Ugh, writer's block, ugh. I forgot to reply to my reviews, and now it's been a month, and I'm awkward, but thank y'all so much! So anyway, here's more talking. Feel free to play "Spot the Blatant Character Cameo."

People filed into the narrow bridge walkway like sand through the eye of an hourglass. They pulled carts or livestock from the dusty paths that made up the border town to the pristine white stone that marked Fortuna's capital. The same stone made up the surrounding walls that cast a shadow over us as Nero and I trudged along with the rest of the pack. Through the drone of the people, I could hear water rushing below our feet. Too wide and turbulent to cross by swimming or boat, the river was a large reason why Fortuna had been able to prosper without interference from demons. It coiled around the city's north side, keeping us from any quick means of sneaking in. We had to enter through a gate checkpoint like anyone else.

Though we pulled our horses along behind us so as not to sick out in the crowd, Nero couldn't have looked more suspicious if he'd tried. He stuck so close to his horse that his cheek almost touched hers. With his attempts to hide his anxiety behind pinched anger, he'd practically written "pay attention to us" across his face.

"Let me do all the talking," I said. If we were going to be found out, it would not be my doing.

He must have understood because his grumbling did not turn into an audible argument. Perhaps he was starting to learn better.

Logically, if any of our groups had a chance of success, it was ours. No one had seen the prince's face, after all, and no one would know mine. Kyrie had taken his sword, wrapped it in cloth so that it couldn't be recognized. Yamato was small enough to not be an issue. As for Dante and Father's swords, well, that was no longer my problem.

We'd split up in an attempt to divert attention from ourselves. Father, being the most troublesome, was given Kyrie as a partner. Credo swore by her ability to smooth over a difficult situation, but she'd never had to deal with Father before. Our least suspicious member paired with our most. If there were a Savior, she would need all the help she could get from it.

From there, the groups were decided based on Credo's insistence on keeping my family separated and keeping Dante away from Nero. Likely a good choice, though that left him stuck with Dante. If those two didn't kill each other or raise an alarm before getting into the city, it would be a miracle. To divert attention away from Credo's possibly-recognizable face and Dante's troublesome nature, Lady ended up with them as well. Her reaction to this decision had been a snarl of, "ugh."

That left me with Nero, not that Credo looked thrilled with the outcome. I suppose Credo found me to be less trouble than my brother, and considering my other options, I couldn't complain.

Credo had marked a meeting point for all of us should our game of chance pay off. As yet another precaution, Dante's group had circled to the eastern gate, Father to the western. Nero and I were to enter the north gate unless his fidgeting drew too much attention from the guards.

"If you can't be bothered to act natural, talk to me so you don't give us away immediately," I said to pull his glare from his cast and back to me. The armor had been too obvious, so Credo had wrapped Nero's arm in a sling that the boy treated like a snake strangling his limb.

"You just said not to talk."

"To the guards. You may talk to me."

"Talk to you about what?"

"I don't care, but you need to stop looking like you have something to hide, or the guards will believe it."

His shoulders bunched up near his ears, making those damned dogs rush up from his heels to his toes as they tried to investigate the change in his demeanor. Before one could tumble under nearing hooves, Nero nudged it out of the way with his foot.

Father should have taken his pets with him. Why the burrs had latched onto us, I did not know nor care. At least as dogs they could not talk. Convincing them not to stay in human form took several minutes of demands from Father, one request from Nero, and a flurry of questions from Credo. As always, we'd taken ages to set out.

"If we have to talk, tell me what the plan is," Nero said.

Not a twinge of surprise or irritation hit me. He'd asked after it several times already, and just as before, I gave the same answer as Credo and Father. "We'll explain it once we're set in the capital. Find something else to talk about."

Gritting his teeth, he spoke through a growl. "I thought you didn't care."

I did not care, but I'd been sworn to secrecy. He was allowed to know how we were to get into the city and nothing beyond that.

Once he was done grinding his jaw, Nero gestured to the dogs with a nod. "What's up with the shapeshifting? Can all demons do that?"

"As a general rule, only powerful demons have such an ability. The more power, the more convincing the transformation. They usually take human forms, but even the most powerful demons are limited in some respects. Hiding demonic power entirely is near-impossible, and only doppelgangers can make a perfect mirror of a person. Admittedly, I am not well-versed on this topic. Father would be able to provide you with more information."

"Then even with our demon blood, we can't…"

I allowed myself to crack a slight smile. "Ah, is that what you're really wondering then? Our human blood limits us to a given human form, though our demonic forms are somewhat malleable depending on some factors. I cannot say as much for you, considering your diluted blood."

With a huff of breath, he blew his bangs out of his eyes. "Wow, thanks. You're just half-demon, aren't you?"

"Yes," I said with a bite of hesitation. Judging by the queries in his eyes, he was becoming too comfortable with digging at me for information. The next question could only be...

"Then your mom was a human? And she-" He bit his tongue as he searched for the right wording. "-got with your demon father?"

As we'd neared the gate checkpoint, we became entangled in a clot of the people all trying to file in. As long as no one cared to eavesdrop, I had no reason not to answer his curiosities. I was trapped.

"They were married. Though she was human, my mother was quite strong in her own right. My father can be too amicable for a king, but my mother did well to keep him in line."

Nero's eyes were wide, caught between awe and horror as he nodded. "She must have been strong to birth two kids at once."

If I were to let him say a word to the guards or anyone else, they'd realize within a second that he'd never been outside before. No one but the boy could trap me between a laugh and a sigh. "That's not… Actually, let's not talk about this either." Explaining about demonic ability in public was one thing, but I would not teach biology in a crowd.

Nero was so troubled by his own thoughts that he paid me no mind. "How do you marry a demon?" he continued muttering. "How do you marry Sparda?"

I'd wondered the same thing for years, so I had no answers for him. "Be quiet now," I said instead. "We're almost at the checkpoint."

Perhaps the guards had been warned to keep an eye out because they were terribly nosy. Every little detail needed an explanation. I answered each question with a polite lie, saying how we were mercenaries looking for work. "I hear the capital has some impressive guilds," I added.

One of the two guards asked about Nero's horse, a detail we'd overlooked. "That's an impressive mare. Never seen a mercenary with one like it."

Panic flashed in Nero's eyes as an easy excuse rolled off my tongue about how he won it in a race, but that too brought the guards' suspicion.

"Your brother's awful quiet," one said, not that I'd never claimed Nero as a relative.

"Is he dumb?" the other offered. Though the man's voice was light with curiosity rather than accusation, Nero drew in a sharp breath. Before he could say anything stupid in his offense, I dropped a hand to the top of his head to stop him. I hoped the action looked affectionate despite me trying to make him bite his tongue.

"He is," I said, "but he has skill at fighting."

Though rage flashed from the boy like sparks from a smithed sword, the curious guard took no notice, breaking into a grin as he spoke of in adoration of his mute sister. Even after the guards let us through with a wish of good luck, Nero seethed. He couldn't do much else until we were out of earshot of the guards, which I shouldn't have found so amusing. When he belatedly turned and snapped at me, I struggled to hold back a smile.

"Dumb? Really?"

"It made for a convenient excuse, and that one guard was quite a fan of you."

His eyes narrowed. "Did you know that about his sister?"

"No, just a coincidence. I don't read minds."

That only made him lean closer, staring into my eyes with such focus that he was lucky he didn't run headfirst into a wall.

"Really," I said, "I can't read your mind or anyone else's. If I had to guess, though, I'd say you're thinking about food."

Cheeks tinged with a blush, he shot upright. Seemed my guess was on the mark. "We can eat when everyone else arrives," I offered, feeling certain we would have much time to kill before then. I hoped the boy didn't expect me to entertain him in the interim.

As we traced the streets toward the point Credo had described, Nero became engrossed in the dingy town of shacks. He remained far more interested in the barefoot children running around than the brilliant spires of his castle ahead. As though he sensed me watching him, he spoke. "I've never been to this part of the capital. Didn't know there was an area inside the walls that was so… dreary."

"Every city has a slum," I said.

He gave a hum in response that I couldn't decipher, and we walked in silence until the shouts of the marketplace began to ring in the air. The rows of worn wooden houses became stable shops and carts coated in goods. Spices burned my nose, made worse with the reek of raw fish. I seemed to be the only one among the hundreds milling about who cared. For some ungodly reason the place made Nero perk up, his eyes bright as he pressed up to his toes and scanned the area. "Should we be concerned about the guards?" he asked

"In this crowd? We're nothing of note."

That must have been what had Nero so intrigued - so many people, and not one of them looking at him like a god. I couldn't blame him for finding enjoyment in being the one staring for once. Attention could be exhausting.

"I believe I see the place we'll be lodging tonight," I said, not that he paid me any mind. "I will set up the rooms and put our horses in the stables if you'd like to remain out here for the time being in case the others arrive."

His eyes remained on the crowd as he handed the reins to me. "Sure. Watch Blue, though. She likes to bite."

Though I hadn't seen the mare nip at him, the damned thing tried to take my ear off four times before I could shove her reins into the hands of a startled stable boy. The inn connected to the stables was a proper inn this time, not some rotting tavern with a few extra rooms. The owner showed no surprise or interest in all the beds I requested, nor did he bat an eye when I slid him two gleaming gold coins. Father had not been subtle with the funds he brought, but Father was never subtle about anything.

Neither of the other groups had appeared by the time I returned to the square. Fine by me. The less time Dante and Father spent in a crowd, the better. But it seemed Nero had found himself a different companion, another one he didn't want judging from his forced smile. She must have been young, small in stature and wearing a dress with all the frills of a daffodil. A matching mask obscured much of her face, making her appear like a porcelain doll. One of the false dogs kicked in a desperate bid to be free from her arms. The other hid behind Nero's legs. Not much for guarding if a child could overpower them.

"Is she taking that one off our hands?" I asked as I neared them. Something odd tugged at Nero's expression when he glanced at me, something I couldn't place.

"Oh, my father would never let me," the girl huffed as she crushed the dog in affection. "But he is cute."

"She was just telling me about the festival," Nero said as though exhausted. His starry-eyed intrigue had vanished while I was gone.

"A festival?" I echoed. That did explain the mask. "Then is this more of a clamor than normal?"

The girl wagged her finger at us. "How did you not know? Everyone's been getting ready since we heard the prince was coming back. There's so much to prepare. We have to put on a nice festival to welcome him home."

Whoever ran Fortuna was a sadistic sort. Her explanation was enough for me to piece together the cocktail of anxieties playing on Nero's face. Nothing was going as it should have, not for him, and not for those who had plotted his death. This trip was turning out to be far more interesting than I could have predicted.

"I suppose you're quite happy to know he's safe," I said.

The girl's mask bounced as she nodded. "Yeah, but my father said we should have slaughtered those Capulet heathens for what they did."

A weak laugh bubbled from Nero. "Those are some big words for a girl your age. Is the prince really worth killing an entire country over?"

"Of course he is!"

Nero winced.

"The prince is a gift from our Savior, and he's real strong and great. The Capulet people don't deserve to live anyway. They're rotten heathens."

The speech sounded practiced like arithmetic tables, something that had been drilled into her head. Under the hand he'd slapped across his mouth, Nero murmured some form of a rebuttal about how the Savior wasn't supposed to love murder. I spoke over him.

"Is it strange to you that you've never seen the prince's face?"

"No," the girl said, her head listing to the side. "Everyone wears masks at the festivals, but I heard someone say that maybe you can't look in his eyes because his powers can kill you."

Genuine amusement brought a shine to Nero's eyes. "Neat," he said.

"Is it strange that you only see him at festivals?" I asked.

"No. He's busy."

"Doing what?"

"I dunno. Prince stuff. Fighting demons." She rocked back on her heels. "If you don't know anything, you should go talk to the church men about this stuff. I gotta go." Dropping the dog to the ground, she smacked a few pats to its head. Her farewell seemed focused more on the dogs than us.

"Your people are quite fond of you," I told Nero as she dashed away, but his lip curled toward a scowl.

"They're fond of an idea of me, a wrong one. They don't even know my name."

After she vanished into the crowd, we took to loitering by a fence away from the bustle of the square. The dogs slept against Nero's feet, despite Father's insistence that they would make excellent lookouts.

Against all reason, I found myself breaking our silence, unable to extract his words from my head. "It bothers you then? The way they see you?"

"Of course, but I guess I'll have to keep it up even after I get the crown." With a sigh, he rubbed his hand across his forehead. "I don't know how I'm going to fake being divine, but I've kept it up this long. Pulling the rug out from under the people now would be chaos, I'm sure."

Though the sun burned directly overhead, he looked so exhausted that midnight might as well have fallen over us. He would be ill-fit for a king. In all fairness, anyone in his position would have been. I could not fault him for being raised as a blind sheep. He wasn't even meant to be king.

"Our rooms are open to us," I said. "Go sleep if you're tired."

"I'm not tired." He shook the exhaustion from his face to punctuate his lie. "It's just bright. I'm going to get a sunburn if they don't show up soon. Do you burn too?"

While the rambling was an obvious means of distraction, I saw no reason not to humor him. "Terribly," I said.

"Most demons can handle the fires of hell, but I can't be in the sun for more than an hour." He huffed like an enraged bull. "Then I shed my skin like a snake or something."

"You do have scales, so it's fitting."

Nero didn't care for my attempt at humor. His eyes dulled, and his voice flattened. "You're supposed to be the one who doesn't make jokes."

"I've been stuck with my family my entire life. They're bound to rub off on me whether I like it or not." Yet another thing I hoped Nero wouldn't go off and repeat.

Silence fell between us again as he chewed on a thought. That was never a good sign. When Nero considered something, trouble followed. Before I could speak to tear his thoughts off course, he pinned me with a curious stare. "What about your mom?"

"What about her?" I'd already said all that I wanted to on the subject. Tact was not the boy's strong suit.

"Well, you just said your family had always been with you, but you talked about her in past tense, and I never heard anyone else mention a queen."

Though I watched the movement in the square, I didn't see any of it. "It should be obvious then. What more do you need to know?"

"Would it be rude to ask what happened to her?"

"Yes, but you already have now." Though I'd replayed the scenes thousands of times behind my eyelids, I'd never recounted what happened to anyone. That didn't mean I wanted to start now, especially not with the boy of all people. "Why are you so interested?"

"My mother was killed," he offered in what I could only guess was some curious attempt at empathy. But rather than upset, he seemed troubled by the thought of her loss, as though he couldn't grasp the meaning. "I never really knew her."

I had no doubts that his mother, whatever form she had existed in, was long dead, but she was not the woman he imagined. The boy had never really lost his parents because he'd never had them in the first place. Perhaps that was easier.

He didn't need to know anything. I could have refused, ended the conversation and any more that might arise. I did not owe him such answers. We would be on opposing sides in due time, so why I lowered my voice and began recounting the worst night of my life to him, I couldn't fathom. Perhaps some part of me had always wanted it out in the open.

Father was gone, handling a demon infestation in a nearby settlement. I didn't have to ask why he wasn't at breakfast when I woke that morning. That was always the reason. I did ask Mother why he bothered fighting off the demons for people who couldn't help themselves. The demons would only come back.

With a smile, she squashed my cheeks between her palms. "Those are our people," she said. "Yours too. They can't learn to defend themselves without time and aid. We must give them that, or we'll have no people to rule. Land doesn't make a kingdom. The people do. Do you understand, Vergil?"

As I nodded against her hands, Dante yelled from across the room. "Yeah, and we gotta kill the demons because we gotta, but I'll do that for you."

Mother always gave the same sort of response to that, stalking over to him and pushing his nose back down into his book. "You don't get to do anything until you start focusing on your lessons."

Perhaps that wasn't exactly what happened that morning. I could no longer recall much beyond flashes of moments. Fragments of other days filled in the rest. But that night… I remembered every instant of that night.

The smell was the worst. The sulfuric heat from the demons left the air heavy and humid with the gore from all their victims. That was what true fear smelled like: sweat, fire, and blood.

"Don't look back!" Mother yelled as she dragged us in a chain through bloodsoaked halls. "Keep your eyes forward. Keep running." Despite her words, my wide eyes locked on every passing sight until Dante yanked on my arm hard enough to tear my attention away.

"Forward," he said, not looking at me. Though he tried to sound as commanding as Mother, the waver in his voice matched his trembling hand. I tried to listen, pinning my gaze to his back, but that couldn't block my peripherals, couldn't block the smell.

Castles were built to block out invaders, but few entrances meant few exits. The demons had us cornered, climbing higher and higher to avoid them. "Boys," Mother said through gasps for air, "you two need to go up the tower and lock the door. Put something in front of it if you can, and then be as quiet as possible. Okay?"

Even then, I knew that was wrong. I knew we shouldn't listen, shouldn't separate. I told her we needed to stay together. I told her.

I tried.

"You have to listen to me, Vergil." She wore the slightest smile, but her eyes burned. "Go with your brother and hide."

"No, we have to go together. We have to!"

"Dante, take him and go. Hurry."

With a glance from me to her, Dante nodded, tightened his grip on my arm, and pulled me away. For the first and only time in his life, he listened. Damn him. I fought every step until he practically dragged me up the spiral tower staircase. "Forward," he whispered, his voice cracking, but I watched behind us long after Mother vanished from sight.

I kept looking back until Dante gasped. Even then, I heard the demon before I saw it. Its claws scraped across the stones overhead. The sound seemed to scratch at my bones as well. "Vergil!" Dante trilled. I'd never heard him sound scared before. My brother did not show fear.

His back slammed into my chest, throwing me down three steps before I could catch my fall. Trying to grab the wall had left a painted red streak along the stone. I couldn't feel any pain in my palm, though, not when Dante's breath rattled against my ear. Not when the demon screeched above us.

I lost the next few moments. The more I tried to remember, the more it seemed to slip away. All I could recall was mind-numbing panic and how heavy Dante felt. Through some miracle, I guess I managed to get us past the demon. Or perhaps Dante did that as well. He was the one to shove me into the tower room and shoulder the door closed behind us. His legs gave out at the effort.

My whole body was shaking. I couldn't stand, but the sight of the gash across his chest had me scrambling on all fours over to him. His blood fell in clots like snow to plop against the stone. Useless as I was, could only stare at the wound and whimper in hysterics. "You're bleeding. You're bleeding. You're hurt. We have to do something."

"Hold the door," he hissed through his teeth. "M'okay."

He wasn't. He was pale as death, sweat coating his face. But when the snarling demon rammed the door, I threw myself against it in turn to keep it out. If only we had weapons, I kept thinking. If only we'd gone to Father's office and taken his swords. We could have fought.

Mother would have been alright. Dante would have been alright. I would have protected them.

It was a quaint thought for a child, but I couldn't stand. I couldn't even pull myself from the door to help my weakening brother as his eyelids drooped, and his body fell slack as though he were dozing off against the door. No matter how I called and begged, he wouldn't respond. Even the demon's agonized screams didn't rouse him. The rattling stopped, but we both remained frozen in place.

Mother's muffled call through the door broke the silence. "Boys?"

"Mom?" Dante rasped. His chin pulled up a fraction. At least something got through to him, enough to assure me he wasn't dead yet.

"Come on, we have to get the door open," I told him. "We have to let her in."

"No," her voice cut in like lightning. "You two stay in there. Keep each other safe."

"But Dante's hurt! He's bleeding!" And he wouldn't move. I couldn't pry the door open with him in the way. His eyes showed enough light for coherence, yet he remained.

"Then put pressure on the wound like I taught you," Mother said. "Do you remember that?"

"Yeah."

The unmistakable sound of a sword dragging along stone sang through the air. "No matter what, you two stay put. Behave. I love you both."

I would never know why Dante didn't let her in because I would not ask him. Perhaps incoherence or exhaustion. Whatever the reason, it wasn't good enough. As I would never forgive Father for leaving us to that horrible night, I could never bring myself to forgive Dante for being so damn complacent. I knew it was cruel to still blame an eight-year-old for something he could hardly fathom at the time, but even all these years later, when the world around me fell too silent, I could hear the sound of Mother being torn to pieces from behind that door.

I still felt the rage and grief that seeped through me, the way my entire body seemed to burn with something I could not fathom or contain.

Before I could crush the memories back down to silence, the boy tore me away with his left hand crushed around my right. I couldn't read his intent, his expression drawn to a tight frown as he faced straight ahead. The gesture could have been for his own comfort or mine, not that it was good for either. He would have broken the bones of anyone else with his white-knuckle grip. It seemed I'd said too much, whatever I'd said. I could no longer recall exactly.

"But that was a long time ago," I said in finality.

"It didn't sound like it." His voice held no accusation, and I still could not place whatever emotions he held behind his steeled gaze.

I couldn't find it within myself to argue, so I did the only other thing I could do. I pushed the focus to him.

"Nero, if you had an experience that was nothing but agony, a memory of nothing but pain, would you wish to forget it?"

He must have thought that I was still referring to myself. His mask fell away to reveal curious, distant eyes. The more he considered it, the more his brow became troubled. "I'm not sure," he said at length. "Would you?"

Seemed he'd mastered the same diversion tactic as well. "I would not. I have learned far more from bad experiences than from good. They are a necessary evil." Forgetting would simplify much, but I could not degrade my Mother's memory by erasing her last moments.

Nero nodded. "Then I guess I wouldn't want to forget if the memories were important."

I chewed the inside of my cheek to stop myself from asking a damning question of what should happen to memories already forgotten. I'd sworn secrecy on that matter. More importantly, the boy still held onto my hand like some lost toddler.

Twisting my hand in his, I took his fingers in a strangling grip and pulled them up between us. That brought his gaze back to me for the first time, and he looked at our hands as though he'd forgotten they existed. As he tried to tear himself free, I tightened my grip.

"If you become king," I said, "you and I will be in opposing positions of power. You must not forget that. Even if we are allies, you cannot feign friendship with myself or my family. That would be a dangerous game. Keep this in mind for any ally. Remain at a distance."

At that, I allowed him to free himself from my grasp. Shoving his hand down to his side, he muttered an agreement. "Not like I want to be friends with your damn family," he added with a swell of venom. "Fortuna needs nothing from Capulet."

"And Capulet wants nothing from Fortuna."

We could both argue such platitudes all we wished. Nothing was that simple. In the silence that followed, that reality weighed over both of us. I could hear it in his sigh as he finally looked to his castle.

I hated how well I understood him in that moment.

Everyone gets a sad, bloody past.

I swear I'm done with them after this.