Chapter 2: His Actions
Hunting bugles awake the prince before the crack of dawn, followed by men shouting and horses neighing off in the distance. The prince's eyelids flutter open, and he rises from his covers and stretches. He nearly jumps from his bed when a protruding lump under his spare covers rises and falls in heavy rhythm, stopping him in place. When he remembers he is sixteen years old, the prince sees his brother's birthday present and quietly hovers over his pet.
"You must've been through a lot," he mouths and watches his pet sleep for a moment before deciding it is best to get him into a steady habit of rising early. Today, he will have to teach him how to dress and eat properly, and if time allows it, he will teach him how to speak a few phrases in Crodinian. With his plans mapped out for the day, the prince rests a hand on the lump and gently shakes him.
"Leon," he whispers. "Leon, you need to wake up. Dawn is here."
The boy does not stir. The prince shakes him slightly harder and waits for some movement to occur. After some effort, his pet's eyes slowly open, revealing those dazzling golden pools of his.
The boy does not say anything when he arises from his sheets and rubs his eyes. While watching him, the prince notices how long and unsightly his fingernails are, and he suspects his toenails are the same. After being preoccupied with cleaning his skin and hair last night, he forgot all about his nails.
"Stay here," he tells him and goes to his drawers. He fishes out a pair of iron clippers used for trimming loose ends and kneels down besides the boy.
When he first sees the clippers, the boy grows uneasy. His motions are stiff, and his eyes rapidly blink and dart around the room. When the prince approaches him, he holds back and tries to lean as far back as he dares.
"It's alright," he gently speaks. "I'm not going to hurt you if you stay still." Even so, the boy is not having any of it. Sighing, the prince decides this is one of those instances similar to swimming. He remembers when his brother first taught him how to swim; he had been afraid of the water, believing it would hurt him, but when his brother went inside unharmed, it gave him the courage to go in after him.
The prince supposes he has to make an example of himself. This is good, he thinks. It is like a small step towards ruling. A good prince with good examples can set the same for his kingdom and his subjects. "Here," he says and holds out his fingernails that are neatly trimmed, but he knows he needs to show his pet exactly what his clippers are used for. "You just do this." He takes the clippers and clips a small piece of his fingernails off and brandishes his unharmed fingers.
"See? It doesn't hurt. I'm going to trim yours now." He holds out his hand and expects his pet to give him his hand. The patience required on his part is something he really does not want to invest in, but Leon is his responsibility now. If his brother could do it, so can he.
"It's alright," he coaxes. His hand remains open and inviting. After staring at his master for some time, Leon finally hands him his palm, albeit clammy and shaky.
"You need to hold still while I do this," the prince says with intent focus. "It doesn't look like you've trimmed your nails before, so I'll have to be extra careful." He makes a soft shushing noise as he begins with his pet's left thumb. As expected but not delightful, his nails are coarse and thick. It takes a great deal of effort for him to finally chip away at the first cut before gauging just how much strength he will need.
"This will take longer than I thought," he mumbles and sets to work until he finishes an entire hand. At this point, he decides it is time for his pet to try. He hands Leon his clippers and motions for him to trim the fingernails on his right hand. There is some hesitation, but after some time, his pet manages to take the clippers into his hands and starts with his right thumb. The prince is delighted.
"Very good," he smiles and watches him work. There are instances when he fears his pet will accidentally slip and cut himself, but his fingers prove to be very dexterous and careful despite their callousness. Soon, both sets of fingernails are trimmed. Now they may finish his toenails so he can properly wear boots.
"Now the toes," the prince says and takes his pet's covers all the way off. He points to his toenails that are riddled with cracks and chips and gestures for his pet to clip those, too.
Without any other words or help, the boy manages to clip all ten of his toenails until they are all clean. The prince smiles and offers him positive verbal reinforcement before patting him on the head.
"Very good," he says and takes the clippers away. He shows his pet where he keeps them and tucks them back into their designated drawer. "Now we can dress."
The prince notices that when his pet stands upright with his head facing forward, they are roughly the same height. This will make fitting him into clothes easier, since it means being able to share a wardrobe, though the prince suspects his brother will strongly disapprove if he finds his pet wearing the same status of clothes as royalty. Still, the prince has not had the time to contact a tailor, so he can ride on the excuse that his pet needs clothes for a while.
With that, the prince goes over to his wardrobe and opens it, revealing an assortment of dark, cool-colored robes, tops, and tunics. He demonstrates how he dons his daily clothes and proceeds to hand his pet a set of clothing to see how fast he has learned. Leon easily manages to change out of his sleepwear and into his attire for the day, and this earns him another expression of praise. Since the two of them are dressed, they leave the prince's chambers and head towards the great hall for breakfast.
The prince and his pet encounter servants and foreigners from yesterday's party wandering around the corridors as they go to breakfast. Some stare at the prince or whispered in groups as they pass, while others wish the prince a good morning, and he returns the greeting.
"You should try to learn that, too," he thinks aloud and stops to teach his pet. "Good morning," he says to him. He has to think of some way to register it is a greeting to his pet and thinks about Altorienese customs. One such custom, he remembers, involves bowing; the Altorienese have a way of bowing to one another when they greet each other, he recalls. To test his recollection, he faces his pet and bows in front of him.
"Good morning," he says to him and waits for a response. The boy blinks, and returns the bow but does not say anything.
"No." The prince shakes his head. He props his pet's chin to face him and tries again. "Good morning," he repeats and bows. He then waits to see if his pet will do the same.
"Goo' mor'ing," he speaks in broken Crodinian. It is not the best pronunciation, but the prince understands Altorienese completely differs in dialect. He will have to teach his pet to pronounce his words correctly so as not to displease his brother and the king.
"Close enough. Very good, Leon." To reward him, he pats him on the head like a dog and tells him to trail after him. It is not long before they reach the great hall where most of the kings have gone out to hunt. The only formidable kings the prince recognizes are Roderich of Thursaunia and Francis, one of the three kings of Dotriba, both considered to be their own levels of refined, and it only makes sense that they have not joined the hunt with the others.
The prince's white hair, easily identifiable even in large crowds, draws attention to the kings, and they invite him to sit next to him, congratulating him of reaching adulthood and offering him wine.
"So you're finally sixteen, Emil," Francis warmly smiles as he pours himself a generous helping of wine. Of the three kings in Dotriba, Francis enjoys food and drink the most despite not growing fat and portly.
"Yes, Your Highness," the prince nods. All the while, his pet sits quietly alongside a wall, as he is not permitted to sit anywhere near the kings.
"Sixteen is a big year. You are old enough to reign over your own house, and you can travel without the aid of your family."
Roderich, after wiping his mouth, adds, "You can even marry if you want to."
The prince awkwardly smiles at the thought of marrying. "When the time comes that my brother finds someone suitable for me, I believe only then will I know who my bride is."
Francis clicks his tongue and heartily pats the young prince's back. "You don't have to listen to Lukas, Emil," he laughs. "You're an adult now. You can make your own decisions. And considering he's your king's husband, who's to say you have to marry a woman?"
The prince's face grows hot at the thought of having a husband. He has always wondered what his brother's and his king's romantic relationship is like behind those closed doors. His brother is never vocally pronounced when speaking to him or his subjects, and yet as soon as night falls and his husband joins him in bed, an entire chorus of unspeakable noises cries out from his lungs. Even so, the prince imagines he will have to take up a woman for a bride to please his brother and pass on the kingdom.
"Don't fill the boy with vulgar thoughts," Roderich snaps at Francis. He has never been too fond of the flirtatious king's bold ideals and prefers a traditional lifestyle. The fact that the king even has a husband still baffles him, but his wife, the queen, thinks otherwise.
"Ah, what would your darling Elizabeta say to that, Roddy?" Francis sighs and rests his elbows on the table.
The Thursaunian king wrinkles his nose and adjusts his spectacles. The prince has heard about his unusual relationship with his queen: while the king is classy and reserved, his wife, Elizabeta, is said to be robust, and open-minded. In fact, it just might be that she is not sitting beside her husband for breakfast because she is hunting with the other kings.
"Firstly, don't call me 'Roddy,' Frog," Roderich snaps at the Dotriban king. "Secondly, I assume my wife would be…" He sighs. "…open to whatever form of love Prince Emil chooses to accept."
"You see?" Francis smiles at the prince. "If Roddy's wife thinks it's fine, then it is fine."
"I thought I told you not to call me 'Roddy,' Frog."
"Would you like some wine, Emil?" the Dotriban king asks, ignoring the Thursaunian completely.
"Yes, please, Your Highness," the prince nods and holds his goblet out for the king to pour. While drinking, hot plates of food arrive at the table, and the kings' chatter falls into soft murmuring as they dine. The prince talks with the kings here and there, listening to their tales of love when his thoughts wander back to his pet at the mention of one of Francis' Altorienese lovers.
"Ah. Excuse me, Your Highnesses. I need to take care of something." He excuses himself from his seat, carrying an extra plate of food and utensils and wanders off in the direction of the wall. The kings curiously observe from their seats as they watch the young prince hand a dark-haired boy a fork. They cannot hear what the prince is saying to the boy, but they know enough that he is trying to teach the boy how to use the pitchfork-like utensil. The boy's fingers fumble a few times before being able to firmly grasp it in the correct hold. Then, the prince demonstrates how to eat using the fork until the boy manages to eat potatoes and steamed fish all on his own—and eat he can.
Like a hungry dog that was granted with a steaming, juicy leg of lamb, the boy ferociously digs into his plate and stuffs his mouth until bits of potato and corn stick to his lips and cheeks. The prince quickly stops the boy and hastily returns to the table to grab a napkin. He gives the kings an apologetic nod before returning back to the boy. The kings say nothing at this exchange and continue to watch the prince clean up the boy and ease him to slow down.
Finally, after what must be a painstaking ten minutes, the prince returns to his seat covered in stray food splatters from his shining tunic to his white hair.
Roderich wrinkles his nose in distaste and adjusts his spectacles once more. "You look filthy," he flatly remarks. "Is that how you do things here in Crodinia? Teaching mad servant boys how to eat and use table manners?"
Francis throws the Thursaunian a disapproving look before inquiring whom that boy is.
"I'm sorry about that," the prince apologizes and lowers his eyes to the table as a sign of humbling himself. "He is my brother's birthday gift to me."
Both kings exchange shocked but amused glances.
"He is a…servant?" Francis guesses.
"No, Your Highness. He is my pet."
"Your pet?" the kings echo.
"Yes. He is Altorienese."
"Huh." The Thursaunian king now displays a different sort of interest towards the boy and looks in his direction. The boy is still eating, trying as best he can to use his fork. "Fascinating. Though for the light of me, I cannot bring myself to imagine why Lukas would give you someone to babysit—especially an Altorienese boy."
The prince swallows and takes the king's words and tone into consideration. It is understandable that anyone should feel uneasy about housing an Altorienese under their roof: they are known to be savages who do not worship any gods, barbarians who have little to no manners, and swine in that they eat anything they can get their hands on.
However, as a prince and a dignified representative of Crodinia, Emil turns this around and uses it as his strength. "My brother specifically wanted me to have an Altorienese boy as my pet because he knew the challenges it possesses to train him. He believes if I can turn him—an Altorienese—into someone obedient and submissive, then I can take on anyone." He also adds, "He was a prisoner of war. Just yesterday, had you been awake to see him, you would not have recognized him because of all the filth."
Francis gives the prince some recognition and praise for his efforts. He also adds that while no Altorienese boy can ever trick him into believing he is royalty, he admits he will have never assumed he was anything lower than a lord's son by his looks alone. The prince's heart swells with pride when Roderich eventually agrees.
"Your brother might be right, you know, Emil," Francis says before he takes his leave. "Raising you to become what you are can be similar to raising a kingdom—if only you know just how."
The prince's eyes grow wide and hungry to know. "Please, Your Highness, might you tell me what those traits are?" His answer comes in the form of a head patting as the Dotriban king chuckles and kneels to his level. In this moment the prince remembers he is still a child in the kings' eyes no matter how old he is, and a child he might always remain.
"Little Emil, that is something you need to figure out for yourself," he whispers. "But I will tell you this: it is not the results that you yield that make you a good king—it is the process."
"The process," the prince quietly repeats.
"Yes, Emil," Francis smiles and ruffles his mop of white hair. He then takes his leave and announces to Roderich and the prince that if anyone needs him, he will be out looking at the garden searching for something hopefully more beautiful than the flowers.
The prince is too naïve to understand what he is referring to, but whatever it is, it makes Roderich's eyes roll.
"That lustful fool," he groans and rubs his temples. He is ready to leave, too, but before exiting the great hall, he gives the prince a look and then his pet. His words are not as wise or meaningful as Francis' but he does leave the prince with something.
"Well, then. Emil, I wish you luck on training your…pet."
"Thank you, Your Highness," he thanks him and gives a nod his way. His eyes remain on the Thursaunian king until he disappears from view. Knowing how much of a music enthusiast he is, the prince makes a guess that he will be traveling to the music chambers to endorse in his hobbies.
Once the last of royalty is gone, the prince lets out a huge breath of relief and returns to his pet. Leon has since finished all of his food, and looks expectantly at the prince as if he will give him more.
The prince points to his pet's empty plate and asks him if he would like more. Surprisingly, the boy nods as if he understands him, and the prince eagerly fetches a new plate of food. As he watches his pet eat, he thinks of the next time the kings will visit the castle and see how groomed and civilized his pet will become. He cannot wait to show Leon to them.
The kings (and queen) return from their hunt three hours after the first bugle sounds off into the forest. The excited subjects run out to greet their rulers with water and encouraging words of their hunt. The prince and his pet are also among the crowd, surveying the banners and horses for Lukas and Mathias.
"There," he says and points his brother and the king out for his pet. "My brother, Lukas, and the king, Mathias, are over there. You can always tell who the king of Crodinia is because of his hair. Always his hair if not his loud voice."
"Good hunt, everyone!" Mathias congratulates everyone in a piercing voice. Next to him is Gilbert, another king of Dotriba, and Elizabeta, Roderich's wife and wild queen, squabbling over who shot the biggest stag.
"Are you crazy, woman? That was my arrow that hit the stag in his throat!" Gilbert shouts even louder than Mathias due to his rising temper.
"And it was my arrow that buried into the stag's leg that caused him to lag and trip, making it possible to even shoot into his throat in the first place, imbecile," Elizabeta throws back.
"Those two," the prince slightly frowns, casting developing wrinkles into his otherwise porcelain cheek lines. The rivalry between Gilbert and Elizabeta can be dated all the way back when they were children. Being part of neighboring members of royalty, the two somehow found themselves attending royal conferences and fighting to pass the time. How they manage to stay so competitive and bitter at one another is a mystery to everyone.
After the game is taken into the butchery, the prince and his pet rejoin his brother who still has sweat violently beading down his forehead. His usually wavy blonde hair clings against his neck, and his breath is short and labored from the long morning. When his face angles in the sun at the right moment, one can see his skin shimmering with a layer of moisture.
"Brother, how was the hunt?" the prince asks while he changes out of his dusty cape.
"I might have called it perfect had it not been for the quarreling between Elizabeta and Gilbert," he pants and wipes the sweat from his brow. "Ah. Your pet is looking more presentable today."
"Thank you," the prince says, trying to mask his pride at the compliment.
"Have you given him a name?"
"Leon."
"Leon," his brother repeats. "That is a Tabrinish name. Interesting choice."
Shaking his head, the prince clarifies, "You're mistaken. He told me his name is Leon."
His brother pauses and glares suspiciously at the boy whose head is bowed. Whether Leon does this because he is accustomed to it or because he wants to shield his eyes from the sunlight is unknown to him, but to the prince's brother, it appears as though he is avoiding confrontation. Emil, seeing his brother's dark expression, grows uneasy and initially believes he has done something wrong until one of the kings walks over to greet them.
"Lovely day for a stroll, isn't it, you two?" he smiles with a bright grin equivalent to the radiance of the sun. His skin noticeably darker than any members of royalty here, the prince easily recognizes who it is.
"Good morning, Your Highness," he acknowledges the third king of Dotriba, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, known as the Golden King. The prince is grateful for his presence, as it distracts his brother enough that his dark expression dissolves.
"It truly is a lovely day, Your Highness," the prince's brother agrees. "Forgive us for the unusual change in weather. Crodinia is not, and will never be, as warm and sun-basked as Dotriba."
"Not at all!" the Golden King continues to grin. "I think it's amazing how you can have snow in the summertime!"
Lukas offers the king a soft smile. "I believe as long as you remain in power, your smile will melt away any snow that tries to befall your kingdom."
The prince closely observes his brother's posture, his fleeting expressions, his tone of voice, and his aura. His brother ability to command with grace and strength never fails to amaze him. Though the prince dreads the day when he will have to conduct the same air, his brother's ease at which he transitions and represents himself as his king's husband is astounding.
"I think after this, I'm going to take a nap," the Golden King announces quite casually, akin to Crodinia's own king.
The prince's brother understandably nods and tells him it is wise to get rest before his voyage back to Dotriba. While the whole Unity of Dotriba neighbors Crodinia, Antonio reigns in the southernmost kingdom next to warmer waters and clearer skies. His journey will be the longest out of the three kings returning home.
The prince watches the conversation continue until Gilbert calls Antonio to find Francis so they may return to Dotriba. As it seems, Gilbert made a wager with Elizabeta, claiming he will be able to ride to his castle before Elizabeta and her husband return to theirs. The distances vary in that Thursaunia is farther, but Elizabeta and her stubborn nature proclaims they will be able to make it back before Gilbert even sets foot in his kingdom. With Thursaunia producing strong and swift horses, the prince cannot predict who will be the victor.
"Brother, I will be leaving you and Leon to your own activities," the prince's brother says and pats him on his head. "I need to change out of this thing. Try not to get into any trouble with your pet. If you see any kings, remember to treat them kindly."
"Of course," he replies and bids his brother good day. The rest of the hunters dissipate, too, and soon, the prince and his pet are the only ones idling in the fields.
With the noise dying down, the prince takes a deep breath of brisk summer air and cranes his head to the sky. The gray clouds are slowly moving away, and soon, it will be time for the real summer. He hopes by then, there will not be any snow so that he might go exploring in the forests on foot.
"…Gilbert? Gilbert, you mongrel! What are you still doing here?!"
Alarmed, the prince turns his head just in time to see Elizabeta storming in his direction. The wild Thursaunian queen wields a threatening stare as she stops in place, her large green eyes bearing shock at the prince.
"Oh my goodness, it's just you, Emil," she says, softening her voice and eyes. "My mistake. It's not every day you see someone with the same color of hair as that rambunctious idiot of a king." She quickly adds, "Not that you are anything like Gilbert. You are positively adorable. I wish more boys were like you."
The way in which she addresses the prince so informally bothers him, but he sets his emotions aside as he must remember she is a queen.
"Did you by any chance see Roderich?" she inquires. "I need to beat that albino idiot back home, and if I leave without my husband, I fear he will wind up somewhere all the way in Tabrini. He has a very poor sense of direction, you see."
"I-I would have never imagined," the prince picks his words. "But I did eat with him in the great hall during breakfast. I last saw him headed for the east wing."
"Oh, thank you, Emil," she smiles and kisses him on his head. The action takes the prince by surprise, as he has never been kissed by anyone besides his brother as of late—and a woman at that.
"I-I…uh…not at all, Your Highness." He grows more embarrassed when the queen starts to giggle.
"Oh, you," she smiles and brushes the prince's messy bangs from his eyes. He does not know how to react. He does not enjoy anyone else's touch but his brother's, yet Elizabeta is a queen. He imagines resisting her will result in some form of consequence, so in the meantime, he stays put and lets her touch his hair.
"Emil, you're as red as a tomato," Elizabeta giggles. "If your brother wasn't so overprotective, I'd sweep you off your feet and take you home with me in a heartbeat."
Her presence is unsettling. The sour smell of sweat sticks to her skin, and blood still clings to her long, mouse-colored hair. How this person can be a queen, a hunter, and a doting woman all at the same time renders him speechless. He supposes in her presence, he should be flattered; the queen has her own problems to worry about, and yet she is distracted by how flustered he is.
Suddenly, something unexpected and unthinkable happens. Like a dart, a hand reaches out and slaps the queen's hand away. Slaps.
The prince's eyes grow as wide as eggs when a flash of dark brown hair flings in front of him. In a matter of seconds, Leon is standing before the queen in a silent stance, shielding him like a protective dog.
"Leon…!" the prince gasps, but before he can do anything else, another voice breaks into the scene.
"What in God's name…? Lizzy, what's going on?"
The tone is one of sincere concern, but in light of that, the owner is someone the prince dreads hearing it from: Gilbert Beilschmidt.
Without listening to reason, the wild-eyed, pale king of Dotriba storms over to the trio and immediately strikes out at Leon with his hand when something stops his midway. The prince is horrified to see that the clueless Altorienese boy has blocked the king's attack from striking him and frightfully commands him to stop.
"Leon, let go of him!" he yells, terrified at what consequences await the two of them for their actions. Not only did Leon slap the hand of a queen, he resisted a king. Such actions can result in punishments as far as death—and worse.
"You filthy swine!" Gilbert cries and pulls his hand free. "How dare you hold down a king!" He is about to draw his sword when the nearby queen delivers a firm blow to his head, knocking him to the ground.
"Cut that out!" she snaps and kicks him firmly in his gut. The king utters a painful groan before clutching his stomach in a ball. Had he been viewing this from afar, the prince might find it comical, but this is no joking matter. Regardless of what these two saw, the truth of the matter is that his pet dared to raise his hand against the royalty of two different kingdoms.
"He hit you…" the king moans with clenched teeth.
The queen crosses her arms and boldly presses a foot on top of Gilbert's white cape, soiling it with dirt. "And I hit you, too. Do I deserve to get punished, as well?"
After spitting, the Dotriban king reluctantly mutters a "No," but he is anything but forgiving to the prince's pet. As soon as he can stand on his feet, he looms over the prince and the boy. "Who in God's name are you?" he snarls at the Altorienese boy. "You're not royalty." He wrinkles his nose. "In fact, you're Altorienese, aren't you?"
"Gilbert, enough," Elizabeta says, but the king ignores her.
"Do you know where I come from, if you so much as make a threat on a king, your tongue gets cut off? Do you want me to cut off your hand so you can learn your place?"
The prince's face is ghost white. His heart races in his chest as he thinks of how to solve this matter. He does not want his pet lose a hand, but he does not want to displease the king and queen. He feels pathetic, helpless. Here he stands as an adult, and he cannot come up with a solution. His throat feels dry and his eyes hot. He wishes his brother were here. He will know what to do.
As Emil's thoughts race, the king seizes his pet by his collar and pulls, threatening to lift him straight off the ground. The prince is ready to break both in spirit and composure when the struggle stops with another, yet graceful voice.
"Your Highnesses, is there a problem over here?"
It is Lukas. He has already changed out of his hunting clothes and into dark regal attire fit for the husband of a king. With his cold eyes watching the incident, Gilbert angrily throws Leon down and spits a curse. His hands freed, the king marches over to the prince's expressionless brother and jabs a finger straight at his chest.
"I don't know who that boy is, but he just struck Liz—Elizabeta's hand and resisted my own. I. Want. Him. Dead."
"No!" As soon as his outcry leaves his lips, the prince immediately regrets it. Gilbert reels around and glares furious red daggers at both the prince and his pet with a murderous light. The prince realizes he must act quickly if he is to save his face and his pet.
"P-Please, Your Highness," the prince stutters, "Leon is my pet. He's my responsibility. He doesn't speak anything other than Altorienese, honest. He didn't know the two of you were royalty, and he was only acting in his best interests to protect me. If anyone should be punished, it should be me."
The prince's brother steps in before Gilbert has any time to consider what sort of punishment will entail. "Kings do not punish princes in this kingdom, I'm afraid. When someone of royal blood has done wrong, the burdens fall upon another. However, I imagine you want them to receive punishments first-handedly. Please state what punishment you believe they deserve, and I will punish both Emil and Leon accordingly to whatever you will have wished upon them."
Tears threatening to escape his eyes, the prince holds his breath and lowers his head in shame. This has not been the only time a similar sentence has been carried out. Servants and advisors are always the ones to take the burden, and if not them, it is always people who are close to the prince. The logic goes that whoever influences the prince's behavior in some form must also bear responsibility. If the prince steps out of line in mannerisms, his tutors receive an appropriate number of lashes. Should the prince fail to look presentable even when he dresses himself, the servants and maids are branded and beaten. And these are just for the prince. Fear overtakes him when he imagines what will become of his pet. Leon is not royalty, so regardless of how much he protests, there is no doubt that his pet will directly receive his punishment.
"For the prince being irresponsible, fifty strikes across his palms and twenty on his bare back," the Dotriban king coldly states. The prince winces despite knowing it will not be him who receives the beating. "For his pet, a sufferable and painful death by placing him in a barrel of glass and needles and getting dragged by two horses until he bleeds dry."
The prince's brother bears no visible disturbance to the king's harsh words. Even as he speaks, he is calm and collected. "Very well, Your Highness. I will carry out the punishments as seen fit."
"Good. And I will watch them happen."
"As much as I am flattered to have your audience, I should remind you that you and Queen Elizabeta have a little wager you need to finish."
The queen, who is still present, slaps Gilbert over his head again with a defiant swing. "He's right, you idiot. And when I beat you, I can't wait to see the sword you'll give me."
The once furious king's temperament loosens as his childhood playmate revives their rivalry, and all manner of cruel hostility dissolves. The prince wonders if this is because he is as big a fool as Elizabeta claims he is or just because he is quick to forget.
"Ha! So you think!" he laughs. "See who's laughing once I get your best horses!"
"Come, little brother," the prince suddenly hears his brother whisper. "Let us make haste and leave them. We have work to do."
"Y-Yes, brother," the prince shyly responds and quickly takes his pet's hand and drags him off. As they retreat into their castle, the prince looks back and sees that the queen and king are still bickering like two children without any responsibilities, completely forgetting about the entire incident.
"You disappoint me."
The prince flinches at his brother's cold words. He knows making an excuse will not solve anything, so he holds his tongue. What is done is done.
In all his life, the prince's brother never struck him, not even raised his hand at him. He uses a different method of getting under the prince's nerves through the sheer relentlessness of his will. Where the prince errors, his brother corrects him through self-loathing and suffering through his own guilt. The prince's brother expresses disappointment because he knows he wants his best to please him and make him proud; however, he has failed to do those things, and that, alone, is the greatest punishment of all.
Even so, the prince shamefully apologizes.
"I'm sorry, brother," he speaks in a glum voice. "It will never happen again. I promise."
"You wouldn't need to promise me anything if you knew what you were doing, now, would you?"
His words bore into the prince's fragile heart and sting his eyes. Biting hard on his lower lip, he fights back hot tears; however, try as he does, he cannot help himself as his pale complexion flushes red and his nose stuffs up and runs.
"Ah, Emil…" The prince's brother speaks his name in soft words and embraces him with a gentle caress. "Don't cry, little brother. You are an adult now. Be strong. Here, let me see your face." He lifts his brother's chin up to see his lavender eyes and kisses his forehead. "My dear little brother…what am I going to do with you? I still need to give you a punishment. Even if you were not at fault, anyone should know that it is a great crime to raise your hand at a king or queen."
"Yes," the prince agrees; his voice is muffled in his brother's shoulder as he buries his face deep within the silken fabric of his dark blue cape.
"Mm, I think I have something to cover your seventy strikes." The color once again drains from the prince's cheeks at the thought of having to be beaten. "The last of our guests will be departing this evening. There will be one more feast at dinnertime in the great hall; after that, I suspect there will be many dishes. Your job, after everyone finishes eating and leaves, will be to collect every last plate, fork, and goblet—every dish on the tables—and bring them to the kitchen where you will wash them—all of them. I want them sparkling clean, and you are forbidden to go to bed until you complete your task. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, brother," the prince replies, not even bothering to hide his unenthusiastic tone. "And…what about Leon?"
"Ah, of course. Your pet." The prince's brother does not smile, but with trained ears, he can hear a maliciously twisted tone of amusement dancing on his tongue. "I've already prepared his punishment. It will suit him, and I think it is as close as one can get with death."
Uneasy, the prince swallows. "You aren't going to hurt him, are you?" He makes a small whimpering noise as his brother cups his cheeks and slyly smiles.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he coos. "After all, he is your pet. I don't think you would like it if he was beaten and bruised, would you?"
The prince rapidly shakes his head.
"As I thought. But do not worry. You will both carry out your punishments at the same time, so until then, I will leave you to yourselves for the rest of the day. Ah, and if the Dotribans and Thursaunians are still here, try to stay clear of them. I recommend going to one of the less occupied places in the castle if you can."
"We will, brother. Thank you."
"Off you go, then," his brother says and gets up to leave. The prince suspects he is going to his husband to clear up any misunderstandings that might have happened during his absence. With that, the prince returns to his pet whom he left idling outside the hallway.
The boy is leaning his back against the walls when the prince finds him. He takes his hand and leads him back to his chambers where none of the kings will venture. He does not mention anything about his previous actions or the punishment he will be receiving; there really is no point since the boy's Crodinian is extremely limited. Even if he can communicate with his pet, he does not know what sort of punishment his brother has in store. Perhaps, he thinks, it is best not to know until it happens.
Until dinnertime, the prince decides to spend the rest of the day teaching his pet how to speak some basic Crodinian. He hopes that once his pet can understand the basics, he will teach him how to recognize the royal figureheads to avoid any further mishaps in the future.
When they reach the safety of his chambers, the prince gratefully closes the door and tells his pet to sit down. His pet obediently does so.
"Alright," he sighs and lets his mind process. "We need to teach you some Crodinian. It would be easier if I had an interpreter. Even a book would be nice. Um, let's start with the simple things. Like this…" He begins by waving his hand out to the boy and says, "Hello." To add to the Altorienese custom of greeting another person, he also bows. He continues to do this until his pet finally repeats the simple greeting.
"Hello," he says.
"Very good. That's a start, I suppose," the prince compliments him and continues to move on to other greetings and commands. They practice together until Leon can understand how to greet people, how to address himself, and how to respond to motion commands. The lesson takes up the remainder of the morning before the prince hopelessly gets stuck at forming sentences. Within the neighboring kingdoms are varying languages and grammar structures. The prince does not even know if Altorienese has a similar structure to Crodinian, and if it is does not, he will have a difficult time trying to get Leon to form sentences. Without any means of communicating any further, the prince finally decides to take his pet to the library to look for some books. Hopefully, there will be something there on Altorienese that does not purely involve foreign characters. Something with both Altorienese and Crodinian will be even better.
At the library, the prince requests any books that their castle might have on Altorienese. The librarian searches for any records and comes back with only a small book, barely thicker than the prince's index finger. Nevertheless, it is better than nothing, and the prince finds a spot to sit alongside his pet.
As he opens the book, he is delighted to see that there are conveniently both Altorienese and Crodinian words. The only thing that slightly disappoints him is the actual contents of the book: it is a children's book filled with Crodinian myths and fairytales. There is only so much children's bedtime stories can contain that can apply to real life, but nevertheless, the prince goes with the fact that they at least have a convenient book to utilize.
The first thing the prince does when he opens to the first page is point to the beginning passage and inquires if his pet can read the Altorienese characters printed. His biggest concern is whether or not the boy can read, but to his content, he starts to read aloud in clear Altorienese. He stops Leon shortly afterwards and points to the beginning again. This time, he starts to read aloud in Crodinian until he finishes the first sentence. He repeats the first sentence two more times and points to the first word again. He silently waits for the boy to repeat his words, and in time, shaky and broken Crodinian spills from his mouth.
"Very good," the prince smiles and points to the first word again. He decides his pet should master one sentence perfectly before moving on to the next one. Together, the two continue their reading session until the sunlight disappears from the library, and the great halls spring to life with the sounds of music and laughter.
Piles of unfinished food lies thrown and cast all over the tables as the prince picks up each plate and sorts them in different piles. He drags a sack around the great hall to fill with the uneaten and wasted food alike; he pulls a cart in which to stack the plates, utensils, and goblets in. The work is tiresome and boring, but the prince does not complain. Should he feel the urge to let loose his discomfort, there is no one to listen to him. Leon has since gone with his brother to carry out his own punishment. The prince asked about what his pet will be doing, but his brother remained quiet about it.
With the halls being void of servants and diners, the prince feels alone in this grand space. He wishes his pet were here if just to keep him company as he toils through the night. Thinking about the boy, he starts to wonder how their lessons will continue. He will have to come up of ways to quiz him to make sure he understands the words he is reciting. The lessons are similar to how his brother personally taught him how to speak Tabrinian, one step at a time; however, Tabrinish and Crodinian have stronger similarities to one another than Altorienese—at the very least, both Tabrinish and Crodinian use the same alphabet.
But, alas, the prince tells himself he is being picky. He should be glad he has an opportunity to teach someone Crodinian. Altorienese will be the most difficult to transition from, he understands, but at the very least, he will one day be able to tell everyone of his accomplishments.
The prince's punishment drags on through the rest of the night when silence has indefinitely fallen over the castle grounds. All the servants have gone to sleep, and with only one set of hands performing the cleanup work, progress is incredibly slow. His brother visits on two occasions: once before taking a bath and again before he is ready to go to bed. Before retiring for the night, the prince asks his brother how his pet's punishment is coming along.
"His punishment is going along steadily," he answers with a soft smile. In the darkness, the prince cannot make out his true underlying expression, but as he recalls from before, it is not a pleasant smile. In such a way, the prince supposes, he reveres his brother as much as he does fear him. "I've checked his progress already, little brother. It appears he will not finish until well after you do."
"What is he doing?" the prince dares to ask. He dreads the answer he will receive, yet curiosity eats through to his tongue and speaks on his voice.
"You will find out tomorrow. I suspect he will be able to tell you or show you in some form or another." He sets down a candle and makes his way to his chambers. "It is late. Try to hurry up, so you can get some sleep, little brother. I will send a guard to check on your progress every half hour. Good night."
"Good night, brother," he says and continues scrubbing the plates. The kitchen is still dark, but the light his brother leaves him gives him the strength and the sight to steadily work until dawn breaks over the mountains and touches the castle.
When his punishment is finally completed, the prince's hands are sore and wrinkled from the great amounts of soapy water he used to clean the dishes. He checks his work twice to make sure he did not miss any spots on the plates and goes to the great hall to see if there are any stray food scraps. Everything is absolutely spotless. The prince is amazed at how long and hard it is for servants to clean the great hall. Even with multiple people working together, the task is not easy. He is grateful to be a prince tonight—or rather, this morning. Sunlight cracks through the windows above and pours into the walls. With the passing hours, the sunlight will draw down from the windows and sweep to the other side. His eyelids pulling down over his eyes, the prince hurries to find his pet. His entire body reeks of old soap and food scraps, and his hands and back ache from kneeling and dragging all of the food scraps to the dumping grounds. He wants nothing more than to take a nice hot bath and cuddle up in his soft bed. First, he needs to find out where his brother took his pet to carry his punishment out.
With the day being young, there are seldom any guards situated at their posts. It takes the prince some time to find one, and when he does, the guard is nearly half asleep and mumbling something about Lukas carry that "Alt'rienese lad" around the dungeon.
Fear overtakes the prince when he initially believes his pet really was sentenced to death like the rest of the Altorienese boys, but collecting his nerves, he instead thanks the guard and scurries off towards the dungeon to check on his progress. He arrives in front of the cold dungeon moments later. A cold, deathly wind drifts from under the gated doors to his ankles and chills him through and through. He was here not two days ago, and the memories of the layout are still etched in his mind. If Leon is where he suspects he will be, then he should not be too far away from where the prince first met him. And so, seizing the rest of his courage and alert mind, the prince asks two of the posted guards to escort him down the steps.
With morning nearing, the dungeon is as quiet as the outside kingdom. The prince hears no painful moans and howling as before, though his nerves are anything but settled. The walk is quicker this time, partially because the prince knows where he is going and because the familiarity does not hold him back from progressing. Eventually, the prince makes his way to an intersection. He is about to turn left when his boot sticks to something and nearly causes him to trip. The guards cry out in surprise, but the prince assures them he is fine. Still, he is curious as to what he treaded on. He does not recall that material being there before and asks for the guard behind him to bring his torch to the ground. With some reluctance, the guard obeys and kneels down with the light. What the prince sees sends his heart reeling into his throat.
Strewn over the ground like rusted paint is a long trail of drying blood that takes off from the left to the front, most likely towards the dungeon's outdoor entrance. With the entire space being so cold, there is hardly any smell, and the prince's body is so covered with the stench of food scraps that he did not notice the iron-tinged smell before.
The prince suddenly feels faint. He wants to leave this place, to run straight back up the stairs and lock the door tightly behind him. He wants to take a nice bath and idly drill his pet on some Crodinian words before heading off to bed. But Leon is not here, and the prince cannot go back until he finds him. Wherever he is, something strongly tells him that Leon's punishment has something to do with his fallen companions. The prince presses on in spite of his nerves, and tells himself that so long as he has a purpose, everything will be fine.
In time, the prince follows the trail of blood back to the source: the same dark dungeon cell that once held a dozen or more Altorienese boys cowering in their own urine and feces. The man who transported the boys is no longer there, possibly already dead and joining the others in whatever afterlife the Altorienese believe in. No one is needed to open the heavy wooden door this time around; the door is swung wide open and leading into a chamber of death. Cautiously, the prince pokes his head inside and tightly holds his breath. He sees nothing in the darkness, but he knows enough that the cell is completely empty.
"It's empty," he says out loud to confirm the fact for himself. He hopes knowing will help clear his sanity as he decides to follow the trail of blood in the other direction.
"Prince Emil, the sun is almost up," one of the guards says as the prince goes the other way. "Are you sure you want to linger here any longer?"
"I am sure," the prince responds and moves forward. His head is spinning, and his entire body feels like a collection of sticks supporting an iron ball. "I am here to retrieve my pet. It would sadden me if I abandoned him here."
The guards accompany the prince in silence for the rest of the way until the blood starts to disappear. There is no need to follow a trail anymore, however, as there is a door sitting at the top of a flight of stairs. The prince goes up these stairs and opens the door. Once he does so, a large gush of cold, fresh air blows past him and howls into the dungeon below. The guards behind him tremble a little, and the prince tells them to follow him further. He knows this place now. They are outside at the other end of the castle that stretches out into an empty landscape. Here, the vast openness of the lands makes it close to impossible for any escaping convicts to avoid being struck or hunted down. It is also here that far ahead into the distance, the prince sees someone's silhouette moving back and forth.
"There!" he points and heads off, his pace faster than before when he recognizes the owner's build. "Leon!" he calls out into the open. "Leon, it's me, Emil!"
The silhouette stops moving, and when the prince reaches the figure, he begins to recognize his pet's familiar sweeping dark hair and his broad shoulders. Finally, when he reaches him, he can see into his golden eyes and the blood caked all over his once wonderful clothes.
"O-Oh…" the prince catches himself. He looks at the state of his pet: worn, tired, and hungry. His hands are caked with blisters as he is holding a small shovel, its handle also rubbed and stained with a dried red coating. There is a pile of dirt next to him, and behind him lies what appears to be a large pit that is filled halfway with dirt. The prince swallows when he realizes what it is, and he is grateful that he did not have to see the contents buried within.
"Are you almost finished here?" he wearily asks his pet.
The boy silently nods, as he is too exhausted to say anything, or perhaps he does not understand his master and answers with whatever he believes to be appropriate. His work is almost done, as there is a small pile of dirt left to cover the pit. The prince is honestly surprised anyone managed to dig such a deep pit in the middle of Crodinian soil. The earth here is notoriously known for being so cold that it is impossible to plow and grow anything but the hardiest of crops. On top of having to bury his traveling companions, this punishment truly is analogous to death if not worse.
"Leon…" The prince's voice is worn and exhausted but sincere and forgiving. "Hurry up, so we can go back home. We'll take a bath and get some rest after this."
He is not sure if the boy understands him. His golden eyes that normally give off a warm glow are frozen over in an icy glaze. His face and hands are rendered numb from the cold and death of the other Altorienese. His movements are slow and rigid. Yet, in spite of everything, against the rising sun and nearby birds bursting into song, Leon nods to his master and works faster than before.