Chapter six is here, at last, which should've been posted ages ago. *wipes brow*
Writing this chapter took longer than it should've, but you know me. I always wanted to give it my all in every story. :) And I did enjoy writing this chapter.
Enjoy chapter six. :D
The sun shone full on 9's face, forcing him to open one optic. He peeked through his still-blurry vision. His room glowed with a golden light of the morning sun. He sat upright, stretching his arms. Memories came flooding back to him. He recalled the Masquerade Ball, meeting the Crown Princess, the Royal Garden, and his kiss with 1. He hadn't planned for it to happen, but it happened. Even though he tried to deny it, he enjoyed every second of it. 1's arms wrapped around him, their lips meeting, the heat rising between them. He enjoyed all of it.
9 looked over to his right. His costume from last night was displayed on the mannequin, ready to be stored away with the rest of and his father's Masquerade costumes. Getting out if bed, he made his way toward his wardrobe. He was about to pick his usual gray cape, but made for a dark forest green coat. He donned it on, then retrieved his crown. Once fully dressed, he stepped out of his room, looking from the left to the right. He closed his bedroom door, and walked down the corridor.
He went straight for the south wing, where 1 was staying. He wanted to get a few things off his mind, hoping not to bring up last night's fling. If it did, he would do his best to be discreet.
9 reached the door, knocking on it. He waited. He knocked again.
"Count?," he said.
He waited. He knocked again, and waited. When no answer came, he turned and walked away.
Sauntering down the stairs, he made his way for the Royal Garden. When he arrived, he saw 1 standing before the stone bench. 9 quickened his pace.
"1," he said, standing before the Count.
1 spun around, blinking his optics. He was still wearing his costume from last night, only he wasn't wearing the veil.
"Oh, Prince," said 1, "I, uh, I mean 9."
"Right," said 9.
An awkward silence passed between them.
"About last night..." 9 began but stopped himself.
"Yes?," spoke 1.
"I..."
9 stepped closer to 1, feeling the burden lift from him.
"Prince 9!," trilled a high voice.
9 winced at the sound of her voice. He and the Count turned to see Princess Valora approach them. She was still dressed in the same ensemble she came to the Ball to. 9 regained his composure and remembered to be civil.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing. 1 did the same, and bowed, too, not looking the Crown Princess in the optic.
"Prince, I was just looking for you," said Princess Valora.
"Well, you found me," replied 9, straightening up.
The Crown Princess chuckled breathily.
"Count," she said, optics landing on 1, "I'd take it you enjoyed your time at the Masquerade Ball, yes?"
"I did," answered 1.
9 stiffened, feeling 1's gaze on him.
"Prince," said Valora, "about last night. I had a grand time, even if there were a few...inconveniences."
9 remembered 6 bumping into her. He was grateful that 6 was disguised, or he would've been sacked.
"Yes, of course," said 9, "nothing to get upset over."
"That guest was rude," snapped Valora, fingers digging into her four boa. "You'd think they'd have a little more respect for royalty."
"I was not vexed," said 9 plainly, "rather, I enjoy a little humor every now and then."
Valora suppressed the urge to chuckle, though not in humor but in a mocking boast.
"Ah, well," she said, "your father is in the cabinet with the mine. It'll probably take the entire day. So I thought I'd spend the day out—with you."
9 blinked.
"Oh, uh," he stammered, "I see. Well, I suppose I can spend the day with you." He drew in a breath. "I'll go get the carriage ready."
"Splendid!," trilled the Crown Princess.
She looked past 9, gaze landing on 1, who showed nothing but discontentment.
"It's been a pleasure, Princess Valora," he said, bowing. Looking at 9, he stated, "I would like to talk to you later after you return from your expedition."
"Of course," answered 9, trying not to look him in the optic.
He watched the Count leave, yearning to join him instead of having to spend the day with the Crown Princess of the South.
He walked away, the Princess trailing behind, fully aware of her optics burning holes into the back of his head.
The sooner I get this over with, thought 9, the sooner I can work through my plan.
The carriage stopped before the art museum. The footmen stepped off, waltzing over to the door, opening it. 9 stepped out first, then held out his hand to the Crown Princess, who clasped his hand, gingerly exiting the carriage. Valora gazed at the building, the stairs up to the establishment numerous.
The museum, which was called "The Immersion Hall," was a place where citizens could go to look at art, mingle, and have an escape from everyday life. There was even a program that allowed young stitchpunk to attend classes and display their own artwork. Every year, a contest was held to find the next up and coming artist. 9 attended the contest last year, though 2 was unable to go. It had been a better experience being by himself, though 8 escorted him. 9 didn't mind; he got to see all sort of different artworks. From paintings to sculptures. And today, despite what the Crown Princess proclaimed, he was bent on enjoying himself, and perhaps pretend she wasn't there.
The two royals strode up the stairs, gartering attention from the bustling stitchpunks. It was something 9 had hoped to avoid, but no matter where he went, he would always be the center of attention. Valora seemed to be enjoying herself, she walked with an air of regality, practiced elegance in her steps. If she were a sculpture, she'd be the talk of the town.
Upon entering the museum, all optics were glued to him and the Crown Princess. Although 9 tried to ignore the stares, Princess Valora didn't seem to mind it.
"Where are we off to first?," asked Valora.
"I know just the spot," said 9.
He led the Crown Princess down the hall with the throng of stitchpunks clearing the way for them. 9 strode on, optics darting from painting to painting. Valora's footsteps made a precise tap against the marble floor. She, unlike 9, was enjoying the attention she gartered.
"It's over here," said 9, motioning to the left.
The Crown Princess followed him down that path, fiddling with her fur boa. She and 9 walked down the corridor leading into a wider, open hall.
"This way," said 9, strolling toward the right.
Valora's optics turned from one painting to the other. She kept an easy pace with 9, although she couldn't help but feel like there was an uneasiness in his gait.
A few steps further and the two royals arrived at their destination. They stood before a portrait, one that took almost the entire wall. 9 gazed at it, a smile forming on his face. He read the title. "The Divine Heavens," by Esatia.
The painting depicted a vast field with a golden gate that opened to a vast field. A sea of clouds was painted upon the blue sky. Two figures stood standing side by side, and it looked like they were holding hands. There was also a cluster of flowers added to the painting. 9 smiled.
"'The Divine Heavens'," said Valora, reading the plaque next to the painting.
"It's one of my favorites," uttered 9, not looking at the Crown Princess.
"What's your other favorite?," asked Valora.
"Oh," said 9, "it's over here."
Valora glimpsed at the painting for a second. She then followed 9 down the corridor to their right. The next painting wasn't that far away.
The next painting, which was called, "The Beatific Lands," was almost as large as the previous one they saw framed in a mahogany frame. The painting depicted a grassy cliffside with a rainbow bridge connecting to the night sky. 9 could discern a sea painted, he could tell from how the moonlight reflecting on the water was painted. It was a technique he couldn't identify. He also saw a white dove flying. It was painted to the right side. 9 looked over at the plaque, spotting the artist's name. It was painted by someone named Daesmuria.
"Hmm," said Valora, looking at the painting, "I like this one."
9 glimpsed at her briefly, then looked back at the painting.
"It's beautiful," he said.
"Have you met the artist?," asked the Crown Princess.
"No," replied 9.
Valora said nothing, only gazing at the painting. She stole a glance at 9 for a second, then looked away.
9 glimpsed down at the floor, feeling the time escape him.
"Excuse me for a minute," he said.
Valora turned her head. "Very well," she retorted. She spun around, looking at the painting once more.
9 walked away, searching the small crowds. He beetles his way past a few groups, who bowed to him when he passed them. 9 would smile at them, then continue on his way. He made a turn down a left corner, taking a glance at the plaque, not bothering to see the name of the artist. The painting was titled "Fall and Fall Again." It showed a winged creature with a broken wing, blood tricking from it, looking like it had been wounded. 9 stood, looked around, making sure to be precise.
He waited.
The moment he turned his head, 9 spotted them. 5 and Fenix were sauntering up to him. 9 took the moment to take in Fenix's appearance without the costume. He had silver hooks holding his seam together. His hands were black with gold-colored fingers. His feet were copper, similar to 5's. 5 didn't have his costume on, revealing two buttons holding his fabric together. He genuinely seemed more relaxed than he was last night wearing the costume.
"Prince," said Fenix, bowing. 5 bowed, too, as to not draw suspicion.
"At ease," replied 9.
The two stood up straight.
"Where are you two staying?," asked 9.
"At an inn about twenty blocks from here," said 5.
"How is your outing with the Crown Princess?," queried Fenix.
9 glimpsed over his shoulder, spotting the Princess Valora still standing before the painting.
"I left her for a moment to meet you guys here," he answered.
"So," said 5, "what did you want to tell us?"
9 looked back at him and Fenix, looking in all directions, hoping no one would overhear.
"I found out something about the Crown Princess," he whispered.
"What was it?," asked 5 in a whisper.
9 bit his lip.
"It has to do with her late sister's death," began 9, "that it...might not have been an accident."
5's optics widened. Fenix looked as though he had swallowed a lemon.
"You think...?," said 5.
"I don't know what to think," retorted 9, optics drifting to the floor.
"Where did you hear about this?," queried Fenix.
"From Count 1," said 9, "last night."
"How does he—" 5 was cut off by 9.
"He's known Princess Valora," he said, "he thinks she might be capable of doing something as to...kill her own sister."
5 looked past 9, optic staring hard at the Crown Princess, who still had her back turned.
"What are you going to do?," he asked, looking at 9.
"For now," replied 9, "I'm just going to lead her on." He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't intend on marrying someone like her."
"That is very brave of you," said Fenix.
9 looked back at him, then at 5.
"How long are you two staying?," he asked.
"A week," answered 5.
9 nodded.
"I'd better get back," he said, "so she doesn't get suspicious."
"Alright," said 5, "it's good seeing you again, and the twins. And 6. Even 8." He smiled broadly. "You know, last night, I saw him sneak away with that new female guard. What was her name? Oh, right; 7."
9 chuckled. He waved to them as he strolled away.
Containing his composure, he approached the Crown Princess. When his stirred around, she sported a look that was neither disgusted nor discontent. She curled her lip microscopically, fingers grabbing at her fur boa.
"Princess," said 9.
"You're back," she said, "I was starting to think you've snuck out and left me."
9 gave a breathy chuckle to keep it humorous.
"Is there another painting you wish to show me?," queried the Crown Princess.
"Yes," replied 9, "as a matter of fact, there is."
"Lead the way," hooted Valora.
9 smiled and led the Princess down the left, keen on getting the day done with.
The sooner this was over with, the better. The Crown Princess was grating enough without her flaunting her regality, like she were the last gem on Earth.
But all would come at its appointed time.
9 strode down the hall, the faint light of the sunset outside lighting his way. He had spent an hour with his father, Count 1, the Crown Princess and King Vegard in the parlor. They conversed of trips each had taken to different kingdoms. King Vegard spoke of ways to improve Numerus' government when his daughter and Prince 9 marry. 9 half-listened to most of it, wishing to be anywhere but here. Once it was through, the Crown Princess immediately shot up from her ornate chair, making her way to her guest room upstairs. King Vegard did the same while 2 carefully drifted back to his room. Only he and the Count of Turris Ebernea were left alone, finding the silence uncomfortably stifling. Both broke it by excusing themselves to their respected rooms. Only 9 was hoping to see the Count later on.
He opened the door to his bedroom, sighing languidly. He closed the door, noting that his Masquerade costume was gone and stored away. Making his way toward the balcony, he couldn't focus on one thing. Standing on the balcony, he laid his hands on the railing, looking on at the descent sun. The sky was a combination of faint orange and dark purplish blue. A few stars scudded the sky. The sun's rays casted shadows against the kingdom, fighting to reach the farthest corners.
He thought back to his day at the museum. He got to see 5 and Fenix again even for just a brief moment. Having to put up with the Crown Princess of the South was hard enough without giving off the impression that he was uninterested, in this case he was. He would never live it down. There still had to be a way to change the Crown Princess' mind.
He heard a knock on the door. Startled out of his thoughts, 9 dashed back inside his room, closing the door to the balcony.
"Who is it?," he asked, sauntering toward the door.
"It is me," said 1's voice.
1? What was he doing here? 9 opened the door, trying his best to not look excited.
"Count?," said 9, stepping aside.
"Good evening," said 1, strolling inside.
9 closed the door, but not before he took a peek outside the hall to make sure no one was around.
"Are you here to talk?," asked 9, walking up to the Count.
"I am indeed," replied the Count, surveying the room. He spun around, taking 9 by surprise.
"Well," said the Prince, "we're alone now. What was it you wanted to talk about?"
"About finding witnesses to Daetira's death," said 1.
"That," said 9.
"I already told you, there were no witnesses. It was just Valora and Daetira that day. No one else."
"But couldn't you at least try?," insisted 9. "There must have been someone."
1 turned away.
"I couldn't even if I could," he said, he drifted over toward the chair placed at the west-facing wall. He seated himself, breathing in a sigh.
9 walked toward him, concern adorning his face. He stood before the elder stitchpunk, placing a hand over his.
"I'm sorry if I'm being too advantageous," said 9, "but I'm just desperate. To get out of this marriage. To manage the peace between the two kingdoms. To keep my secret hidden—" He stopped himself, retracting his hand away from the Count's. He straightened up. 1 glanced up at him quizzically. 9 stepped away.
"What secret?," said 1.
"Nothing," said 9.
"Tell me," said 1, standing up.
9 backed away, and the Count inched closer to him. When he was backed into a wall, 9 found no way of escape and found himself sinking into lust.
"What secret?," queried 1. He put a hand to 9's shoulder. 9 winced, letting the question crush him.
"I...I can't," he said, looking away, optics closing, "it's too soon."
The Count looked at him, a trace of longing in his gaze. He moved his hand from the Prince's shoulder to under his chin. 9 opened his optics, fear taking hold of him. When no words came to mind, 9 did what he had to, what he wanted to; kissed 1. The Count returned the act, wrapping his arms around the zippered stitchpunk's waist. 9's hands went from the Count's sides to around his neck.
1 broke the meeting of their lips to trail kisses against 9's neck. 9's fingers clamped onto 1's robe, uttering a moan. The Count lifted 9 off his feet, scooping him in his arms. He gave a smirk to thunderstruck Prince. He carried him toward the bed. Once the two were on the bed, 1 began to help 9 undress from his cape, the crown was tossed aside, forgotten. The Count removed his conical hat, tossing it on the floor. 9 helped 1 slip out of his robe, both eager to start their wild dance.
The last trace of sun faded, welcoming the night, though nothing would stop the two from have this night of passion.
The sun crept through the balcony and through the windows, reaching the bed. 9 flickered his optics open, memories coming back to him degree by degree. The first thing he locked optics on was the ceiling, then he turned to his right, seeing 1 lying on his right side, noticing the number written on his back. 9 sat up, looking down and seeing their clothes on the floor. Last night was one he would remember forever, even when he was married to the Crown Princess of the Southern Kingdom.
The sun wasn't high enough to say it was late, but he didn't want to run the risk of causing a scandal if he and the Count were caught. As soon as 1 woke, he was going to convince him to return to Turris Ebernea. That was the only logical option to do.
9 heard 1 stir, and promptly sitting up. He felt the Count's arms snake themselves around his waist. He felt 1's lips press against his neck, a tingling feeling running up his spine. Since his zipper was open, 9 saw 1's hands gently stroked the lining, eliciting a soft moan from the young prince.
"1," spoke 9, pulling away from the Count's hold.
"Yes, my Prince?," said 1, nuzzling 9's neck.
He pulled away, promptly turning around, so he was facing the elder stitchpunk.
"I," he said, "I think you should leave. Back to Turris Ebernea."
At this, the Count adopted a superior attitude.
"Oh?," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "And why's that? Did you not enjoy our time last night?"
"I did," replied 9 automatically, "it's just... If someone catches us, and they tell my father—"
"You're the Prince," said 1, "you can tell them to keep it a secret."
"But 1—" 9 was cut off by the Count, who pressed a sharp finger to his lips.
"You mean so much to me, 9," said 1, lowering his finger from 9's lips, "if that means keeping it a secret from others, I'm more than willing to do to my part, but...there is the matter of your arranged marriage." His face fell. "If only there was a way to prove that Daetira's death was not an accident."
"Is there no evidence?," said 9. "A witness? Even if it's very little?"
1 looked away. "I've been wondering for two years," he answered.
"If Valora did indeed kill her sister," spoke 9, "then there will be no need for this marriage to happen." He looked genuinely hopeful, but 1 still had his doubts.
"I wish there was a way to prove it," he drawled.
"There must," insisted 9, grasping 1's shoulders. The Count still sported a chopfallen look. He clasped 9's hand, bringing it up to his lips, giving it a peck.
"I want us to be together," he said, "but I don't think that can happen unless you are honest with me."
He let go of 9's hand, turning away. He began strapping his buckles back together.
"1," uttered 9.
"I will be leaving tomorrow," said 1 firmly, "if you don't tell me the truth, you will never see me again. I will not attend your wedding."
9 clapped a hand over his chest. He watched the Count circle the bed, not giving him a second glance. He retrieved his robes from the floor, slipping it on in one motion. 1 picked up his conical hat, placing it on his head. He gave 9 a soulful glance that showed hurtfulness, though he tried to mask it. He stared long and hard to remember ever bit of the Prince. He circled the bed, heading for the double doors.
The moment 1 left the room, the moment 9 felt utterly alone. He never felt so vulnerable in his life. Being married off to the Crown Princess of the South was nothing compared to 1's scorn. He couldn't think of anything to top that off.
This was definitely something he couldn't, let alone accept. He had to fix this before tomorrow.
9 strode inside the Royal Gallery, seeing 6 with his back turned, busily working on a painting.
"6?," he said.
The striped stitchpunk turned around, lowering his pen-nib fingers away from the canvas.
"Oh, 9," said 6, "what b-brings... you h-here?"
"I was wondering if," began 9, "the portrait was done."
"I-I-It's...done," replied 6.
He led the zippered stitchpunk toward the right side of the Gallery. The stood over a canvas that was covered by a white sheet.
"W-want to...t-take a...peek?," asked 6 timidly.
"Yes," said 9.
6 removed the sheet from the canvas, revealing an elaborated portrait that promptly took 9's breath away. He looked at his portrait, impressed by 6's skill with paint. 6's portraits were always impressive, they snubbed every other artist in the kingdom. Some of 6's paintings were housed in The Imperial Hall for all to see. It always brought a smile to 9's face.
"It's incredible, 6," said 9.
"T-thank you," muttered 6, grabbing at his key, his other hand wiping at his side, smearing paint.
9 smiled.
The silence stretched on, both not sure what to say, but it was more evident in 9.
"I," spoke 6, "f-feel...like you...d-didn't come—here t-to...talk a-about...p-portraits."
True to keep his smile, 9 couldn't deny 6's perceptiveness.
"You're right," he said.
"W-what is i-it?," queried the striped stitchpunk.
"I wanted to ask you if you've had any more visions," explained 9, "specifically ones relating to the arranged marriage."
6's hand gripped the black key around his neck tighter. He looked as though his voice was literally ripped out of his throat.
"I," said 6, "I have." He looked as though he had trouble breathing. 9 wouldn't fault him if he was.
"What did you see?," asked the zippered stitchpunk, placing a hand on 6's shoulder.
"I," began the black-and-white artist, "I s-saw...a figure."
"A figure," echoed 9, stitched brow raised.
6 nodded. "A f-figure," he repeated, "c-cloaked. B-black cloak."
"A black cloak?"
The striped artist nodded, gripping his key reflexively.
"Nothing else?," asked 9.
"N-no," replied 6 meekly, fiddling with his key.
9 looked down at the floor. The striped stitchpunk looked at him worriedly.
"Is s-something...wrong?," he asked, hand reaching out to him, landing on his shoulder.
The zippered stitchpunk didn't know how to answer that.
"I," said 9, "it's about...the Count. 1. He...I...we..." He decided not to reveal about last night'a passion, and instead said what needed to be said. "I might have...upset him."
6 paused. "Y-you should...apologize," he said finally.
"What if he doesn't want to speak to me?," asked 9.
"A-apologize," repeated 6, "that..way...y-you won't...f-feel this...guilt in-side of...you."
9 looked away.
"At l-least," said 6, "h-he'll know...you're s-sorry."
Still, 9 didn't answer, or look at the striped stitchpunk.
"Go t-to him," said 6, "before i-it's...too late."
The zippered stitchpunk looked at him. 6's mismatched optics gaped at him, almost pleadingly. He knew that the situation would worsen if he didn't heed his advice.
"Alright," said 9, "I'll talk to him."
6 lowered his hand away from 9's arm, nodding his head.
"Please d-do," he uttered. His hands clamped around his black key.
9 strode away, leaving the striped artist to his painting, intent on making things right.
He dashed out of the Royal Gallery, making his way down the corridor. He reached the main foyer, went up the stairs. 9 walked down the hall to the south wing, hoping he wasn't too late. He hoped 1 was willing to listen. There was only one way to find out.
He reached the south wing, spotting the door to 1's room. He stood before the door, drawing in a breath. He knocked.
"Who is it?," asked 1 on the other side.
"It's me," said 9, "the Prince."
He waited. He heard 1's feet shuffle to the door, then he heard a click and the door swung open. 1 looked at him, unsure how to handle his presence.
"Your Highness?," he said, using the royal title as opposed to calling him by his name.
"1," said 9.
"What are you doing here?," queried 1.
"I came here to talk," replied 9. "May I come in?"
It was evident that the Count didn't want 9 to come in, but he let go whatever spiteful remark he wanted to say, and stepped aside. 9 strode in.
1's room was accommodated to be luxurious but to a lesser extent than 9's or 2's. It was painted a color that was between caramel and sepia with merlot carpeting. A four-poster bed was placed across from the door dressed with cream-colored sheets; a nightstand to the left. A mahogany vanity was placed to the right of the bed. To the right, the late afternoon sun flooded the room in a golden glow; below it a settee was placed underneath. A wardrobe was placed beside the door to the right, turning around, 9 guessed it was the door's left.
The Count closed the door.
"What did you come to talk about?," asked 1.
"This morning," said 9, not turning to face the Count, "you said that I wasn't being honest with you, and you were right."
1 gave an impressed look, head tilted to the left.
"And," continued 9, grabbing at the brooch that held his cape in place, "I came here to tell you my secret. If it's not already too late."
1 masked the giddiness he was feeling and responded, "No, of course it's not too late."
Turning around, 9 looked at him.
"Well," he said, "what I'm about to tell you...you might want to sit down."
The Count walked over to the bed and sat down. 9 sighed in a breath.
"Alright," said the zippered stitchpunk, "here it is."
1's hand gripped the edge of the bed in veiled anticipation.
"I'm not actually 2's son," said 9, optics landing on the Count.
1 stared at him in utter bafflement.
"Y-you," he said.
"2 is not actually my father," said 9, "I'm not actually royalty."
"Then," said 1.
"It was a long time ago," said 9, pacing away, head hanging, "2 was the one who found me."
"Found you?," uttered 1. "What do you mean he found you?"
The zippered stitchpunk spun around.
"I was unconscious," he said, "when he found me. In the ruins that remained of the war, near the South Kingdom. 2 was on his way to the South Kingdom, but stopped to change the route and explore the ruins. He explored the town, delving deeper until he found me in the remains of a human home." He stopped to catch his breath.
"And," said 1, "then?"
"He found me unconscious," continued 1, "he thinks I must've been there for years without awakening."
The Count interjected, "Does he know who—"
"No," interrupted 9, shaking his head, "no one knows. And every if he did know, they wouldn't want me back. 2 believed I was a leftover experiment to be left forgotten. But 2, he took me out of there, and welcomed me into his life."
"But why—" 1 was cut off by 9, who continued the tale.
"You know about 2's son?," he said, "Vadim? His firstborn? How he died on his way to a conference in the northeast?"
All 1 could do was nod.
"Well," said 9, "he might have also forgotten to mention that his wife died in childbirth along with the second heir."
The Count stared, slanted pupils widening.
"To hide the truth," spoke 9, "2 told the kingdom that I was sent away abroad, to study in a monastery in the east."
1 looked down, taking the time to process what he was hearing. He didn't think he believe what he was hearing or of he was hearing anything.
"So," said 9, "I've been living here ever since. I was Prince 9 from the moment I opened my optics. It gets frustrating, but I owe 2 my life."
"But that doesn't mean he owns you," said 1, standing up. He walked up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 9 looked at his hand as though it were a bothersome insect.
"I know," said 9.
Another thought came to 1's mind.
"The arranged marriage?," he said.
"Since they didn't know about me about until ten years ago," said 9, looking from 1's hand to his face, "the South Kingdom wants to unite our kingdoms in a civil matter. That's why I'm going through this marriage. The humans suspect about me and where I came from. My secret coming out, and 2's reputation being tarnished. That's why...that's why I'm afraid of everything being revealed all at once." He paused, optics closing, head turned to the right.
1 trailed his hand the zippered stitchpunk's chin, lifting it up. 9 opened his optics, turning his face to look at the Count.
"I don't know how much time I have left before the wedding," he said. "I don't know what to do or who to talk to. The Masquerade Ball...that was my chance to throw off the Crown Princess. To make her rethink the marriage, but I don't think she's going to back down. And...and...there's the mystery behind her sister's death—" He was silenced by 1 placing a finger to his lips.
The silence between them was so intense, 9 could hear his circuits spark. He was more baffled when 1 drew him into an embrace.
"I don't care where you came from," said 1, "you are a true prince to me." He wrapped his arms around 9's waist, nuzzling his neck.
"1," uttered 9. He wrapped his arms around the Count, stretching out his neck more to allow more reach.
"I won't let Valora take you from me," said 1, planting kisses along 9's neck. "I'll do everything I can to stop the wedding."
"You don't have to do that," gasped 9.
The zippered stitchpunk was suddenly lifted off his feet, and being carried away toward the bed, no doubt. Once he was laid on the bed, his world was lost. 1's lips crushed against his, sharp fingers trailing along his sides. They came to clasp the brooch, unfastening it to then slip the cape off 9's frame.
"You're," uttered 1, "beautiful." He peppered 9's neck with kisses. The zippered stitchpunk panted in approval of the passionate act.
Everything was forgotten that evening. Nothing but bliss and pure passion was shared between the Count and the young Prince.
I love how things are unraveling between 1 and 9. Let's hope the wedding can be stopped. *jumps up and down* I can't wait to get started.
Get ready for chapter seven.