I'm sorry that chapter there is so late. I really didn't mean for it to be this late. I'm sorry.

I did some research on ranks and titles and how one should be addressed. And I remembered why I stopped working on these kinds of stories.

*ducks to avoid an onslaught of tomatoes* I just know I'm going to get flamed for this.

In case you're wondering, "Turris Ebernea" means "ivory tower" in Latin. (Been meaning to get that straightened out).

6 makes an appearance in this chapter, at last. :) And 5 is mentioned but not seen. I hope to have him appear soon.

Two days. Two days had gone by since the count from Turris Ebernea came to Numerus. 9 spent those two days in the library and the garden, as well as attending the council meetings with 2. But the thought of the arranged marriage was still on 9's mind, and the young prince was more compelled to figure out ways to get out of it.

After the count returns to his kingdom, 9 would be spending every free minute trying to think of ways to get out of the arranged marriage.

Today, though, he was on his way to the garden after spending an hour doing a question-and-answer session in the Throne Room. He was in dire need of time alone, away from his usual routine. He passed a few servants on the way, all greeting him with deference. 9 did his best to not appear annoyed.

By the time he arrived at the garden, he went straight to his favorite spot when he saw 1 sitting already sitting there.

"Oh, 1!," chirped 9. "Ah, I mean, Count, I—"

"Please," interrupted 1, "no need for that."

9 paused.

"How was the question-and-answer session?," asked 1.

The zippered stitchpunk sighed, taking a seat on the stone bench next to him.

"It went faster than usual," said 9. "I was just desperate to get out of there."

9 stared off, looking as though he was trying to remember something he forgot.

"Father said we'll be getting resupplied in a few days," said 9. "I'll have to attend as I usually do."

1 nodded.

Supplies such as furniture, books in the stitchpunks' size, fabric, needles, and paint, and other such criteria was usually brought in by trained animals. These animals were usually dogs, other times squirrels and birds, who would pull a wagon, if they were the non-flying the of animal. Birds would drop supplies usually bring supplies that didn't break easily. Aside from supplies, birds were needed for carrying mail. Although the means of communicating was changing the stitchpunks found it easier to deliver handwritten letters and send them by air.

"Have you ever ridden on a bird before?," queried 1.

9 looked at him. "I've wanted to," he said, "but Father doesn't allow it. Says it's too dangerous for me."

He looked up at the sky. He had seen flocks of birds flying past the kingdoms. Some had landed on the streets of Nunerus. Those birds were usually gazed upon but not touched. The only birds 9 had seen were the trained ones, used to carry mail. Some stitchpunks kept birds as pets with the legal papers specifying they owned the right to keep such animals. But other animals, the bigger animals, like cats, deer, horse, rats, cattle were ones 9 had never seen before. Although he'd seen dogs before during resupplying day, he had never had the opportunity to see other, much larger land animals. He'd read about them in the royal library, and how he'd love to see one up close one day.

"Have you heard of the country Equilirium?," asked 1, bringing 9 out of his thoughts.

The young prince glanced up at him.

"...I have," he replied, albeit hesitantly.

"I've heard stories about it," said 1, "though most of it gossip. But it's mostly good things they say."

9 smiled.

Equilirium was a country up north, and it was said to be balanced with humans and stitchpunks living side by side. It was described as an egalitarian country with a diversity of different cultures living together. Equilirium had a democracy; every five years a new candidate was elected to run the country. There were rumors that the citizens of Equlirium were working in building small machines that were based off animals. Machines that the stitchpunks could use to ride to replace real, living animals from being trained to mount a stitchpunk. There were some who were opposed to the idea, but many supported it, vouched for the experiment to follow through. Whether those rumors turn out to be real or remains to be seen, but it was something that 9 wanted to see through.

"I'd like to go there someday," mused 1, "whether it'd be for business or for pleasure."

The thought brought a smile to 9's face.

"I wish I could go there, too," he said.

"Perhaps you might," said 1.

The zippered stitchpunk looked at him for a minute before turning away to gaze at the flowers.

A strong breeze shook the trees. The petals on the roses were blown away, scattering in the air until they fell on the ground. 9 looked up at the bonsai trees. They were the right size for a stitchpunk to climb, but too small for a bird to perch on. He'd seen birds come for a landing in the garden, most of those being small songbirds. 9 had seen them, tempted to touch them, but he always refrained from doing so and just watched them. When they flew away, it filled 9 with a yearning to ride such creatures.

"Sometimes I wish," spoke 9, "that for one day...I wasn't a prince."

The count looked at him, slitted pupils widening slightly.

"Where would you go if you weren't a prince?," he asked.

"Anywhere I can think of," replied 9. "I could go to the other kingdoms without a bodyguard."

"That would make exploring more exciting."

"And," said 9, "I also want to find someone I knew."

This piqued 1's interest enough to pay more attention.

"Really?," he quoth. "Tell me."

9 gave a small smile.

"He was my friend. His name's 5. He was an apprentice to the blacksmith. About a year ago, he completed his apprenticeship, took a job in another kingdom in the northwest."

"Have you stayed in touch with him?," asked 1.

"Yes," said 9, "we write letters to each other whenever we can. Although I haven't heard from him in two months."

"Maybe he is simply busy." 1 offered a smile, if it would reassure the young prince.

"You might be right," said 9. "I just miss him."

A set of footsteps grabbed 9's attention. Glancing up, he saw his father walk up to him and the count. 9 took the time take in 2's appearance. He was in his fine robes and crown, but what grabbed his attention was the cane he used. 2 didn't usually use his cane unless he was exhausted. He thought, perhaps, this was one of those days. 9 rose from the bench.

"Father," he said as he walked to 2. 9 put a hand to his shoulder.

"Don't fret, son," said 2, chuckling. He turned to the count, saying, "I take it your visit has been going well?"

"Oh, of course," replied 1, "it's been delightful."

"And my son has been showing you around, like I asked him to."

This made 9 look away sheepishly. It wasn't something he liked having brought up.

"Yes, he has," said 1.

2 smiled.

"If you'll excuse us," he said, "I need to talk to my son alone."

Getting the hint, 1 stood up.

"But of course," he said, "I'll be heading to my room in the guest suite."

1 gave them both a bow, then he strode along. 9 watched him pass him and 2. He took a peek at him before looking at his father.

"What did you need to talk to me about?"

"Let me sit down first," said 2, walking up to the stone bench.

As soon as 2 was seated, 9, who chose to stand, waited for his father to tell him whatever it was he was going to tell him.

"Yes, Father?," said 9.

2 breathed in a sigh.

"As you know," he spoke, "the mention of your betrothal."

9 winced, letting the news crush him all over again. 2 continued.

"I have invited Crown Princess of the South Kingdom to the grand Masquerade Ball next month."

The young prince felt his nerves rile up.

"The Princess Valora," said 2, "is anxious to meet you, she will be coming with her father, the King of the South Kingdom..."

"You're trying to tell me I'm going to meet her," said 9, registering the message.

2 blinked his gold-rimmed optics.

"Yes, that is exactly what I am telling you."

"If I have to welcome her to the kingdom," said 9, "then it is only courteous that I be on my best behavior."

2 paused. "Well, yes, that is an important rule on your part."

"But I still have my doubts about this arrangement," uttered 9.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the prince and his father. All 9 wanted to do was shout out that he didn't want to get married.

"I know what you're thinking, 9," said 2, shifting his weight to his right, "I was nervous at first when I got married—"

"Yes, but you chose to marry for love!," interjected 9, voice suddenly hardening. "If you didn't follow the same rules, why should I—"

"The kingdoms must be united to bring peace," said 2, voice almost as hard as 9's.

"I know that," retorted 9, "but there has to be another way."

2 closed his optics. "I wish there was another way, son, but the plan has to go accordingly."

With me as the pawn, 9 thought bitterly.

"I still don't agree to this," said the zippered stitchpunk, "but I will go with this plan, and welcome the Crown Princess when she comes to the Masquerade Ball."

It took 2 a moment to grab his bearings and stand up. He planted his cane on the ground, feeling the weight shifting. He almost lost his balance until 9 grabbed his shoulders.

"Are you alright, Father?," asked 9.

"Yes, I'm fine," replied 2.

9 didn't believe it, or he chose not to believe it. He may be upset about the arranged marriage, but he cared about his father and his health. Seeing him with his cane sent out all the signals, and he wasn't letting the prince be aware of it.

"Let me take you to your room," offered 9.

"That's all right, son," remarked 2, waving him off, a polite smile on his face. "I'll manage on my own."

He didn't want to, but 9 knew it would cause more headache if he prod on.

"Very well, then," said 9.

2 nodded. His gait was slower than when he approached 9. The prince watched him leave, thinking he should have taken him to his room anyways. But now he had even more on his mind. The Masquerade Ball was an annual event held at the palace, and it was 9's job, along with his father's to welcome the guests. Over the last few years, it became 9's turn to host the Ball while 2 took to greeting the guest when they arrived. He loved the Masquerade Ball on account that he got to dress up in a costume and forget about the world. He was going to attend the Ball and welcome the Crown Princess while also finding a way to avoid her for most of the night.

With that, 9 smiled. He was looking forward to the Masquerade Ball.

1 stepped out of his room, surprised to see the prince standing beside his doorway.

"Oh," he said, "Your Highness."

"Please," said 9, smiling, "no need for that."

The count, registering the joke being used on him, gave a breathy chuckle.

"I see you're leaving," said 9.

"I am, yes," replied 1. He began walking down the hall. 9 followed beside him.

Just ask him. 9 thought, looking down at the ground.

"Um, 1," he said.

1 looked at him, smiling. He seemed pleased that he wasn't calling him by his title.

"I wanted to," began 9 tentatively, "invite you to the Masquerade Ball next month."

The count looked at him, making 9 glance away.

"The Masquerade Ball," echoed 1. "Hmm. It sounds wonderful."

9 looked back at him, waiting to hear his answer.

"I'd be delighted to attend, Prince 9," said the count. 9 smiled.

The two looked up to see 2 walking toward them. He was still using his cane. This got 9 to don a worried look, but he wasn't going to let it get to him.

"Count 1," said 2, looking at 1, "leaving for Turris Ebernea, I presume?"

"I am," replied 1, nodding, "I am."

"I'm glad to have you visit."

"Um, Father," said 9, looking at 2, "I...I've invited Count 1 to the Masquerade Ball next month." He cleared his throat. "I...I hope you don't mind."

2 chuckled. "I don't mind, son." He turned to look at 1. "We'd be glad to have you at the Masquerade Ball as our guest of honor."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," said 1, bowing to him. Turning to 9, he bowed, saying, "I hope to see you there, Prince."

"Of course," said 9.

2 looked from the count to 9. "Oh, son, I was about to tell you to go see 6 in the Royal Gallery."

9 blinked. "Ah, right," he uttered, "for the portrait."

2 nodded.

"I'll be going then," said 9.

He strode past him and the count, mind still thinking about the Ball. But nonetheless, he walked down the hall for the Royal Gallery.

The Royal Painter 6 was a stitchpunk with black-and-white striped fabric. He had pen-nibs for fingers, making painting a breeze. He also had a mop of messy black yarn hair. 6 also had one optic smaller than the other; the left being gold, and the right silver. It was a trait 9 found fascinating. For some strange reason 6 wore a black key around his neck. 9 often thought the key got in the way of his artwork, but the striped stitchpunk assured him that that wasn't the case, and he would paint the day away.

The Royal Gallery was located on the ground floor, where there was plenty of light from the numerous windows. Shipments of canvases every week provided the artist with an endless drive for painting. Of course, aside from paint, 6 also worked with ink in a variety of colors. When his pen-nibs didn't do it, he would use paintbrushes for the backdrop of the painting.

9 stepped into the Gallery, looking from the left to the right before he spotted the striped artist standing before a canvas.

"6," he said.

The black-and-white stitchpunk looked away from his canvas and regarded the prince.

"Oh, Prince, y-you're—"

"Please, you don't need to call me 'Prince,'" interrupted 9 politely.

6 smiled, nodding.

"S-sorry," he said meekly. "I f-forget."

9 smiled. "Don't worry about it."

The striped artist sidled over to a canvas that had a half-finished portrait of 9. He motioned over for the prince to stand in front of the ornate chair. As part of the modeling, 9 stood instead of sitting in the chair. He put a hand on the chair's armrest, and looked toward 6. The striped stitchpunk dipped his hand in an open bottle of paint. Before he could get started, 6 spoke.

"I h-heard about," he stammered, "y-your...a-arranged m-marriage."

9 furrowed his brow. Getting 6 to talk was part of his routine, but he didn't think he'd talk about the arranged marriage. But then again, it was all everyone could talk about.

"I'm," said 9, optics darting to the floor, "dreading it."

6's mismatched optics blinked. His hand, the one dipped in paint was held over the canvas, paint dripping.

"I u-understand your...disdain towards it," said 6.

The prince nodded.

"Who a-are you...arranged t-to marry?"

9 sucked in a breath, wishing he didn't have to answer that.

"The Crown Princess of the South Kingdom," he said with a hint of disgust in his voice.

6 paused. "Oh. T-the Princess..of—the South."

The zippered stitchpunk looked at him with a raised brow.

"I-I," he stuttered, "I just..."

"I know," said 9, "I hear she can be...shrill."

6 nodded.

"The p-portrait," he quoth, pen-nib finger pointing at the canvas.

"Ah, right," said 9.

6 gently pressed finger against the canvas and started painting.

9 stood while the striped artist did his work. While he painted, he thought about the Masquerade Ball that was coming up and having to put up with the Crown Princess of the South Kingdom. He thought about what his plan would be when she arrived. He could pretend to listen to whatever she had to say. It was the first thing that popped into his head. But then he remembered his father, and the exhaustion he had been trying to hide from him yesterday and today, apparently. He didn't want to admit it, but seeing his father walking with his cane sent out red flags. It worried 9, and he mentally kicked himself for being selfish when he didn't want to be and, yet, this arranged marriage was stripping him of his future.

"9?," said 6.

9 blinked.

"Yes, 6?" He didn't know whether to be surprised that he called him by his name and not his title. But he looked at the black-and-white striped artist, who sported a worried look.

"Um," said 6.

"Is the portrait done?," queried 9.

"N-no," answered 6, looking at the canvas, "it just...you seem...distracted."

9 looked at the floor.

"I am distracted," he admitted.

"The m-marriage?," said 6.

9 nodded.

"But," said the prince, "there's also...the Masquerade Ball."

A smile appeared on 6's face.

"Oh," he said, "t-that's...fun."

For as long as 9 had known 6, he had managed to sneak him into the Masquerade Ball in disguise. The costumes 9 chose for 6 were usually long, billowy, flowing robes with a hood that covered most of his face, and a mask. It did well with hiding his identity, and he always did his best to not give himself away.

"You d-don't s-sound...ex-ci-ted," said 6.

"I'm going to meet the Crown Princess at the Ball," explained 9.

6 frowned. "I see."

9 looked down at the chair, running his hand up and down the armrest.

"I dread meeting her," said 9, he turned to look at 6 and added, "but I'm also looking forward to it."

"W-why?," uttered 6.

"Because I have a plan," said 9, "to avoid the Princess as much as I can."

The striped artist blinked, a smile forming on his face. "H-how?"

"It involves a new friend I've made."

"New friend?"

The zippered stitchpunk smiled.

"You'll see," he said, "once he arrives."

6 tilted his head in confusion. He tugged at his black key, glancing at the canvas before peeking away at the floor.

9 smiled. Aside from the twins, 3 and 4, 6 proved to be a close friend. He and the twins would come up with ways to sneak him out of a royal duty he didn't want to attend. But most importantly, spending time with them was always on 9's mind. While he did indeed dread the upcoming Ball, he was looking forward to it. To spending as time at it with his father while also avoiding the Crown Princess.

He could hardly wait for the Masquerade Ball to start, and 9 already had a plan on hand. The other variable in his plan would be the Count of Turris Ebernea.

Again, I'm sorry chapter three was so delayed. I hope to pick the pace in the next chapter.