.
.
Traveling was supposed to be fun…
Alois braces himself, preparing for the darkness to swallow him up.
Please, no…
He peeks open his eyes.
Tinder and Thompson appear in front of him, deflecting the bullet with Alois's cane they snatched up.
Their expressions identical in determination.
Canterbury bows respectfully to a dazed-looking Alois, before picking him up into a carry.
(The gentleman assassin, hired by 'Uncle' Arnold—or so he confesses tearfully, howling in pain after Thompson bends his wrist at an awkward angle, snapping the bones in half—was merely obeying his orders. Alois orders him to choke on spiders.)
.
.
It's hard to tell… what anyone is thinking about him…
Alois ignores his maidservant soundlessly moving the water jug by his elbow. Hannah can be so useless. All she does is apologise, and apologise, and apologise some more when Alois bites her or kicks her or painfully pulls her long, silvery-lilac hair.
"Master…"
"I didn't tell you to speak to m…me," Alois hesitates, no longer scolding her.
Instead of the water jug, there's a plate. A clumsy, near-blackened pile of oily fish and chips.
His favourite meal.
He lets out a brooding noise, jerking up his nose. Alois fists a handful, shoving it in his mouth and chewing ravenously.
Hannah's smiling mouth twitches up.
.
.
You want to leave me all alone…
Don't you, Claude…
Blood drips down Alois's fingers, running red.
"You must be careful," Claude murmurs, gently wiping off Alois's hand and tending to the wound. He bandages him, and Alois's lips wibbles. "Too much pressure can cause a fracture. A fracture can cause a break. Do we wish to break, your Highness?"
"No," Alois murmurs back. He stares up pleadingly.
Claude nods, his eyeglasses glinting. He hums out when Alois hugs him firmly, pleasantly. "Very good."
.
.