—two months later—

Kaz flips another piece of bread into the water, watching as the chattering turtleducks swim over to it. Their conflict ends when a larger duck, a mother or a father, moves them aside and picks up the food itself, using its mouth to cut it into tiny pieces. They're strange creatures, turtleducks, but he likes spending time with them all the same. They're the only ones here who don't expect anything of him. He can relax here.

He settles back down, lying on the grass. His robes are going to get stained and his hair might unravel out of its tiny topknot but he could care less. Let them see their stained and dirtied prince. He's not going to hide anything from the staff. They have to respect him regardless and he's spent too long trying to be a good son and not being who he is.

The sun's setting overhead so he uses the last of its energy to light up a ball of fire in his palm after throwing the large remaining chunk of bread he'd gotten from the kitchens to the ducks. Their squabbling distracts them from the flames he's holding, or they would be scared of him too. Like everyone else. He doesn't quite like how everyone is scared of him here.

Abstractly he has everything he could ever need except for his family and he'll go back to get them one day too. But having respect and power and importance hasn't been as fulfilling as he expected it to be. It's boring, that's what it is — he misses Zuya shouting at him and his parents' strict scoldings. He doesn't enjoy them, never had, but they were signs of normalcy. Yes, he didn't live a normal life in Ba Sing Se, but a life as the Fire Nation's Crown Prince isn't exactly easy either. It's better but it's worse in a different way.

He used to deal with whispers on the streets and the terrified glances he was given for being an 'other'. He'd thought, always, that being in the Fire Nation would mean he could leave that behind. But he's still an 'other', and his aunt is the Fire Lord, and everyone here is still scared of him. It's not too bad a feeling, definitely wasn't at first, but it's starting to grate on his nerves. Once he was treated like an ignorant child, like an outsider. Now he is here and he has everything but he's still an insolent child to the nobles and generals and guards of the palace.

He doesn't think they respect him so much as they fear him. And he'd wanted that in the Earth Kingdom. He couldn't have anything else because of his eyes or the color of his skin so he'd wanted fear, at least. But fear is getting old. He doesn't quite understand how Azula does it, spends her days shouting out cool orders and burning those who get too close. He misses the intimacy of family.

Every night before he went to sleep his parents would tell him and Zuya a story. Whether it was about the Blue Spirit or flying animals or swamps or ice floes they would say mystical tales. Well, Mom would, at least — Dad was never good with words. And he misses those stories, those strange escapes into another timeline. He thinks some part of himself had thought that Azula's tale was a fantasy, that he couldn't truly be a prince. But now he's here and he's realizing that's not true and that he could be a character in some kid's nighttime story.

The forgotten prince, he thinks as the sun finally falls. He extinguishes his palm and shakes out the crumbs in his hands into the water before carefully getting up. Yes, there are stains all over his clothing. Mom would have been so mad if he'd gotten his clothes dirty like this and she'd fix them. But here he has a collection of servants who manage his rooms and things like his laundry and they won't say a word.

He should go back . . . to his rooms. One of the many assistants who runs through the halls will likely tell him that he needs to join some sort of dinner with his aunt and her generals. Her is a stretch — for all of Azula's insanity he thinks she truly underestimated how vile those men are. He wonders what they spread out of the palace and he's surprised they didn't attempt to execute a coup in her absence. But then they wouldn't have to. She bends to most of their wills anyway.

He groans as he gets up, glad the courtyard is empty, and takes his hair out of this terrible style. His crown digs into his skin and is patently uncomfortable but he won't ever take it off. It's a representation of everything he's gained. So he puts it back into a sloppy knot that will surely terrorize his maidservant and steps down the hall to his rooms. There are two maids standing behind one of the pillars who duck out of the way when he walks past. He almost pays them no heed until he hears a giggle as he steps forward. He's bitter and angry today. He usually is. And while he doesn't normally pick fights with young girls he's willing to make an exception today.

"Hey!" He barks. The sound stills and can tell that they're trying to stay still behind the pillar. "I know you're there."

As Kaz realizes that they're not going to acknowledge his presence he grunts and steps brisky to the side, rounding the large chunk of stone itself to see the girls, about his age, suddenly look afraid. And then he feels bad again. He should be angry at them because they're probably laughing at him but he doesn't want to be needlessly mean.

At the end his vindictive side comes out. He's starting to get a little tired of bossing people around but right now it's fine. He can't grab them, he will never be that type of person, but he pulls himself up to his rising height and crosses his hands over his chest in a gesture that he hopes is assertive. He's sure that's not the reason they're cowering anyway. "What were you saying?"

"N—nothing, Prince Kazou," one of them chokes out, her golden eyes wide, and he doesn't really know where to go from here.

"I'm sure nothing isn't the reason you were laughing," he snarls. "Tell me."

And then the other one, silent so far, just points up to his head where his tufts of hair are spilling out of his topknot. It's clear what she's referencing and he almost blushes red with embarrassment before trying to scholarly calm himself. "You won't talk of such things again," he hisses, and the first girl flinches.

"Yes, Prince."

The other one doesn't speak at all, just grabs her friend's arm and starts tugging her away. They're both holding baskets of laundry. He thinks they might be his clothes and this time he does turn bright crimson. It's different when your mother is touching your underwear. It doesn't matter whether or not they're servants — no fourteen-year-old wants girls his age touching his clothing.

But at the end of the day they're successfully cowed, he thinks bitterly at their receding backs. Congrats, Kaz. You've terrorized more people. That's all you can do. Nobody likes you.

He's been pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind for a long time. His parents no longer like him, his sister and Aunt Ty don't. His peers never did, nor did the tea shop regulars. He's just never been approachable. And he'd wanted to come to the Fire Nation to be able to understand that sort of peer understanding, to work with others. But he thinks his only friend here might be the Fire Lord and that actually isn't that amazing. He hasn't even met any firebenders his own age. The only people in this palace his age are the servants; everyone else is much older than him. He's certain there's a Fire Nation school that their children go to but he's too old for that.

He has the barebones of an Earth Kingdom education and he doesn't understand Fire Nation policy at all. And he's been trying — he has tutors and an aide to help him with acclimatization — but even if he can understand the strange wordings of trade agreements easily nothing is teaching him how to be a friend. He wants firebending peers.

Kaz has been realizing that what he wanted was people who understood him and a supportive environment. The Fire Nation court is a different game altogether. He doesn't have to be particularly sane but he knows that if he wasn't powerful and rude he would have no power here. Nothing here works right. But he also doesn't want to go home because this is his responsibility now.

He slides open his door, ignoring the guard outside who also does a double-take at his messy hair, and collapses face first onto his bed. The last time he'd done this his mother had come in and hugged him. How long has it been since he's been hugged? When was the last time he talked with anyone besides his aunt in crisp orders? When was the last time he —

You should change. Your sheets are going to smell like ash.

All of a sudden he wants to choke. He always smells like ash now because he's always bending. Training makes him forget the past. His sheets are dirty and they carry the scent of smoke whenever he wakes up and then they're replaced when he comes back at night. It's rhythmic. It's what he gets, as a prince. He's not sure but he thinks that there is a group of servants whose only job is to manage him. It's a dream.

Except his sheets shouldn't smell like ash. He should shower again before going to bed. He wants someone to ask him how he is and what's wrong, ask why he's snapping and why he's angry, but nobody will. Nobody here likes him. They think he's like Azula and they consider her just mad. They think he's mad.

He buries his face in his pillow for a moment, breathing hard. Maybe he is mad. He doesn't know. He didn't run away for this, to be an outsider in a kingdom. He wanted friends and he wanted to be free. He has too much time to think. He doesn't have enough time to be anything. And he can't change.

His parents would be disappointed in the person he is but if he isn't this boy — Crown Prince Kazou, not Kaz, the tea guy's son — then he'll get run over by everyone else here. And gossip spreads so he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to do because nothing makes sense anymore.

There's a knock at the door and he doesn't open it. "What?" he asks, and then realizes he's currently smothering himself into his pillow. He lifts his head up and tries to yell without letting whoever's there understand what the tilt of his tone means. "What do you want?"

"The Fire Lord says you must attend tonight's private dinner with Lords Nen and Jiro. She issues a reminder to ensure that you prepare fully."

He doesn't want to go. He doesn't but sometimes he fears what his aunt will do if she's left alone without her private advisors for too long. He'd thought for the longest time that she was a strong Lord but he's realized she's as much a puppet here as he is. Only he knows it. Divine right to rule, yes. A strange world it is.

Something drips onto the pillow beneath him. It's a teardrop. He has been crying and now there are likely tracks across his face. And now he's expected to be dressed and ready for dinner. But he can't have his aide see him like this, so he drags himself out of his bed, slipping off the crimson covers. Such a height of luxury, only they feel like sandpaper against him. They feel wrong.

There's an armoire on his room's side which has a mirror on the side of it, carved of something flammable and he goes over to it, stares at himself in the reflection. He used to see his dad's face. He used to see his mother's lips and Zuya's smile. When was the last time he smiled? Not only are tear tracks running down his face but water is still brimming in his eyes. He reached a hand up and wipes off his eyelids, wipes off his face until his cheeks are flushed and his eyes look even more bleary. He can't let anyone see him like this.

Why not? He thinks bitterly. Everyone here lets me do anything — except be weak. He can't be weak. He's so trapped. Even though this cage is gilded and golden. It's better, he gazes at his reflection, at his choppy hair, straight lips, his appearing cheekbones. He's not just a kid. This is still better. They treated me like I was glass and now that's everything I can't be. He's strong. He's not just fourteen.

And then he's startled out of his reverie by someone knocking on the door. "Prince Kazou," he hears, and that's his aide Ryozo. "Are you once again in need of assistance —"

One, two three he counts, reaching for his eyes one last time and swiping across them. Maybe they'll look like they're swollen from anger and not a breakdown. "Come in, Ryozo. I'll need you to fix my hair."

He has a dinner to get to, after all.

Can I get an 'unreliable teen narrator'?