Gon knelt with his bare back to the throne, his clammy forehead pressed to the cool tiles. His forearms trembled with the effort of holding himself up, but he dare not fall.

"Thank you for bringing my son home." King Silva's words were harsh, unfeeling. Legs crossed as he perched on his chair, he bore an uninterested expression, lax lips and dull eyes as he cracked the whip again. Beads of blood surfaced from Gon's bruised skin, trickling down his spine and dripping into small puddles on the floor. "And thank you for returning him safely."

Gon shut his eyes against the pain. He counted the strokes to ground himself. 34. The king wouldn't stop at such an imperfect number. For what felt like hours, this had endured, and Gon felt himself nearing his breaking point. Outside, he knew that the sun lazed toward the horizon, inking the sky with golden hues. When he and Killua had returned in late morning, the king and his guards were waiting. Killua was escorted away, into some deep recess of the castle, and Gon was left with the king, where he remained all the day.

Gon buried his fingernails into his palms and controlled the labored action of his lungs. He tamed his thoughts and tried to convince himself that his pain was temporary and would soon be over. Just until dusk. Until sundown. No longer.

Behind him, Silva rose with a motion as fluid as a predatory cat. He descended from the raised platform, his cloak of regal blue billowing back in his wake. As Silva circled Gon, he frowned deeper, a glint of danger in his eyes. "You take punishment well," Silva observed, and Gon stiffened. "You haven't cried out once. What kind of training might you have undergone before coming here, I wonder. It must have been grueling, no?"

Gon bit his tongue. He'd been reprimanded recently for speaking out of turn. To answer or to remain silent? The impossible choice wound around him, serpentine, and bound his voice. He would not answer until instructed. It must be the safer choice.

A lash of the whip proved him wrong, and he tasted blood. Silva loomed over him. The sunlight through the stained glass colored him abstract, split his face into fractions of tessellated light. "Have you lost your ability to speak? Have I struck you dumb? Answer me, boy."

Through cracked lips and hoarse throat, Gon croaked an all-inclusive answer. "No, sir."

When Silva's knee met Gon's ribs with a force strong enough to shatter, Gon was reminded of the king's military prowess, his fabled brutality and dishonorable victories. Gon slid across the floor, his bare skin scraping against the rough patches. Where he stopped, he curved his body in on itself for protection and lay still. He coughed, blood on his tongue, and watched Silva approach, whip still in hand, Gon's eyes focused on the king's blood-spattered boots.

"You have nothing to confess?" The king knelt by Gon's form, smoothed the boy's hair back with a touch that could almost be called tender had his hands not wielded the weapon which bled Gon. He forced Gon's head back, baring his throat and forcing the boy's eyes to meet his own. "Nothing? You have considerable willpower, I will grant you that. I am shocked you're still awake." He let Gon's head fall and rose, turning his back on him. "If anything like this morning happens again, I will show no mercy. I will break you, if necessary, at any cost." He moved away, wrapping his whip into even spirals, then paused. Without looking back, he said, "I am even willing to break my son, if that is what is takes to make you speak. Good day."

Gon curled his fingers against the stone slabs which composed the floor of the hall, fighting to stay conscious.

As Silva neared the curtains, he called out. "Canary." She manifested as though from the dust motes in the air, kneeling upon appearing, head down. "Take him to the infirmary. Have the herbalists treat his wounds. Send in Amane and Tsubone to clean up the blood. I am going to speak to my son at the moment, and I will not wish to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir."

Canary rose only once the king had left, and she strode toward Gon, forcing neutrality. Whether it was utter loyalty to the king or pity she concealed, Gon couldn't decipher. He tensed as her feet drew nearer, and when she stood over him, he splayed his fingers, tried to push himself up on quivering limbs.

"Don't," she whispered, kneeling to support him, and her hands were gentle against his chest in spite of the hardened calluses. "You'll only hurt yourself more."

He didn't answer, just shifted some of his weight onto his knees and rested, panting. His vision was clouded. He stayed still, willing his strength to return.

"Please." When Gon tilted his head toward her, he saw the earnest desperation in her eyes. "Let me help you. The king does not want you dead. And neither does Prince Killua."

At the mention of Killua's name, Gon felt a bitter pang that soured the taste of blood on his tongue. He spit on the ground, heart beating like mad, and when he tried to move again, to rise, he swayed almost to the point of collapse.

But she steadied him, pleading. "Stop this. Why are you trying so hard? Nothing good will come of you being severely injured."

"I have my reasons." He bit the words as he spoke, unable to hold his head up.

"I'm sorry, Gon," she said. "You'll thank me later."

Before he could move or question, a blunt strike landed at the back of his head. His vision went black, and Canary caught him, cradled him in her arms, before he could hit the ground.

Killua gripped the chains to support his weight and rolled his wrists, keeping them loose. With each passing minute, his mother's shrill shrieks grew louder, and he longed for respite. The only solace he could grasp was that she was clearly growing weary, pausing for breath after a few seconds and clinging to the wooden chair by the door.

"You ungrateful wretch!" she cried, storming around the room with arms raised and teeth gnashing.

He hung with his bare back to the wall of the dungeon, a notable cut across his chest, still oozing. It wasn't deep, but the serrated edges left a jagged gash that stung. Perhaps, Killua considered, it had been dipped in poison. The knife with which his mother had slashed him lay on the floor, abandoned in her performative horror.

She wouldn't kill him. She wouldn't dare. He was immune to the most common poisons, but the symptoms still manifested. He would suffer, but he would live. She knew that well enough to try it.

"How could you leave—"

"Kikyo, that's enough." Silva stood in the entrance, filling the doorway. "Go upstairs and lie down."

She shook her head violently, the breath rattling in her throat. "But darling, he doesn't—"

"That's enough." His voice held the careful violence of a warlord, and she lifted her chin in recognition.

"Very well," she said, subdued. "I will see you for dinner. Don't keep me waiting."

As she turned on her heels to go, Silva stepped aside to allow her to pass.

Before she disappeared around the corner, Killua called out. "Mother. I'm sorry."

She paused only long enough to say, "I know you are, Kil. Make sure you get that injury treated."

Killua was surprised by the smile tugging at his lips. It slipped away when he noticed his father was staring at him, holding him captive with his eyes. When he stepped closer, commanding the space, Killua swallowed hard.

To his surprise, Silva reached not for Killua but for the cuffs around his wrists, unlocking them with a key so slender it was only visible when it caught the torchlight. "Have you repented?" Silva asked as Killua dropped to the floor. His ankles nearly faltered, but he caught himself, allowing his heels to readjust to a stable floor. "Your mother may have taken things too far."

Glancing down at his chest and probing the wound, Killua grimaced. "Perhaps a little."

"We are concerned," Silva said. "It isn't like you to rebel."

"I wasn't rebelling, Father," Killua said hastily. "It was an accident. I asked Gon to teach me how to ride, and a wolf attacked us."

"Yes, I heard the same story from him."

The words, spoken casually, froze the blood in Killua's veins. Gon had had an audience with the king. What other things had he said? How had the king treated him? As much as Killua wished to inquire about the matter, he knew it was best to stay silent about it.

Silva continued. "I do find it odd that the wolves were in the area. They usually don't hunt near the castle. I'll have my guardsmen investigate, but their knowledge is, admittedly limited."

"Might I suggest sending Kurapika?" Killua offered humbly. "As you know, he is well-read, and perhaps he has studied the fauna of our kingdom more thoroughly than your guards."

Nodding, Silva considered this. "Yes, an informed idea. Very well." He turned to Killua and offered him a thin cloak. "Go to the infirmary. Get your wound treated, and speak to Kurapika about this. I will send a formal request later, but it would do him well to be aware."

"Yes, father."

"You're a good boy, Killua, and you have obeyed me well," Silva said, moving toward the exit. With his back toward his son, he spoke in a level tone dripping with malicious threat. "But do not disappoint us again. Second chances do not come very often."

Massaging his wrists—tenderly around the bruised bones—Killua swallowed. "Yes, father."

Once he was certain his father had left, Killua allowed himself to breathe. He drew the cloak around himself, concealing his injury, and set his destination for the infirmary.

Gon, with his back to the doorway, was tugging at the bottom hem of a clean shirt—ignoring the sting of torn flesh shifting under tight bandages—when Killua entered, sweat gathered on his brow.

"Leorio!" Killua said, first noticing the herbalist who turned immediately upon being called. "I know what you're going to say—"

"What did you do?" Leorio stomped forward, fury and concern battling for control over his motions. When he stood before Killua, Leorio halted, a hand pressed to his forehead. "No, no. I know exactly what you did. The castle's been buzzing all morning about your little escapade. How you got that, I don't know."

Killua shrugged. "Nothing serious. But if you could patch me up, I would appreciate it." He peered around Leorio to search the room for Kurapika.

But Gon appeared in Killua's vision, and all his casual tones diminished. In the time that Killua had conversed with Leorio, Gon had turned so he was facing the commotion, bearing a gentle, reassuring smile. When he saw the drying blood on Killua's chest, his smile faltered. "Killua, what happened?"

"Family business," he said dismissively, though he didn't bother averting his eyes. He stared forward at the boy whose eyes still held such brightness it nearly blinded Killua, but he couldn't look away from Gon. He didn't want to. "It'll heal. I've suffered much worse."

"Down on the bed, your highness," Leorio instructed, assuming an air of authority. "Don't do anything unnecessary. Why do you feel the need to cause so much trouble?" Though his words were harsh, Leorio ruffled Killua's hair and shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Didn't I tell you to take care of yourself?"

Bowing his head, Killua said, "You did. Many times. I apologize, Leorio. I will be more careful in the future." Obediently, he moved to the bed and sat on the edge, allowing his body to sink into the mattress. He tilted his head back and let the air escape his lungs, content with the slight firmness, the stability and comfort.

Gon hovered over him with wandering eyes. "You look awful," he said. Killua would have laughed, but there was no indication of playfulness in the comment. "Does it hurt? What did they do to you?"

"Quiet." Killua glanced toward the door, as though expecting a shadow to eavesdrop. "You never know who's listening. I'm fine. This is nothing." He paused to inspect Gon, who appeared weary but otherwise the same. "What about you? My father said he spoke with you."

Gon's lips twitched and his shoulders tensed, complete control of his body beyond his current capacity. "Yes, we spoke."

"What did he say?"

Clenching his fists tightly at his sides, Gon spoke through the tightness in his chest. "He thanked me for bringing you home safely," he said. "Nothing more."

Even if Killua hadn't noticed the tension in Leorio's back as Gon spoke, he would have known Gon's words to be lies. His father was not a grateful man, nor was he especially benevolent. Whatever had been said between them, Killua suspected the stakes had been high. He decided he would probe Leorio's mind later; at the price of a few bottles of aged wine, Killua could acquire almost any information, however classified, from the chief herbalist—though he would never do so at the risk of the man's job.

"Well, I'm just relieved that you're safe," Killua said, summoning the words from the most genuine part of himself. "While I was with my family, I kept thinking about you to keep me sane. You know my mother—" He again twitched toward the doorway, then relaxed. "—She can rage for hours, screaming until her throat is raw. I don't listen when she yells. I drown it out. I thought of you and prayed you were well." He smiled, fighting back tears as he stared at his hands. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you, Gon."

Wilting, Gon dropped to his knees beside the cot and lay his cheek on Killua's leg, staring through him. "I'm sorry, Killua," he said. "It's all my fault."

"Don't say that," Killua said, moving to brush Gon's hair back. "It isn't—"

"It is." Gon's eyes burned dully, as though a furnace had been lit behind them. He gritted his teeth. "It's my fault, and I don't know how I can take responsibility."

"That isn't your duty." Killua bent forward, drawing Gon closer and pressing his hands to Gon's back. Gon held his breath. "You're dear to me, Gon. Don't—" The dampness clinging to Killua's fingers made him freeze, and at once, he pulled away. His fingers were tinged with blood. He grasped Gon's chin and forced him to look up. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt!"

"Killua, I—"

Ignoring all rational thought, Killua leapt to his feet and forced Gon to rise with him. On the same plane, Killua exchanged his grip on Gon's chin for his wrists and bent him to inspect his back. The wounds, from movement or tension, had bled through their bandages. Gon whimpered at the sudden movement, tears springing to his eyes, and Killua's hold remained tight but trembled.

Leorio rushed between them, trying to wedge them apart. "Don't move! Don't move. Neither of you are allowed to move."

"I can hear you shouting from down the hallway." Kurapika stood in the doorway, dressed in noble robes and bearing a stack of parchment. When he saw the situation, he released the papers from his hold and rolled up his sleeves. "What can I do? How can I help?"

Killua released Gon, backing up in horror as he looked at his hands, his head pounding. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should not have done that. I shouldn't have… Gon, did I—"

"I'm okay, Killua." Gon swayed on his feet, and Kurapika stepped in to offer support. "I'm okay. You didn't hurt me. I'm sorry for lying."

"You must lie down," Kurapika said, guiding Gon toward the other cot.

"Wait." Creeping closer, Killua searched Gon's face for something he could not easily find. Beside himself, he knelt pressing both hands to the floor. Leorio, flustered, insisted he rise, but the words fell on deaf ears.

"Gon," Killua said, expelling his name with forceful deliberation. "I ask two things. First, if you would grant me your forgiveness."

Unable to help himself, Gon laughed. His familiar smile, a bit strained but true, graced his weary face. He reached out and rested a hand on Killua's head, disregarding all formality, and stroked the soft locks. "Of course I forgive you," Gon whispered. "I have nothing to forgive you for."

"Second," Killua said without hesitation. "Who did this to you?"

Gon's fingers stilled. "I do not wish to tell you."

"Please, Gon."

"I believe you already know."

"I need to hear you say it."

Gon sighed and retrieved his hand, signalling Killua to lift his head. "I will tell you on one condition."

"Name it."

"Do not act on the information I provide."

Killua felt his eyes widen. "What?"

"It will not benefit you to be rash," Gon said. "Especially in your current state. I don't want to keep things from you, but I do not wish to see you hurt yourself any further. You're so reckless." The tears that fell from Gon's eyes surprised them both. "I can't bear the thought of losing you, Killua."

Overcome by emotion as he was, Gon nearly lost his stability, and Kurapika aided him onto the cot where he lay on his stomach, face buried in the pillow.

Dumbstruck, Killua sank back onto his own cot. He nodded solemnly. "Gon," he said. Gon lifted his head enough to see Killua's face. "I will not act rashly. You have my word."

Weakly, Gon laughed. "You act so mature sometimes, Killua," he said, groaning as he raised his arms to rest his head upon. He closed his eyes, still facing Killua with a faint smile. "At times like these, I remember that you really are a prince." His words faded into the pillow.

Kurapika sat on the cot beside Gon and touched his forehead. The boy had fallen asleep, brows furrowed and breathing labored. To Leorio, he said, "He's burning up. Do you have anything to lower it?"

"I'll take care of Gon," Leorio said, already searching his shelves. "Worry about the young prince, if you would. I rather like this job."

Turning his attention to Killua, Kurapika paled and moved to the cabinet. "Disinfect the wound. Disinfect then dress," he muttered.

Killua continued staring at Gon even as Kurapika fussed over him, occasionally scolding him for having so little regard for his well-being. Only when Kurapika laid Killua down, supporting his back, did Killua regain awareness of his situation. By then, night had come, and Leorio had ventured off, content—though not satisfied—with Gon's condition.

"Ah, Kurapika?" Killua said absently.

"Mm, yes?"

"My father will send you a letter soon," he said. "You may be accompanying his guards on an investigation—of the wolves in the forest."

Kurapika processed the information for a moment before nodding. "I will be sure to thank him for the honor and opportunity," he said. "I wonder why the king would select me. I haven't done anything."

"You've done enough," Killua said, resting his eyes. "That's why I recommended you. You deserve the chance to rise in rank. I believe you would do well with power."

Touched, Kurapika smiled as he draped a cool cloth over Killua's eyes. "Thank you, your highness. I will prove you right." He moved to the doorway, looking back at the injured two boys, bloodied and weary but still full of spirit. "Please take the time to rest, Killua. You will need it, believe me."

Already slipping into unconsciousness, Killua had no time nor energy to consider Kurapika's cryptic words. There, in the infirmary, the two of them slept well into the next day, just a few feet apart, and dreamt of nothing but the soothing sound of silence.