Dark couldn't have felt more on edge.

He had forgotten all about the festival traditions. Normally, under other circumstances, a prince in his position would have been tasked with milling about and schmoozing with the notable attendees. Dancing with each of them. But as this was a special case with a very "important" guest of honor, his "savior", those traditions were pushed aside.

Now he was told to stick to Wilford's side throughout the whole thing. And he should have felt relieved that he didn't have to kiss up to a duke or duchess for a dance. But knowing what Wilford was capable of? Being near the man for so long was killing him.

In more ways than one.

There also wasn't going to be a parade, sadly.

He found his hand subconsciously fiddling with a bit of embroidery on his shoulder. The same one with his mark. It was burning under all this fabric. Having Wilford near-he wanted to touch him. Lean into his arms. Rest his head against him.

Even if it meant having a gun put to him.

Though he doubted Wilford would be mad enough to make an attempt on his life with so many witnesses.

So perhaps it was a good thing they were seated together on this balcony overlooking the festivities. In plain sight.

From beside him he could hear Wilford taking a deep, content breath. "I love the smell of the ocean." he sighed, relaxing in his seat. "Don't you?"

Dark did not respond, too deep in thought. His arms draped over the railing, the prince leaning forward as he scanned the cheerful crowd. These were his people. And yet he didn't feel as though he... deserved them? He's heard all of what they've had to say about him. He's cold, cruel. Stiff. Spoilt. That he had ice in his veins and a stone where his heart should be.

It was all a façade and they didn't know it. They'd never know.

His parents did their best to paint him as the perfect child. The perfect prince. Smart, skilled, handsome. They made him push away aspects of himself that he enjoyed and cherished. That he thought made him unique. He loathed it.

His people deserved a prince who was braver than that. What kind of prince was he that he couldn't even stand up to his own parents? He didn't want to leave this world having his people believe him to be something he wasn't.

"Prince Dark?" Wilford repeated.

And now Dark looked to him, finding the pink man staring. "Yes?"

Wilford drummed his fingers around the rim of the large shallow bowl between them. "What's this for?" in it was a good amount of water, infused with sweet smelling flower petals and some kind of fruit.

"Purely decoration-" Dark had a thought. As he stared down into the perfumed water and his reflection stared back.

If he wanted his people to see him differently in his final moments there was one good place to start.

He was already crying for his poor suit. Though it really was just water, so there wouldn't be much of an issue.

Dark glanced behind them. The door to the balcony was shut, and he knew there were guards on the other side of it. There was no where for Wilford to go but over the railing or through those doors. And Dark had had enough of keeping everything to himself.

There was no point in delaying what was to happen.

He stood up, "Wilford." Dark held his cane under his arm. "I know you're here to kill me."

And suddenly the smile was gone from Wilford's face. Dark didn't think he's ever seen him look so... serious. Except the night Anti attacked. He expected at least some amount of denial. A refusal. Or at the very least a confused expression. But there was none of that, and as he noticed Wilford's fingers twitch at his sides he knew it was because he hit the nail on the head.

That was not the face he fell for.

Before a weapon could be pulled Dark spoke up, "Before anything else... I have one final request."

"As they all do." Wilford clicked his tongue, scowl ever present on his face. He looked like a cat that had been deadset on toying with the mouse just to have it slip out of his paws. "And what would the prince like?"

Dark peeled off his gloves, letting them fall to his feet. "Just to piss off my dear mother and father one last time before I leave this rotten existence." Wilford wasn't expecting that answer, but the devilish grin let Dark know that he could continue. He didn't know what kind of conversations Wilford had had with the queen and king, but it was abundantly clear that he wasn't all that fond of them either. Perhaps he could see through the lies as well.

He removed his suit jacket, draping it over his seat.

"I gotta admit, I wasn't expecting it to go on for so long like this."

"I can tell." Dark told him, "Your story had more holes than an old sweater after fencing practice. No offense, of course. I'm sure you're a professional." that got a laugh out of him.

"Something like that."

The prince turned towards the bowl, hand clutching at the glamour stone hanging from his neck. When he snapped it off you almost wouldn't notice the difference in his hair. But his eyes were plain to see. Hazel and brown. He dropped the stone to the ground, where it cracked. Little black wisps puffing out and dispersing into the air with its magic.

He wasn't finished.

Dark gripped the bowl with both hands, finding it unwieldy. "Do me a favor, ring that bell beside you." Wilford glanced over, shrugging to himself before he took the cord and jerked it to and fro. The bell rang loud and clear, the festival below them slowing to a stop. With the bowl now clear over his head he addressed them, "Right, now that I have your attention..."

He was aware that he looked like a right mad man. Lifting a heavy wooden water basin above his head like this. He could see his parents on the balcony across from him. His mother was glaring at him so hard that he nearly threw in the towel right there. Years. Years of caking on gray powder. Years of being told that he was an abomination. Years of constant ridicule for something he couldn't control.

Years of battling with his own internal monologue.

Well, no more. The prince was not going to go out coated in lies.

And with his eyes locked with his mother's, he dumped the water. The prince doused himself in the sweet scented liquid. Wet petals stuck to his skin. The powder washed away.

And there he stood. The prince of their kingdom. Heir to the throne. A being who was split down the middle clear as day. Covered in pale pink petals from the water that soaked him.

He dropped the bowl, fixing his jabot but not bothering to dry himself. "That is all." He grabbed his coat, cane in hand as he turned. "Come, Wilford. It seems I need a change of wardrobe." a good excuse as any to get away from the festival.

Wilford was quick to his feet, joining Dark on his way. He spoke quietly into his ear, "What are you up to?"

"If you plan on killing me this isn't the place to do it, unless you wish to he caught." he whispered to him, "You really didn't think this through, did you? What kind of assassin are you?"

"I'm not-" Wilford sucked in a breath, standing straight as the doors opened on the guards standing post. "Helloooo!" he greeted, chipper. "The prince just needs to freshen up, I'll escort him. No worries~" he sang, hand coming to grip Dark's shoulder. It wasn't hard. Or soft. But firm.

Almost comforting.

The mark was practically singing now. Dark could feel it. Part of him wished Wilford could as well. But as they continued to walk, the hand still on his shoulder, he knew that he couldn't. When they were far from the guards, down the stairs standing in a side entrance that would open out into a twisting, turning maze of dark alleyways, the prince spoke up.

"If you plan on killing me, I'd suggest you do it now." he spat, gripping the handle of his cane tightly, ready to unsheath the hidden blade.

"Kill you?" Wilford was chuckling, "Who said anything about killing you?"

Dark grew confused. He didn't understand. If Wilford wasn't going to end his life then why go along with it?

Suddenly the alley looked far more crowded. Cloaked figures standing around just beyond the door. There'd be nowhere for Dark to run. And the guards wouldn't stand a chance against so many. The only thing keeping Dark safe was the wood between them, but then that left Wilford. The man who stood right behind him, hand still on his shoulder.

Dark was screwed.

"You're worth far more to us alive."