12 hours later...

Arthur opened his eyes, blinking wildly at what he was seeing. He was on a farm, and looking down at himself, he could tell he wasn't any younger.

So it wasn't the same as the last weird dream he had.

He wore the same nightgown he had when he had fallen asleep that night. It was made of blue silk, and thankfully it wasn't nearly as revealing as the other nightgowns he had worn. Even though, the dress was still intimate, and Arthur would prefer it if no one he went across in this weird dream would notice him.

The brit was in a barn, but there were no animals. Instead, the stall doors had charts and documents pinned to them. He walked up to the first door he had seen and read. It was obviously a map, but there were clipped instructions attached to the corner, written in weird shapes and symbols; somehow he knew it was addressed to him.

Dear Arthur,

You are probably confused and a little scared. You will probably believe this was some weird dream that you should just forget about; don't. This isn't a dream. You are asleep, yes, but you're not dreaming.

You could've died that night.

You should've froze to death, but you managed to stay alive for hours, even after Dylan had found you. You are alive because of one thing: Magic.

I know this sounds ridiculous, but is there any other explanation? We've been watching you for a while now, Arthur. You had survived living on the streets, the plague, assaults, hypothermia... a normal man would hardly be able to survive even one of those, yet alone all.

The Kirkland family has a powerful pedigree of magic users, be it witches, wizards or magicians. In fact, you wouldn't be able to even read this note if powerful magic wasn't coursing through your veins.

Who are we? How would we have been able to have to watch over you for as long as we have?

The note ended there. When Arthur flipped the paper, nothing was there either, it was completely blank. He cursed. He still had so many questions, none of which had been answered. He walked around to other stools, looking for more possible notes, but he found none. Only vague battle strategies that would only make sense if you knew the area.

He walked towards the door of the barn, figuring that he had to leave the old wooden structure and look for someone. Preferably the person who wrote the note in the first place, they seemed to be knowledgeable. He pushed the door, but it wouldn't budge. He pushed again, harder this time, but all he got in return was creaking and sawdust falling into his hair. The door was a no-go.

He looked around the building and found that it had a second layer, and a window, the only window. He needed to get to that window. But how? There wasn't a ladder in sight, was he supposed to climb up there? He'd break his neck. He swore again, sizing up the situation in his head.

He knew that he needed to get to the second story of this barn. He knew there is no ladder. He could try scaling the wall, but if he were to fall, he'd hurt himself and break a bone. Even if his climbing skills were up to par, the building is old, and applying too much weight while climbing would cause him to fall too, leading to the same result. There are a bunch of boxes, perhaps they're stackable...even then he would have to make an impressive leap to the second story, and it didn't look too stable. There was no rational way of getting up safely.

Arthur slowly approached one of the stalls and opened it, seeing a pile of books laying on some hay. He picked one up titled 'The Sovereign History of the Principalities of Magick'. Interesting title, Arthur had to admit, but it probably had little to do with his cause. He put the book aside and lifted another, which also had an interesting title but had little relevance. He sorted through all of the books in the stall, not finding a single one useful. He entered another stall, only to find the same books. He entered another one, then another one, and then another.

They all had the same books.

He swore lightly when he found it was no use, taking a seat on the floor of one of the stalls in defeat. He sat there contemplating how long he would have to wait there for someone. Would it be until he was woken up in real life? Or would he be stuck in a coma until he could complete whatever it was he was supposed to do?Alfred had just told him he loved him, why does he have to go through all of this? He could just imagine Alfred's face if he were to wake up to see the brit in a coma. He would be heartbroken.

The Englishman could feel his eyes water, so to distract himself, he picked up that book about the principalities, and began to read.

The Principalities of Magick are their own sovereign nations now, after the war. The bloody war of cards, also known as Bellum Pecto, divided the deck into four suits: Hearts, Diamonds, Clubs, and Spades. The war, ultimately, was fought over a misunderstanding, instigated by the Jokers.

In the beginning, when all the suits identified as a single political being, there was a single king, and four noble houses: The Bonnefoy, the Beilschmidt, the Braginski, and the Jones.

The King was very powerful, but his power was limited by the four houses. The King himself would be chosen randomly, a shuffle you may say. He could be from any of the four houses, but he would only be chosen once every couple generations. Until the next king was chosen, the position was hereditary. This temporarily gave that house more power than an individual house, but if the houses united, they were about equal to the king.

The houses, however, weren't friendly to one another, and went out of their way to make each other's campaigns more difficult, but they were always respectful to the king. They acknowledged the value of the king's favor, so they would pool their wealth to fill the general coffers and aid the poor when times were tough. They each went out of their way to maintain the peace within the empire, finding ways to make everyone happy while achieving their goals. This worked in the Deck.

To avoid the king from getting too much power, the Virgam ex Vicis, or the staff of fortune, would be rotated between houses every year, making the annual event a holiday. Until every house received the staff once, no house would have it twice. That was the system that they used, and it worked for a millennium.

Until one day, a Joker was announced.

It was very rare for a joker to be born, but they were always born in one of the four noble houses. A joker was a very powerful being in the Deck, being able to take the place of any position that was empty. Having a Joker was the greatest advantage if the chosen King were to die without an heir; they would automatically take the throne.

That was the case for Gilbert Beilschmidt, the oldest male child of the Duke. He was announced as a Joker during a meeting, days before the Chosen King, a Jones, died. He was to be placed on the throne within the year as the first Beilschmidt to rule in the last 300 years.

Members of the Jones house called foul play.

George Jones I and the rest of his house campaigned against the new king, saying that the proximity of the death of the king and the discovery of Gilbert being a Joker was too close to be a coincidence. He quickly gained support from several provinces, scaring the Beilschmidt house. So, Gilbert did the only thing he could do: take the Virgam ex Vicis and hide it.

When the Braginski's found the Virgam ex Vicis missing, they went into a frenzy, first accusing the Jones of stealing it. Their claim was that the Jones were just power hungry, that they would do whatever it took to get what they wanted. This infuriated George thoroughly, declaring that the Braginski and Beilschmidt houses were in on this plot together, that they would do anything to cover their trail. The people began to choose sides, fighting amongst themselves over who should really be the next king. The remaining houses were being pressured in every direction to choose a position, or else they would be replaced.

The Allied alliance of the Jones and Bonnefoy was eventually formed, their opposite being the Axis, the remaining houses. They didn't segregate, they all identified as a citizen of the same Deck, their relationship strained but not broken. Some were optimistic that the houses would be able to make amends, but their opinions changed after the hit weighing over the King's head was finally made. The Youthful King Beilschmidt was assassinated the eve of his coronation.

This marked the final Schism in the nation.

Towns and houses were set on fire, nobles chased out. There was civil strife throughout the nation for centuries until the houses, or what was left of them, signed a treaty. The houses were now a mere shell of their former glory, barely being able to control the masses. The four decided to go their own ways, becoming the four suits. Each Kingdom emphasized on different things, which will be discussed in later chapters.

They decided to sign that treaty because they found the late king Gilbert's old journal in a hidden room in the Old Capital. Turned out tricky King Gilbert hid the staff to cause a distraction great enough to keep everyone off of his case until he was crowned, unwittingly causing mischief. He shared his remorse, promising he would return it as soon as the coast was clear. He never stated where the staff was hidden, and it remains a mystery to this day.

The houses apologized to each other, attempting to make things work how it had before. That was impossible though, too many lives lost from each side prohibited that from happening. That was why they formed different kingdoms, only speaking to another suit when they had to.

Arthur was thoroughly pleased with that passage, a little baffled that it was just the prologue. He liked this book, it was safe to say that it was his new favorite, so he cradled it in his arms. From the one window in the entire barn, he could see the sun setting, the entire day slipping by so quickly. The brit sighed heavily, the tears coming back.

When was he going home?


12 hours earlier...

Alfred and Arthur were wrapped in each other's arms, cuddling and chatting about anything and everything. Alfred was currently telling the brit about the time he went streaking across the shoreline of the beach near his castle, and how his father almost gouged his eyes out for it. The brit's eyes were tearing up with laughter, heaving from the lack of air.

"And then what happened?" the Englishman said through teary eyes.

"My mother walked in, and let me tell you, it wasn't a pretty sight!" he sighed nostalgically. "She came in just in time to see him press the spoons against my eyes like a mad man. She grabbed the nearest thing to her, which was a vase, and threw it at his head!" the brit was now in a fit, laughing and shaking wildly. Alfred could listen to the brit laugh forever, the cheery, smooth sound was music to his ears.

"What did your father do?" he asked breathlessly, settling down from his high. The brit pulled away from the American momentarily, repositioning himself so the back of his head was in the crook of the prince's neck. Alfred sniffed the brit laying on top of him and smiled, noting the way his own scent lingered on the small blonde.

"Well, uh, I think he yelled in agony. Then the guards came in and escorted me and my mother out. She spent the night with me and Matthew like the 'old times'" he paused to make finger quotes. "And my parents didn't speak for a week." He concluded his story with a smile. It was weird talking about his father like this, knowing that they wouldn't have any more times like that. His heart ached a little, but he had to be strong, for everyone.

He had shipped his father's body to America a few weeks ago to be buried in the castle. Francis had been opposed to it, saying that it would reek of death and decay before it got there. Alfred was indifferent, burying him here or there wouldn't change the fact that he was gone, so he asked Matthew. His brother told him to mummify the body, which they ended up starting. The rest of the process would have to be done on the ship on the way home.

He was still angry though, not letting his initial grief slow down his momentum of finding those outlaws that tried to kill him. After his father's body, and all his other knight's bodies, were recovered, he sent his best out again to investigate and track the men who did this. He gave them a description of the knight he lost up against; it was vague but it would prove useful. He also told them to be on the lookout for the Arthur's brother, Peter. Alfred noticed how the brit wouldn't talk about him, or even mention finding him anymore.

The brit had given up, and that broke the prince's heart.

But he had enough patience and determination to find the boy for the both of them. Meanwhile, around the fortress, tensions are high because people are about ready to snitch. Whoever the ringleader was, they were losing their grip over the others each day, and it wouldn't be long for a greedy knight to come forth and spill his guts all over the table.

"ALFRED, WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME LIKE THAT!?"

Alfred snapped his attention to the very pink brit, who was currently hiding the worst of his blush behind his hands. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable, but also really adorable. Alfred chuckled an apology, which earned him a soft growl in response. Alfred hummed, thoroughly amused.

"I'm sorry, I must have gotten lost in your eyes."

He grabbed the brit by the arms and pulled him into his lap, making the brit face him. He pulled the hands away from Arthur's face and stared lovingly at the intense red on the brit's cheek. The Englishman, despite himself, leaned down and initiated a heated kiss with the alpha. Alfred kissed back, of course, equal in passion and wrapped his arms around the brit's waist, pulling him closer. Arthur moaned lightly, pulling away slightly to nibble on the prince's lip.

"I love you"

"I love you too, Artie"

Knock, Knock, knock

Alfred let out a curse, glaring at the door. "Who is it?" he called out loud enough. No response was made, only more knocking. Arthur got off the American and made his way to the door, pulling it open slightly and poking his head through, hiding his body. The brit looked great, and the red nightgown he wore wasn't very revealing, but the prince was glad he hid himself from the lustful eyes of the maid or whoever was at the door.

Arthur had gotten much thicker than the first time they had met, his curves now huggable without the fear of breaking him. He had a very feminine body if you asked him, but you could still tell that he was a dude. Especially now that he cut his hair. Alfred was glad that he let the mane go, it was hard to run his fingers through it. Now his hair was as silky as the rest of him. His pale color hardly changed though, so the prince figured it was his natural pigment. It wasn't a bad shade, in fact, it made him look like one of those porcelain dolls his mother always collected; with his big, bright green eyes and his cute, perfect smile.

"Alfred, breakfast is here."

The maid set up the two some breakfast, speeding so she could get out of there. It was probably because of the brit. Before the Englishman graced the fortress with his presence, the female help would linger in his room when it came to simple tasks like dusting or setting up breakfast. Well, now not so much, considering his relationship with the brit isn't a secret. She was probably jealous, confused, maybe even hurt. All of his maids were, he could tell, but Arthur didn't notice because he hadn't known them before.

Whatever, as long as Arthur didn't know. If he did, he would feel bad because he was way too compassionate, a trait the American wished he still possessed. The maid left before he knew it, leaving the two to eat their food. Nothing special, just sausage, egg and some apple slices. Arthur loved apple slices, seeing that they were easier to chew on. Alfred had no preference, as long as the brit was comfortable.

~~~~~Wounded Knight~~~~

He was so bored. They were currently sitting on the bed in pleasant silence, reading silently to themselves. On a day like this, he would normally be in the indoor practice room training or sharpening his swords. He handled all of his equipment himself to ensure that it received the best treatment. However, Arthur looked so comfortable here in his arms, and he didn't look as if he wanted to move.

Maybe...

"Hey Arthur, after this..." Alfred hesitated, now a bit nervous at the thought. Why would Arthur want to do that with him? He regretted even opening his mouth when he saw the expectant look in the brit's eyes. Alfred shook his head with a slight blush. Dammit. "Never mind" he said with a frustrated sigh. Arthur quirked his brow in curiosity before placing a hand on the other's thigh.

"What is it?" he asked gently. Alfred shook his head again, only for the brit to press on. "Oh c'mon Alfred, if you want us to do something, we can. Unless... you don't want to spend the day with me?" he too sounded hesitant, albeit, a bit hurt. Alfred quickly shot down his insecurity with wild 'no's and 'what's.

"It's just... do you, maybe, wanna watch me train? It's been a while, and I'm available... I don't need to; I could always do it another day." Alfred was rambling, but the smile on the brit's face broadened the more he spoke. Arthur finally hushed him with his finger and hummed dramatically.

"Well, it depends... are you going to teach me any self-defense?"

Huh?
"Oh, well... yeah" he said with a shrug. "Why not, actually?" the smile on the brit's face was priceless as he hopped of the bed. Heading straight for the dressers.

"Well what are we waiting for then!"

~~~~~Wounded Knight~~~~~

"OWWW!"

The brit landed on his back with a groan, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Alfred walked over to him and offered a hand, which the brit refused to take. "I don't need your pity, I'm fine!" He rolled over on to his stomach and pushed himself up. When the brit looked to be steady, shaking slightly on his feet, Alfred returned to his previous position on the other side of the room.

"Arthur, I don't want you to press yourself too hard..." Alfred stated worriedly, noting the way the brit looked. His hair was sticking to his face and his back was hunched over. His eyes were unfocused and he was breathing heavily, but nevertheless he kept getting up all determined and stuff. He reminded him a little of himself when he first started out.

The American wanted to stop, sparring proving to be a horrible idea. The Englishman was hell bent on it though, and wouldn't let up. The brit had told him 'not to go easy' which the American ignored entirely. However, even at his worse, he was still better than the brit, who looked about ready to pass out.

"I'm fine... I just... give me a second to..." Arthur walked away from the prince and sat down on a bench, holding onto his side. "Ow, Alfie... that one actually hurt... like a lot"

Shit

The American rushed over to him with a bottle of water and sat down beside him. Before he could hand it to him, the brit slumped over onto Alfred and groaned again, resting his head on the muscular lap of the prince. "Artie, sweetie, you need to drink some of this, it's going to help." He tried pouring the water into the other's mouth, but the brit kept spitting it up.

He wasn't reacting very well.

"Hey, Artie... swallow it for me," the prince pushed the bottle into his mouth. "look it's already in your mouth, you might as well." he tried to sound as convincing as possible. Arthur groaned again, spitting the water out, but this time accidentally all over the American's shirt. "Aww, c'mon Artie! On me? Of all places you could've spit it out!"

"Sorry" he said as he coughed. His face was red; he was over heated.

"It's fine, just" the prince looked down at the water in his hand, "I'll just put this here..." he trailed off as he pulled off his own shirt and soaked it in the freezing water. He then removed the other's shirt and dabbed the wet cloth on him. The Englishman gasped as the American rubbed the cloth over his body, panting harder and faster.

"Alfred... stop!" the brit said with a scowl, swatting at the prince's hand.

"Arthur, this is for your own good- "

"HE SAID STOP IT, LEAVE MY BABY ALONE!"

There was a flash of black before the American was knocked out of his seat on the bench onto the floor. To say the least, the prince was winded, eyes so blurry he could hardly make out any shapes. He could hear faint pleads come from the brit, but he heard the accusations shot towards him even louder.

"HOW DARE YOU! ARTHUR ISNT SOME CHEAP FUCK, YOU TREAT YOUR MATE WITH RESPECT. IF HE DOESN'T WANNA HAVE SEX THEN DON'T MAKE HIM! AND IN HERE OF ALL PLACES HOW DARE YOU!?" the accent was thick, an accent he had heard a lot more frequently around his presence.

"Elizabeta, please stop it! We weren't doing anything." The brit said as he limped his way over to the prince, mildly horrified. "Honestly, what did I say about jumping to conclusions? You need to be more careful about where you swing that thing!"

What thing?

As his vision began to return to him, Alfred began to make out a large black object in the Hungarian's hand. Was that... a frying pan? His head was pulsing and the back of his head felt sticky. He moved one of his hands to feel the back of his head, but it was met with the brit's hand already there, applying pressure. It must have been an open wound.

Alfred look out!

"What?"

Alfred, I thought I told you stay away from this place! George! Guards!

"Wait, what?"

"Alfred we didn't say anything. But we need to get you to the infirmary."

Get him to the infirmary! Get him inside, quickly!

"Alfred are you alright? Can you stand?"

Goddammit George! Hurry up! Alfred, don't you dare close your eyes!

"Alfred?"

Martha, what did you do!? What happened!?

"Alfred?!"

What did I do?! Where the hell were you!?

"Alfred, can you hear me?!"

What happened to my son?! What the hell happened to him!? Doctor!

"Elizabeta get help!"

Doc- wait... Who the hell is she!? Are you fucking kidding me George!?

"Okay, Alfred, I need you to stay awake! Can you do that for me?"

Now is not the time Martha! Doctors!

"Alfred!"

Yes, my lor- Oh my god!

"Oh my god, Alfred! Please stay awake!"

Doctor get a hold of yourself! Get him to the infirmary

"We just need to get to the infirmary!"

Mommy?

"Alfred, please stay awake"

Alfred, please stay awake!

"For me, just hang on a little longer just for me!"

Stay awake, stay awake for mommy! Please stay awake for mommy!

"They're coming. I can hear them! Just keep your eyes open just a little bit longer"

Martha move! Take my son into surgery now!

"It's gonna be fine...'

Mommy!

"It's gonna be fine"

It's all gonna be fine.

~~~~Wounded Knight~~~~

Darkness.

He was surrounded in darkness, constricting darkness that swallowed every one of his words into the void. It was a familiar sensation, the way it pulsed through his body like blood. It was painful, but it wasn't unpleasant. He could feel his humanity.

It was like flesh, and the darkness bit tiny pieces of it off like a hound, until all of it was gone. It was painful, but it wasn't unpleasant, the darkness was helping him. It was helping him realize who he really was, underneath all the flesh and fat of society, under all the muscle and blood of what he was expected to be. The bone that the hound called darkness left behind was his true self, a self untainted by the world, a self that should be unleashed upon the world.

A self so cruel that it should be harnessed and utilized.

But what was that light?

Why was it so bright?

The darkness was getting weaker, he could hear voices, voices that didn't belong to the void.

He knew those voices. He... he... he...

"Mom?"

More voices, they were getting louder, he could almost make out what they were saying.

"Mom? Is that you?"

The voices got even louder, now loud enough for Alfred to make out every single word.

Alfred, sweetie, don't move.

Don't move? But why, why can't he move? His flesh is being torn from his bones, yet he cannot move. If she knew of the pain he was enduring she would understand why not moving can no longer be an option.

"Mom... it hurts"

Alfred can you hear me?... I told you to stay away from that place...

What room... oh, that room. But he didn't want to go to that place. He made him do it.

"It's not my fault"

He was going to go outside, and play with Matthew, he didn't want to enter that place. It wasn't his fault; it wasn't his fault. It was all his...

George, this is all of your fault...

No it's not!

"Yes it is daddy."

You mind yourself, Martha!

"It was all of your fault daddy"

~~~Wounded Knight~~~~

Alfred woke up in his room, a soft pressure on his bicep. He looked over groggily to see the brit's head resting on his arm. It was a dream...? Was he a part of it or was he watching? He couldn't tell, it was so dark...

What happened to him?

He felt the back of his head, only to feel bandages wrapped around it. Oh yeah... Elizabeta. What was he to do with her? Was he going to hang her?... Nah, to subtle. Was he going to whip out the old guillotine? Perhaps that was an option. Ooh, or was he going to take out the old iron maiden? It's been a while since he had last used it, he kind of missed the old gal.

Wait, what?

No, no, no, no, bad Alfred, Elizabeta is Arthur's friend, not some common criminal. But she assaulted the future king of America!

She wouldn't be the first one.

Alfred froze, looking around the room in shock, horror, and confusion. "Who said that?" There was someone in his room, who read his mind, and said some ominous shit that was actually incorrect. No one, who was a citizen of the U.S, has ever hit him over the head with a frying pan, that wasn't cool. Like where does she get off on hitting him for trying to help his mate. Yeah, he did beat Arthur up, but it was unintentional and it is all a part of the learning experience.

Anyway, who the fuck was in his room?

"I said, who the hell said that?"

Truth of the matter is, despite how agitated he sounded, Alfred was close to pissing his pants. He didn't want to run his mouth to a possible paranormal entity, but he did want to look like he wasn't afraid.

I know you're afraid, you don't need to be though... I'm not going to hurt you.

"Who the hell are you!?" the prince yelled, causing the brit beside him to flinch in his sleep.

You don't want to wake him, do you?

"Who the hell- "

I saw your dream; do you remember yet? Do you remember us yet?

Alfred stared at nothing as he went silent, trying to understand what was going on. Was he losing his mind? Was this punishment for something? All he knew was that there was a bodiless voice that claimed to have known him. Was he his subconscious?

Bingo.

"What?!" Alfred blinked wildly as he pulled away from the brit roughly, falling to the floor with a thump. "Ow..." he groaned as he reached for his nightstand, grabbing a match. With a flick of his wrist and a graze of the table, the match was alight, giving off a soft glow. On top of the nightstand was a candle, which the prince lit with the match in his hand. The room was instantly illuminated, everything could be seen. Alfred stood up and looked around, looking for any sign for intrusion.

You won't find anything, Alfred. I'm your subconscious, so that means I'm in your head. Who's that guy?

The American instantly turned to the brit, growling at the voice. "You leave him alone!" Alfred would be damned if someone, or something, hurt him.

Relax, I wasn't gonna do anything. I was just curious is all, I've been gone for a while.

"What do you mean 'gone for a while', like asleep?" Alfred was no longer afraid, but he was still confused. "And do people normally talk to their subconscious like this? Or am I just crazy?"

Uh... I was locked away with your memories, and no, people don't converse with their inner selves like this, but your special. You might want to wake him up, whoever he is. I'm getting bad vibes from his dream.

"Oh, are you? Is he having a nightmare?" the prince sounded skeptical as he approached the brit's unconscious body. The Englishman was wearing a blue nightgown, which felt soft against his fingers as he shook him awake. Arthur groaned a little, and then shot up into a sitting position suddenly, causing the American to fly backwards in shock.

"WHERE AM I? WHAT'S HAPPENING!?"

Alfred stood up and approached the confused brit with his hands in the air. "Relax, Artie." He sat down beside the panting blond who look really surprised to be awake. "What's wrong? Do you wanna go back to bed?" He didn't want to impose on the other's sleep, especially after seeing how close to tears Arthur was. "I'm sorry. Why don't you- "

He was interrupted by the Englishman suddenly catapulting himself into his arms, panting and sobbing lightly as he clung to his body. "I thought I... I thought..." Alfred wanted to be worried, and he was, but something about the way the other cried was just humorous. It sounded like a dying orca, which for some reason made the prince laugh on the inside.

"Arthur, relax!" he said through a chuckle, hushing the shaking teen in his arms. "It was just a nightmare, it means nothing!" He ran his fingers through the brit's hair in an attempt to calm him, but it only made him cry harder.

"I thought I was gonna be there forever, I was so afraid!"

"Arthur- "

"And you hit your head, but it was fine because the doctors said you would be awake in a few hours so I was okay about that. But then when I thought I wouldn't wake up, I remembered that you just said you loved me and I was gonna cry and- "

"Arthur! Relax! Why wouldn't you have woken up?" Alfred was completely confused, and when things confused him, he would normally just ignore it. However, it was Arthur he was talking about, and he couldn't ignore him. Therefore, he had to get to the bottom of this. Arthur didn't seem too cooperative.

"Because I couldn't reach the window!" he cried

"What window?"

"The window on the second story that lead to the outside!" he explained.

"Outside to what?"

"I don't know!" Alfred sighed at his answer, causing the brit to get defensive. " I'm not lying or anything! If you were there you would freak out too. There were these books, all these books, and I read one about four different principalities. Well, I read the prologue, but it was quite interesting. I- "

Sounds like a terrifying dream

"Okay, okay, relax Artie, relax." He did his best to hide his annoyance, but some still shown through. The brit's wet eyes narrowed as he glared at him, his huge eyebrows knit together.

"Never in the history of mankind has telling someone to CALM DOWN had actually made them CALM DOWN YOU BLOODY GIT! I had a bad dream, don't antagonize me!" he pulled away with a huff and settled himself on the bed. Oh boy. "And to think I was gonna cry over your memory!"

Alfred hummed along, ignoring the echoing laughter in his head. He settled himself on the bed too, blowing out the candle. Arthur, despite himself, cuddled up against the prince, who didn't mind seeing that it was a sign of forgiveness. Alfred could feel sleep returning, but he fought to keep his eyes open, fearing another cryptic dream. It was so dark...

"Alfred?"

"Yes."

"What if I have another nightmare?"

"I'll be here when you wake up to make you feel better."

"I... I don't want to sleep." He sat up and lit the candle, much to Alfred's dismay. The prince didn't want to dream, but reality wasn't much better. He was so tired, and he had work in the morning. Alfred remained in his spot, putting a pillow over his head to keep the light out.

You're just going to leave him like this?

"I'm right here, it'll be fine"

"I know" the brit answered lightly. Alfred forgot that talking out loud was a no-no. He hummed in annoyance.

"Arthur just come to bed."

"No"

"Arthur..."

"Can you stay up with me?"

"I have work in the morning" the American answered robotically. What would they even do? Read? Alfred would pass out in seconds.

"Please..." the brit sounded desperate. Dammit.

The American sat up with a huff and swung his legs over the bed, walking towards his dresser. He pulled open his last drawer and took out a deck of cards. He wasn't going to read; he knew that for sure.

"Hey Arthur, do you know how to play strip poker?"