raivis," Toris says.

He gives Raivis a long, heavy look, praying to god that he does not run his mouth off for once, but his brother keeps going. "Y-you're really injured right now, and if you don't get help you can-"

"It's o—" a rod of pain makes Toris grit his teeth. "—kay."

"But you—"

"Trust me, I'll be fine, alright? There's no need to worry, little one." His voice goes unexpectedly tender at the end, and he curses inside. The last thing he needed was for Raivis to start crying.

The mistake seems to work out, though - for Raivis widens his eyes and hesitantly nods once, seemingly subdued.

Toris presses a comforting hand to his brother's shoulder before turning back to the crown prince.

What he sees unnerves him.

The crown prince has shed his flushed demeanor. Now, with his face as calm as a cool lake, he looks at Raivis intently. The look lingers for just a moment, but even so - even when the crown prince looks to Sir Lukas- Toris can't shake the feeling that the crown prince has somehow uncovered something unnameable.

"Laurinaitis in shock," Sir Lukas cuts in. He holds Toris ans his brothers in his gaze as he talks. "He's not thinking rationally. I'm sure those two aren't, either." He jerks his head towards Raivis and Eduard, then peers outside the carriage. Sir Horvat clutched an umbrella in his hands as he watches six guards, four carrying umbrellas and two carrying a stretcher, striding purposefully down the paved path to the castle. "Please leave the carriage first, your Highness. I can escort these three."

"Not yet," the crown prince says quietly. "Give me a minute."

Sir Lukas raises an eyebrow, but does not say any more.

The crown prince pauses for a moment before taking a deep breath. He offers Raivis a soft smile, then turns to Toris and fixes him with a serious look.

"Listen," he begins. "You can think whatever you wanna think about your foot. It's still gonna be broken. That won't change."

Those green eyes paralyze him like a sheep in the grasp of a wolf. Any minute now, sharp fangs will embed themselves in his flesh.

"But," the crown prince continues, "if you really want to go, you can go."

The words hit Toris like a gun.

You can go.

"I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't wanna do. If you wanna walk right out of this carriage now, go for it. No one's gonna stop you."

The crown prince gestures to the ajar carriage door, and the guards waiting patiently just two feet away.

"But… but know this. We - I - really want to help you. And if you die on some muddy street somewhere, I'd be totally sad. Because none of you deserve to go like that."

With that, the crown prince steps out of the carriage. His golden hair shines brightly in the rain, even when a guard covers it with an umbrella. He moves casually - and that's what strikes Toris the most about the way he phrased what he said.

It wasn't I don't want to see you die. It wasn't I am your prince and I am sworn to protect you.

He said it with the second person you. The personal, other pronoun.

... you don't deserve to go like that.

He said it like they're valuable. Like they're worth something.

Like all three of them - Toris Laurinaitis, Raivis Galante, and Eduard von Bock - are human.

It's something no one has acknowledged in a long, long while.

"Y-your Highness-" Toris begins, at a loss for words -

But then Raivis stands up, pulling Toris's left arm with him.

"We're going," he announces to Sir Lukas.

Sir Lukas nods, and Toris swears he sees a tenderness enter those once emotionless eyes as the blond steps out of the carriage.

As soon as the guard leaves, Toris darts his eyes up to Raivis. His short brother towers unusually tall.

"What are you doing?" He asks, his voice trembling. "Don't you know that this could be -"

" - Good." Raivis says. "I-it'll be good, Toris. These people - they really seem kind."

A million reasons as to why Raivis shouldn't be this naive tumble to the tip of Toris's tongue. Toris turns to Eduard, expecting his brother to display the same skepticism he feels - but to his shock, Eduard sighs and nods.

"He seems to be a just person," Eduard offers as explanation. "And really, they have no reason to… harm us here."

Before Toris can say anything, a voice calls out to them.

Sir Lukas and the six guards wait at the entrance of the carriage. The crown prince and Sir Horvat look at them from the middle of the path. Waiting. Watching.

Just for them.

"Whenever you're ready, Laurinaitis," Lukas says smoothly.

Eduard stands, too, hoisting Toris's right arm.

"Let's go," he says firmly.

And Toris is at a crossroads.

He cannot escape even if he wants to. The crown prince was right - now that the shock has settled, his ankle burns like a raging wildfire. One miniscule movement sends flares of agony up his leg. Not only that, but Raivis and Eduard are bought firmly onto the crown prince's side. Onto the kindness.

Kindness.

It's a trap. It's not genuine, and it never will be.

It's just a facade for with men with soulless eyes and too much time on their hands.

The logical part of him thinks of a white-haired man that day in the alleyway, about the way he held his hand out so gently, and screams.

But.

There is another part of him, too.

A tender, too soft part.

A part that thinks of kind green eyes and gently flushed cheeks, and a warm, secret look shared between two boys in a carriage. It thinks of the stone-skipping way that boy said his name and the way he ordered them umbrellas. And most of all, it thinks of that singular other pronoun you.

His Highness Feliks Łukasiewicz of the Kingdom of Pospolita is a prince. He could have worded it anyway he wants.

And he words it like that.

Toris glances at Raivis and Eduard - their expectant eyes. And he glances outside, at the far-flung figure of the crown prince with his red cape and his soft smile.

He does not know what the crown prince wants. But, he supposes… it's better to he caught by a man who pretends to be kind than one who does not pretend at all.

Well, Toris thinks, we have no other choice. If I have to, I will. And as soon as I'm better, I'll find us a way out of here and we'll leave.

"Okay," Toris says. "Okay."

Raivis and Eduard lie him down on the stretcher. When his back hits the durable fabric, and Eduard stabilizes his ankle, Toris sighs. It's more comfortable than it should be for someone like him.

His mind wanders to the darkest possibility, the possibility that the crown prince is just buttering him up like a someone did long ago - but as soon as he gets there, he shakes his head and scatters the thought away.

Right now, he needs to memorize as much of the castle as he can. He needs to watch his brothers, who already look more comfortable than ever before. And though he hates to admit it… he needs to rest. To regain his strength so they can leave earlier.

Sir Lukas yells something, and the guards proceed their slow funerary walk to the castle. During the walk, drops of rain hit the sides of his face. Toris closes his eyes and relishes in them, in the feeling of being light and airy. Just for a moment.

"Be careful with him, okay?" The crown prince calls from ahead. "His ankle is, like, totally messed up."

His voice is golden and lofty and strangely genuine.

Toris knows it's fake, though. He can feel it. He needs to remember that.

But despite himself -

He allows himself to think, just for a moment, that the crown prince is definitely kind. That it isn't all a facade. That he really, really meant it when he said that Toris Laurinaitis did not deserve to die.

And the thought makes Toris want to smile.


The guards lay him down on a bed in the medical ward. It's a small, clean space. The bricks are light brown, and every few feet there are rounded glass windows that peer out into a lush green garden. In another life, this could have been his version of paradise.

The world gathers a soft edge as lies in the bed. The succulents on the windowsills float in doubles, and the many faces around him grow blurred. Yet Toris forces himself to stay up, focusing on the two pots of lavender by the closest windowsill until he sees a healer lead Eduard and Raivis into the next beds over. He smiles, allows his eyelids to flicker. Thank god, he thinks. Thank god. They're safe.

His blood pools richly onto the starched sheets, making star-shaped patterns where it falls. Toris traces it with his eyes. Marvels at the complexity of the human body. As leather heels click on the stone floor, as the softness at the edges of his vision grows black, and as his brothers' figures dissolve into nothingness, the last thing he thinks is I didn't know blood could be so pretty.

When the healer walks into the room, Toris Laurinaitis passes out and does not wake up.


He's playing with a wooden wolf when his mama bustles into the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dirty apron. Her long, braided hair is messy, and there are splotches of dirt covering her ruddy cheeks. Nonetheless, she smiles happily - and when she spots him underneath the kitchen table, fond crinkles appear at the corners of her moss green eyes.

"Toris!" She laughs. "What are you doing under there, sweetheart?"

"I'm playing, mama."

It was an intense battle of wolves versus iron knights, and the wolves were in a tricky position against the cliffside. If they made one wrong move, they would fall into the ravine. Toris squints at his wooden wolf. He silently wills it to be strong - and then, with a dramatic flick of his wrist, he viciously attacks an invisible knight, knocking its invisible helmet off into the ravine before tumbling the wolf to the floor.

"I see. Well, get out from under there, dearest, and find Eduard. I have to make a trip today, and I want you two to be up in your room when I leave."

Toris pauses. He finds the wolf a safe spot under an invisible tree before glancing up at his mama.

"A trip?"

"Yes."

Toris scoots out from under the table to find mama standing at the kitchen sink. With deft hands, she wraps one loaf of rye bread, two apples, and two boiled eggs into a coarse brown cloth.

"I'm going to visit Daumantas today," she explains as he peers up at her. "Just to give him some things."

Toris frowns.

Daumantas was a strange old man who had greasy white hair that was always plastered flat to his head and a large, gaping mouth with no teeth. He talked too loud, spit flinging from his mouth whenever he did - and when he came over, which was quite often, he spent too long talking to Toris about this and that. Out of all of the people in their small community, Daumantas was the last person Toris would want to visit. Much less give things to.

Not only that, but Daumantas lived far away from their house, about a mile or two down the road. By the time mama would get there, the sun would be setting. And by the time she would get back home, it would be night, and she would put him and Eduard straight to bed. There wouldn't be any more time for playing in the kitchen, down where the ground was the smoothest and the breeze the nicest. Toris frowns, thinking of his battle and his brave wolf… and the time he had to wipe a wad of spit from his cheek.

"Why do you need to give him things?" He asks.

Mama goes quiet as she wraps a thin piece of twine around the cloth. As Toris waits, a beam of golden sunshine passes through their window and over her head, turning her braid into thick rivers of dark amber.

"Daumantas is getting old," she finally says. "When people get to be his age, it gets harder for them to move around and to do things for themselves. So I'm giving him some food, just to look out for him."

"Will no one else give him anything?"

Mama pauses.

"Many people think Daumantas is… strange. And because they think he's strange, they think he's… different than us. Not many people visit him."

Toris thinks back to the times Daumantas has come over to the house. How his wide, gaping mouth opened in a smile whenever mama opened the door.

"What about on his birthday?"

"Well, of course they come over on his birthday. But probably not during the rest of the year… or at least, not often."

Toris can't imagine it. His days are spent hanging around mama in the garden, or roaming around the fields with Eduard. Every hour, he has someone to keep him company - and if he doesn't, it's only a matter of time before he attaches himself to someone else. Because the hours without people are so boring, so lonely, that he can't stand much of them.

What must it be like then for Daumantas, who's alone all the time?

"That's sad…" He murmurs, frowning.

Mama nods.

"Really… deep down, Daumantas is a good man. He's been so kind to us, you know." She pauses. "He made you that wolf for your first birthday."

"Really?"

"Yes. He spent weeks carving it."

Toris looks back at the wooden wolf laying steadfastly on the kitchen floor - his favorite toy in the whole world. Carved by that old man with greasy white hair, wrinkled hands, and a gaping smile.

Mama takes a small breath as if to continue speaking. But before she can speak, the wolf under the table dissolves into a black that swallows the kitchen floor and his mama and the rest of their tiny house - and before he knows it, the black swallows Toris, too.

And for a while, he floats.


There are other moments, too. Bits and pieces cutting from beyond the white cloud cover.

A pair of guards whispering.

A woman wrapping his ankle with cloth.

Soft sunshine filtering through the windows.

The voice of a boy, lofty and powerful.

Blood-stained white sheets.

A stinging poultice on his ankle.

A blond boy spooning him oatmeal.

A brunet boy crying.

The blond and the brunet whispering.

Moonlight.

A golden halo of hair.

Quiet tiptoes and the door gliding shut.

Platinum blond hair, a cool wind, a brown package.

The lofty voice, intense.

Red.

And white.

And red.

And white.

And white.

And white.

And the blond and the brunet, holding his hands and asking him to please wake up soon, Toris, please wake up.

A glimpse of his mother's moss green eyes, and the golden rye fields on the way to Daumantas's house.

Please wake up, Toris.

So he does.


When his eyes open to a sea of white, Toris thinks he has died.

A weight lifts off his chest. For the first time in nearly ten years, he finds that he can breathe easy.

It's so peaceful, he thinks. Like a dream.

He knows that he should be concerned with how pleasant he finds this. How quaint it is. The calm, though, is too nice to question. It's best to just leave it be.

He takes a deep breath, letting the sweetness settle into his bones...

And the harsh, unpleasant thickness that pools in his throat makes him gag.

A high voice says "You're awake!", and suddenly, the world isn't so peaceful anymore.

"Eduard!" The high voice exclaims. Leather boots clack towards his bedside. "Eduard, come here! Toris is awake!"

Toris scrubs at his eyes with a sore hand, snaps them shut against the green spots that float across his vision. Who is this voice? And where he is if he's not dead?

He forces his head up. Catches sight of a brunet boy and a blond -

And he remembers.

"Raivis!" He cries out hoarsely. "Eduard!"

The peace he felt before is nothing compared to the euphoria he feels upon seeing his brothers. Raivis and Eduard beam at him, rushing to his side. Toris tries to sit himself up to properly greet them, but Eduard rushes over and places both hands on his shoulders. "Don't move, Toris," the boy chastises, shaking his head. "You're going to strain yourself."

"I'm fine," Toris says. "Really, I just have to -"

He tries again -

Only to fall back onto the bed, wincing as his wobbling arms and stiff back ache from the sudden impact.

Eduard gives him a long look.

"Ugh - I need a few minutes to wake up, that's all-" He insists, but it's no use. Eduard has already put a hand under his shoulder.

"Raivis, help me prop him up," Eduard says. Toris grimaces inside, quietly humiliated.

As if sensing his thoughts, Eduard shakes his head. "You were out for a week," he informs Toris. "You won't be able to do anything by yourself for a while."

"Ahh— a week?"

"You slept like a rock."

"God," Toris groans.

"Rest for a bit. You need it."

Raivis nods absently. He comes over and slides a hand under Toris's other shoulder. "It's nice to nap," he informs Toris.

"Only if you don't have other things to do…"

"What other things do you have to do?" Raivis asks pleasantly.

Toris rubs his eyes. "I don't know, but I'm sure there's a lot."

Raivis shakes his head. "Just relax for a moment, would you? You shouldn't strain yourself, especially at your age… You could break a hip or something."

"Eh?! At my age?! Raīvite, I'm only three years older than you!"

"Yeah, which means you're practically a dinosaur."

Toris's eyes bulge.

"Don't tease him like that, Raivis," Eduard cuts in, tut-tutting. "You'll give the old man a heart attack."

"You two are so troublesome, I swear!" Toris cries out, pretending to be offended - but the smile that spreads across his face says otherwise.

Eduard and Raivis work quickly. Chattering quietly about this and that, they fetch extra pillows, lift Toris up, and layer the pillows beneath his back so he can sit up. A swell of pride rises up in his chest.

It's strange to think that just a few years ago, they were toddling around unsteadily and clinging to his legs. And now they're walking around with straight backs, already so close to being mature adults. It pangs just a bit - ah, if only they could stay young forever!- but he buries it in the way they hold themselves like they belong in the castle. They're so mature. So… different.

… They hold themselves very differently, actually, and now that Toris has oriented himself, it is the slightest bit strange.

He squints at his fluttering brothers.

They're cleaner, that's for sure. Their hair is washed and combed, and their cheeks have been scrubbed free of dirt. But that's not it.

Their faces are healthy and full, but that's not it, either.

It's only when Raivis sits down and crosses his legs on the bed to Toris's right that he realizes what it is.

"Raivis," Toris says, a little bewildered, "where did you get those boots from?"

They're the fanciest boots Toris has ever seen. They're shiny and black, going up to the knees - and as he eyes them more, Toris realizes that they're not boots they would be able to afford normally. They're certainly not boots that just anymore would give them, either.

Raivis and Eduard, who sits down next to him, share a look.

"About that." Eduard hesitates. "There's… ah, something we need to tell you."

Toris's stomach drops.

"What is it?" He asks, furrowing his brows. "Did you two — ... are you in trouble?"

"W-well, we don't really know," Raivis admits, wringing his hands. "We could be in trouble or we could not be — he didn't really say…"

"Raivis!" Eduard hisses.

"Who? Who didn't say?"

Toris looks at his brothers and then the boots, uncomprehending. The pit at the bottom of his stomach grows wider, gnawing at him.

"You guys," he says when neither of them speaks. "What happened?"

His blood chills.

A thought enters his head —

And his stomach tilts.

The words catch in his throat when he chokes them out. "It wasn't a bribe, was it?"

Eduard's eyes widen. He shakes his head frantically.

"No, no — Toris, you've got it all wrong."

"Then what are they? What's going on?"

He tries to think rationally, and he keeps his voice perfectly calm — at least, as calm as it can get. Losing control won't do anything besides scare his brothers. But it's hard.

Inside, he trembles memories of alleyways and dark metal.

Eduard takes a deep breath.

"The crown prince sent the boots for us."

Toris freezes.

"What?"

"I said the crown prince sent the boots for us."

Any minute now, he expects Eduard and Raivis to burst out laughing. To explain that they've caught him in another joke, and that they've procured the boots for just this one scene. But neither of them starts laughing.

Their faces are serious.

"I… I'm sorry. What?"

Visions of a halo of golden hair float up from his memories. He remembers it all so clearly, and yet -

It couldn't possibly be real.

"It's true," Eduard affirms. "When you were… sleeping, Sir Lukas delivered pairs for all of us. You have a pair, too."

"H-huh?!"

"The package is on your bedside table. They're quite comfortable." Eduard says. He crosses his legs and taps his boots.

"They're a bit tight on the toes—" Raivis starts, but Eduard elbows him before he can get any further.

Not that Toris would have cared at the moment.

Eduard's face is as hard and clear as the boots, and as he looks at it, Toris's stomach aches.

What they're telling him right now goes against any logic he's learned within the past ten years. In his world, crown princes don't give anything to paupers — they don't even give a damn. Now Eduard is saying that they've received boots.

It's something he can't wrap his mind around, no matter how hard he tries.

It's something he needs to see.

"Bedside table, huh…" Toris mutters, dazed.

He glances over to the bedside table, and -

A box sits on the oak.

It's wooden, finely-sanded with no blemishes. And as Toris takes the fine box and sets it onto his lap, he expects this to be the thing that shatters the illusion. Any minute now they'll say it's a joke. They're just… just pretending.

He lifts up the heavy top, removes layer after layer of delicate crimson tissue paper.

Any minute now.

The last layer of tissue paper rests on a lumpy object. Toris inhales before pulling it off gently.

He gasps.

A pair of leather boots rests at the bottom of the wooden box.

They're smooth and clean, so blindingly bright in the soft morning light that it almost hurts to look at them. The leather is high quality — nothing like the worn cloth shoes Georgi and Vladimir were forced to pass down to them. The soles are thick and sturdy. And when Toris checks the inside of the boots…

For the first time in a long, long while, the foot size matches his own.

He pulls a boot out, flips it over, and finds the crest of the Pospolitan royal family emblazoned on the back. A sharp-eyed eagle stares proudly up at him.

That crest alone is worth more than he has ever owned in his entire life.

Suddenly, it's a little hard to breathe.

"They're pretty," Raivis breathes. "So much better than those old things we had before."

"Don't say that," Toris admonishes, stroking the leather with one finger. It's nice and firm under his hand.

"It's true, though."

"Yes, but it was better than not having shoes at all. It could have been way worse for us."

He holds one boot up to the light, frowning slightly, and analyzes the surface for any imperfections. He finds none. The boots are absolutely perfect. Even if he did find any imperfections, though, he wouldn't mind. This is already more than he deserves.

As shocked and confused as he may he… Toris Laurinaitis is still incredibly grateful for the gift. It's been a long, long time since anyone has given him anything this thoughtful.

Which is yet another reason why he needs to find out why he received it.

He gingerly lays the boot back into the box and turns to Eduard.

"Eduard… You're sure the crown prince sent these?"

"Of course," Eduard answers. "Sir Lukas told us so."

Toris makes a mental note to thank Sir Lukas alongside the crown prince later.

"And you're sure that the crown prince meant to give these to us."

"Yes. Sir Lukas specifically said so. He said, 'These come from the crown prince for you, Raivis, and Toris'. Then he turned on his heel and left."

Raivis opens his mouth and-

Eduard elbows him again.

"You two thanked him, right?"

Eduard and Raivis, who rubs his side with a pained expression, nod.

"Good."

There's a beat of silence.

"There's still something I don't understand," Toris confesses a moment later. "Why… why us, out of all people?"

Suddenly, he remembers something.

"Why do you keep elbowing Raivis?" Toris asks Eduard.

He then turns to Raivis, crossing his arms and setting his face seriously.

"What did you mean earlier when you said 'we could be in trouble'?"

Raivis sputters.

"Well, you see…" He says, side-eyeing Eduard.

Eduard opens his mouth to delay the inevitable word vomit, but Toris holds up a hand and stops him. "No. You tell me, Raivis Galante."

Out of anyone he knows, Toris trusts Raivis the most to tell the truth. Not because Raivis is the most naturally honest - but because he can never shut his mouth when asked.

Raivis sputters more, turns bright tomato red; Eduard shifts on the bed, wanting clearly to say something but knowing better than to say it now.

He gives Raivis time to think, staring at his younger brother dead on while waiting for him to speak. Adrenaline pushes through Toris's veins - he's tempted to break from the anticipation of it all.

Eventually, though, Raivis opens his mouth.

And he speaks, trembling.

"Um… Lukas also said that the crown prince gave us these boots because… uh… he said he didn't want you to ruin the floor in his study.

He wants to meet with you alone."

"Alone," Toris echoes.

"Yeah. He said it can happen whenever you're feeling better, so you can take your time, b-but…"

"The crown prince wants to meet with me alone."

"Yeah… T-Toris, are you feeling okay? Your face-"

Raivis presses a hand to his forehead, whispering something about red and hot.

Toris doesn't hear the rest.

All he can hear in his mind are those words, repeating over and over and over again.

He wants to meet with you alone.

The world spins, nauseating him to a dangerous degree, as the full implication of the thought settles in.

It's a trap, he thinks wildly. Toris takes deep breaths in a desperate attempt to settle his racing heart, but it only makes him think of dark basements and chilly bedrooms and his thoughts spin wilder. It's a trap. It's a trap. He did it. He did it.

And I was blind enough to fall for it.

It all makes sense now. The carriage and the smiles and the fancy boots.

All the time, the crown prince was luring them in and they didn't even realize it.

Raivis's rambling voice breaks through the din.

"It won't be that bad - they seem like good people. Good and kind…"

Raivis - Raivis, his naive little brother, who still thinks that there can be good in the world. Who sings to songbirds in the morning and gives too much of himself away. Who reminds him a little bit of himself.

Toris chokes up.

"The last time we saw kind was when Ivan Zimavich trapped us in that house," he spits. Raivis flinches, tears gathering in his eyes - and it hurts so much that Toris's heart pangs. But he can't have his brothers hurt again - not like this - not when they've already gotten this far. "And now look at where we are." Trapped. Again.

Eduard pushes his glasses up.

"Leave this to me," he says to a cowering Raivis, who nods. He sighs, pats Raivis's head gently. Acts as this is just a simple sibling's squabble, and not a return to the world as they know it.

"Toris," Eduard says firmly. "We understand how you feel. Really, we do. We…" He pauses as he struggles to find the right words. When Eduard finds them, his voice comes out soft and hoarse. "... we were in that house, too.

We haven't forgotten how Ivan Zimavich… treated us there. We remember it every single day. As I'm sure you do, too."

Toris clenches his fists.

"I remember," he says, his heart aching.

Eduard continues.

"At the same time… we remember life before the house, too. We remember life back when we lived at the old home… when mama was still alive."

Warm tears pluck at the corners of Toris's eyes, almost falling when he remembers their mother smiling while walking amongst the rye fields on every hot summer's day.

"And… don't you remember what mama used to say when we lived there? 'If a person seems wicked, do not cast him away'?"

And suddenly, Toris knows exactly where Eduard is going.

The wolf had moved in for the kill.

"That doesn't apply to this," Toris cuts in. "This is a life or death situation we're talking about."

No one around him seemed to understand. No one grasped the gravity of the situation. Didn't they know that they could get hurt? Didn't they know that he didn't want them to get hurt?

Eduard looks at him with an incomprehensible look on his face, a face like the ripple of water over a calm pond. Toris wants to take him by the shoulders and shake gently, to just make him see before he takes another gentle hand.

"This is critical," Toris presses.

"No. No, it's not," Eduard replies.

"You know as well as I do what things kindness can hide."

"Not all kind people are like that."

Toris freezes.

And with those words, he finally understands the look in those cornflower blue eyes.

It's sadness.

No, Toris thinks, stricken. No, no, no.

"Toris… the crown prince and the rest of the royal family are kind people. Decent people," Eduard says. And Toris watches, horrified, as Raivis nods in agreement. "They have no reason to hurt us."

"We thought Ivan Zimavich was kind, too," Toris argues. "We thought he was kind, and yet -"

Eduard sighs, pushing up his gladses. "I know we thought he was like that. But these people aren't Ivan Zimavich. Whatever it is they're showing us is good." He sighs. "They're the leaders of our country. They care for us."

"That's what they show on the outside."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that they can be double-sided, Ed. For all we know, these same kind people can turn on us at any moment. They could kill us right here and cover it up. No one would bat an eye. All because they seem decent."

"You're being unreasonable," Eduard says calmly.

The comment hits like a punch to the gut.

"I'm being unreasonable." Toris chuckles. "I'm being unreasonable. I - I'm being unreasonable for questioning this and making sure that we won't starve again?!"

"I know it's going to be hard, but you have to just -"

"I have to just what, Eduard? What, should I bend over and let the crown prince lead us into another alleyway? Should I stand and watch as he gives us another ten years of hard labor? Or should I - should I sit and smile politely as he beats us senseless again?"

Toris grabs a fistful of his blanket and digs his nails into his palms, trying desperately to resist the urge to dig them into his back.

"Stop it," Raivis whimpers, rocking back and forth slightly. "Stop it, you two, stop it!"

Eduard breathes in and out so quickly that Toris thinks he might hyperventilate. An explosion of panic bursts in his chest - but Eduard struggles on, lifting his chin up high.

This time, his placid face is blazing.

"Not everyone in this world is going to be like Ivan Zimavich. Yes, we met one bad man who did bad things to us, but that does not mean that everyone else in world will do those things to us, too."

Toris's face burns as he and Eduard stare each other down. "There are always going to be some people who will do those bad things. And we are always going to need to keep our guard up for them."

"Some people, not all."

"That doesn't change the fact that we have to be skeptical-"

"It doesn't mean that we should alienate the rest of the world, either."

"How do you know that the crown prince is part of the rest of the world? How do you know that he's not—" Toris practically spits the next part out, "one of them?!"

"Because I saw it!" Eduard cries, raising his voice for the first time in years. "Do you think that if the crown prince really wanted to discard us, he would give us these boots?" He points to the box on Toris's lap. "He could have given us any pair of shoes in the palace, and with the state we were in, we would have probably accepted any pair of shoes, too. But he gave us high quality boots. Boots with the crest of the Pospolitan royal family! If he thought we were so lowly, and he thought we were so disposable, he wouldn't even think to put these boots in the same room as us, much less on our feet!"

"He could have—"

"And do you think if he really thought we were so lowly, he would have gotten us umbrellas when we walked into the castle? That he would have waited for us on the steps? Do you think he would have told us that we can leave at any time?"

"Ed—"

"He wouldn't have. Because if he truly thought we are malleable and vulnerable as you imagine he thinks we are, he would think that we would be licking the dirt off of his boots just for the opportunity to breathe the same air as him."

"It could be a trap, Eduard! He could be grooming us to get used to him, and we wouldn't even know about it!"

"Trust me, he isn't."

"The last time we trusted someone -"

"That was the last time - this is the current time. If we keep on looking back into the past, we'll never face forward to the future!"

"Don't you know the saying that history repeats itself?"

"Only if we let it! Which we won't. If this situation turns out to be horrible, then yes — we will leave. But we have to at least see what will happen!"

Eduard breathes heavily.

Toris's mind whirls.

For ten years, all he's known kindness to be is one thing. And now his brother has the audacity - the guts - to suggest that it could be another.

He doesn't realize that he's bleeding until he sees a pinprick of red soak through the white sheets. He hisses, and draws his hand away from the bed sheets. He cut his palms.

There's a tense, heavy pause as they both stare at each other.

Eduard's gaze softens.

"The crown prince is kind, Toris. He means well."

"Eduard…"

"I thought this is what we wanted to happen. I thought all three of us wanted to get away from where we were."

"We do."

"So why aren't we? Why aren't we taking this opportunity?"

Because I'm sick of being controlled! Toris screams.

But he doesn't.

He can only stare down at the boots in front of him - the freshly shined boots.

Eduard sets his face firmly.

"Listen. If the crown prince thought we were as lowly as you think he thinks we are, and if he truly wasn't kind - do you think he would have said that we don't deserve to die?"

Toris thinks back to that moment. The way the crown prince sounded so earnest.

"Because," Eduard continues, his voice soft, "I don't think he would have."

Toris squeezes his eyes shut.

And deep down, that sweet, sentimental part of him thinks that Eduard is right.

"You know it too, Raivis, and so do you, Toris. You know it, but you just won't accept it."

The world has flipped and spun on its axis. The previously calm brown walls now scream in his face, making him want to get outoutout — but he can't move his arms, and he can't move his legs, and he can't even think, really. Because all he can see is the crown prince's smile, bright as the sun — and when it had once been blinding, making him wanting to shrivel into a ball, everything Eduard said reshapes it into something familiar and unknown all at once. Something warm and searching and kind.

Kind.

Not a wolf in sheep's clothing, just a sheep.

Outside, the sunlight filters through the windows, casting dancing shadows on the floor.

"You just have to try to trust again, Toris."

Trust.

It's so simple in theory.

It's sitting in a rainy alleyway, staring up at a smiling face, and taking a proffered hand.

But it's also lying down on a white stretcher, staring up at a raining sky, and listening to a lush voice telling a guard to be gentle.

Really, it's so simple.

So pure.

But how do I even know who to trust?

Do I….

Do I even remember what trust is?

Do I want to remember what it is?

The door bursts open with a rife of color and sounds. Toris jolts as a healer dressed in white bustles her way into the room, followed by a girl in a plain brown dress carrying a slew of potions and bandages. Eduard, who gives him a heavy look, and Raivis, who wipes silent tears from his cheeks, scoot off of their bed.

The healer smiles when she sees him.

"Oh good!" She cries, clapping her hands together. "You're awake. How are you feeling, my dear?"

I don't know.

I don't know anything anymore.

All he can see is a wreath of golden haloed hair and green eyes staring back at him.

And it makes him feel light as a bird and heavy as a stone all at once.

There's a moment of hesitation as Toris, disoriented, places the shoebox onto his bedside table.

"I'm good," Toris replies, smiling at the healer as she bustles over to check his wounds.

But really, that couldn't be further from the truth.


Lipska Castle is based off of Moszna Castle in Poland. It's truly a lovely building.

Anyways - hello! I'm back! Sorry for the long wait! OTL I know I said that I would be updating five chapters in a row, but... well, I was going over my notes, and I decided I needed to add more to the prologue to really establish things. ^^;; I hope it hasn't been too boring. Don't worry - after the next prologue chapter, we'll be launching into the main story. That'll be sure to get the blood pumping.

Speaking of blood pumping - ahh, poor Toris! I feel like a monster. ;w;; The kid doesn't deserve everything I've put him through. (And everything I'm going to put him through.) Fear not, though - it'll get better for him eventually. (Maybe. I hope so.)

I'm sorry if him and Eduard and Raivis all sound somewhat similar / OOC. I haven't written them in a while, so bare with me as I get a hang on their character again. The same applies to Feliks and Lukas.

It was fun to write them, though! I really missed these dorks. ^^

I don't really have too much to add this chapter, so I'll end this Author's Note here. As always, if you have any thoughts about this chapter, please, please feel free to leave a comment or shoot me a PM! I'd love to be able to hear what you guys liked and disliked so I can make this story even better.

I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter of Knight Unexpected! Thank you for your support, and I'll see you next time~

-NC

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