Happy Birthday, Count Rosenberg (30.6.19)

No schemes, no masterplans, no incriminating photos and certainly no psychological manipulation of any upstart princes.

Well, he wouldn't pass on any of the above if he got the chance, but he wouldn't go out of his way.

Count Rosenberg masked his thoughts with a well-practiced smile, stepping down Weisburg Palace's staircase.

Toying with the princes and their tutor was a guilty pleasure, he would admit. But dismantling a palace from the inside-out wasn't effortless, despite all appearances to the contrary. Days off were meant to be days off. Though that usually did not imply "day off from trying to take over the kingdom" for most people…

He flicked through the folder that he'd been given by King Viktor, the folder being the reason he'd had to come out to Weisburg Palace. "Day off" in the sense that he'd still had to stop by and pick up a copy of the royal family's upcoming schedule, because Eins was too antisocial—amongst other things—to even leave his room, let alone come to the palace himself to—

'Hey!'

Well, speak of the little devils and they shall appear.

Count Rosenberg plastered a smile on his face again and stepped onto the marble floor to greet the princes. All four of them looked like they'd rather be eating charcoal, or doing mental arithmetic, judging by the look on Prince Leonhard's face. 'Your Highnesses. To what do I owe the pleasure?' He noted the royal tutor standing off to the side, then smirked and said, 'I'm surprised you have the time to be socialising if you want a shot at the throne, you know.'

A little forced, but the princes blew up like a pack of firecrackers right on cue.

'How dare you, you—'

'That's not fair—whoa, Leonhard, heel!' Licht yelped, hauling Leonhard back with a scrape of boot heels on marble.

'You dare insinuate that, that…' Bruno shut his mouth so hard that his teeth clicked, and glowered.

Kai looked back and forth between Bruno and the other two princes, then gave up. 'ENOUGH!' Time stopped, and Kai hauled Leonhard off the floor by the collar, shook his head at Licht, and patted Bruno on the shoulder. 'Behave.'

'…Yes, Kai.'

Count Rosenberg raised an eyebrow. 'If we're quite done exchanging pleasantries… may I excuse myself?'

'Ah. No.' They glanced at each other, and after some back and forth, they plastered on fake grins and held out a box. 'Happy Birthday!'

Count Rosenberg flinched. He didn't know which was more unnatural, the smiles or the gift-giving.

'What are you waiting for?' Leonhard asked, unimpressed. 'It's not going to explode.'

'And it's not going to start spewing purple smoke, but dear me—' Licht winked, '—that is a good idea, come to think of it.'

Rosenberg gritted his teeth behind his smile, and took the thing off Leonhard's hands. Whatever the princes were up to, the only way out of this mess was to accept the gift and therefore expedite the matter as quickly as possible.

'Thank you—' He stopped. 'Are you quite serious?'

But they were—they all stood waiting for him not to just take it, but to open it as well.

Give me strength… He bit back a long-suffering sigh, and took the lid off. He'd compliment them on whatever it was and get out of there at once, even if they'd defaulted to a gift-giving cliche along the lines of a candle—

'I beg your pardon? Shoes?'

Kai hesitatingly held up a hand. 'It was the first thing we thought of. We always see you wearing them, so…'

They were right, for once. They'd given him a pair of spectator shoes in the vein of what he normally wore, otherwise known as co-respondent shoes—a low-heeled, oxford, semi-brogue made of polished black and white leather.

He forced another smile, 'My, isn't that sweet. How… charming.'

Licht rolled his eyes. 'Told you he'd respond well.'

Rosenberg blinked. Respond. Co-respondent shoes. Co-respond—He glared and said, 'I say, Prince, please tell me you did not pick that gift expressly to—'

Leonhard tapped the box. 'Go on, keep going. There's four of us so there's four gifts. Four.'

'…Oh. My, how generous,' Rosenberg said with a winning smile, while wanting nothing more than to roll his eyes and make his escape. 'Is there no end to it?'

He moved aside the tissue paper and pulled out two jars of… 'Shoe polish?'

Bruno raised his eyebrows. 'Yes. A fitting accompaniment. Though I don't know how on earth you have the time and energy to maintain and polish a pair of two-toned shoes and still have a hand in all our affairs…'

Rosenberg raised his eyebrows in return. 'The wealthy, as implied by the choice of footwear, have a lot of time on their hands—but dear me, Prince Bruno, are you implying something yourself—'

'Next!'

'Yes, Prince Leonhard, I imagine that this is your gift so thank you for the, er… shoelaces. Lovely, very appropriate.'

Leonhard placed his hands on his hips and said, 'Well, I wouldn't know—it was dearest brother Bruno's recommendation and I wouldn't waste more than two seconds on picking out a gift for someone as annoying as you! Happy birthday,' he tacked on after a moment's thought.

Bruno clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned.

Rosenberg gritted his teeth, still smiling. 'Many thanks, Prince Leonhard.'

'And lucky last,' Licht said, prompting Rosenberg to fish around in the box again. 'A …bootjack!' Licht tipped his head to the side. 'Such an ordinary and unoriginal gift… but I suppose we couldn't expect anything more from the fifth prince, who has no chance at the throne and no business even trying given glorious imminence of Eins' inevitable ascension—'

Rosenberg narrowed his eyes. 'Are you quite finished—'

'—almost—and said fifth prince may as well recognise his own incompetence and inadequacy now and run away to work in town or simply throw himself off the palace balcony, because that would save a certain someone the effort of following up a non-existent threat to his oh-so-precious prince—not naming any names but... Count Rosenberg—WHOOPS DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD—anywayyy,' Licht twirled around, and bowed. 'Many happy returns. Okay, I'm done,' he said, and flipped his golden hair back over his shoulder. 'Take five.'

Rosenberg was probably going to dislocate his jaw in his efforts to keep his smile in place. Keep it together… The edges of his vision burned, and he said, 'My, what a pretty speech.'

Licht shrugged. 'Eh, I try. Moving right along!' he said, stepping back into line with the rest of the princes. 'Even though you're a total and utter pain in the neck…'

'Even though you're more rather Prince Eins' personal acquaintance rather than ours…' Bruno said hastily.

'We wanted to get you a gift…' Kai added.

'…Because it's the right thing to do!' Leonhard finished. He paused. 'Even though you're a scheming, narcissistic jerk who doesn't deserve it, and totally shady. Just saying!'

Decorum be d_ed—and Count Rosenberg finally snapped.

A terrifying grin lit his features. 'My, and what a useful gift—all the better to chase you down the halls of hell with!' he snarled.

The princes shrieked in terror and sprinted for the nearest set of doors.

'Cripes—we really ticked him off!'

'Run for it!'

'Gyaaah!'

The doors slammed. Professor Heine raised his eyebrows. Rosenberg sighed. He'd certainly polished his rough, brash demeanour since childhood, but sometimes it just… slipped out. 'And good day to you as well, Sir.'

'Thank you, and good day to you too.' Heine pressed a package into the count's free hand as he passed. 'Many happy returns.'

'Thank… you…' Rosenberg trailed off. 'Are you quite serious? Socks?'

'What were you wanting?' Heine bit his lip, and of all things, a half-smile quirked his lips. 'My resignation letter?'

Rosenberg's mouth fell open. Then his eyes narrowed to slits and he said, 'Mark my words—the day will come when you will write that letter in your own blood, you filthy peasant—'

Yet he couldn't manage the princes' gifts and yell with accompanying gestures at the same time , meaning that he nearly dropped the box but for Heine's assistance.

'Now, now, careful. You'll have a spill. And how would you wear those pretty new shoes if you sprained your ankle, pray tell?'

'I say, sir!'

'Excuse me, I have lessons to write…'

'Get back here—' but it was futile, and the tutor disappeared faster than Leonhard when there was torte on offer.

'…Curses be upon them all.'

Forget a day off—he was going to go back to Schwarz and work out his frustration with a week's worth of work. And if he had to vent said frustration with a well-placed kick against a table-leg, then at least he had a spare pair of shoes courtesy of some certain insufferable princes.

The End