Author's Note: Hi everyone. Sorry I took so long to update that the Queen literally died between chapters. I finished InkDeath while I was away and it was alright. This fic has been picking up in a way that I wasn't expecting so I'm pretty happy about that. I hope you all enjoy.

Setting Off

Thump, thump, thump, was the first sound Dante heard when he woke up the next morning. "What's going on?" he asked to no one in particular as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Oh, Dante! You're awake!"

"Huh?" Dante turned towards the closet which was wide open. His mother was there, packing all his pants and shirts into a red suitcase. "What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Oh, this?" Dante's mother said, glancing at the suitcase. Its contents were all folded into neat piles and arranged in nice looking sections. "I'm packing your things of course. Your father's got another job somewhere and we're going to be joining him."

"Really!?" Dante exclaimed, the sleep draining from his body. Mr. Folchart often travelled for his work but he most of the time he left his wife and son at home. He only took his family along when they were going somewhere really special.

"Really," his mother confirmed. "But only if you get dressed quickly. Your father's on a tight schedule and if you take too long we'll have to leave you here."

"Okay!" Dante shouted earnestly. "I'll get dressed really fast then!" He was still young enough to believe his parents when they said they'd leave him out of a fun trip. As his mother left the room, suitcase in tow, Dante hurriedly tore off his pajamas and pulled out a fresh shirt and jeans. It was only when he had put his socks on that the strange encounter from last night occurred to him.

Did this trip have something to do with the strange man with dark skin?

That was the question Dante was determined to answer as he walked into the kitchen that morning.

Both his parents had arrived there before him. Mr. Folchart stood at the table, organizing his bookbinding tools to prepare them for the trip. Meanwhile, his wife, done with the packing was busy making sandwiches for the trip.

When Dante asked them, "What about school?" both parents turned to face him.

"You'll be out of school for a few days." Teresa said with a smile.

"But the break doesn't start until next week!"

"I can't believe it." Mortimer began, a slight smirk on his lips, "Dante Folchart worried about school! Can you believe it, Teresa?"

"No, I can't!" his mother answered. There was a smile on her face too. "Dante, I thought you would've loved this trip because you were missing school."

"It's not that…" Dante began. He knew his parents were just having a bit of fun. Teasing him. And he knew where their slight surprise came from. How many times had he woken up on the wrong side of the bed, begging, pleading with his parents not to take him to school?

"But Dad," he would whine. "Math is so hard. And history is so boring. And when will I ever use any of the stuff we learn in science in real life. Please, can I skip school today."

In response his father would always lecture him about the importance of education. Then he would send a sulky Dante off to school. But everything would be fine by the end because Dante always ended up having fun.

So, Dante understood why his parents were teasing him. But that was also he couldn't understand why they were pulling him out of school now to go on this business trip.

Unless…

"You two are always talking to me about how important school is."

His parents laughed at that. "Yes, it's true," said Mortimer. "We do say that. But sometimes spending time with family is more important. Don't you think?"

"I suppose…" Dante said but he wasn't convinced. Not at all. There was something wrong here. He could feel it. And he knew it had something to do with their visitor from last night.

If only he knew how to ask the question…

"Dante!" His mother's sing-song voice pulled Dante out of his thoughts. "I made jelly toast for you. Your favorite."

"Oh. Thank you." Dante sat down to eat his breakfast. Jelly toast was one of his favorite foods of all time, but it wouldn't distract him from the task at hand.

Across the table Dante's father shut his bookbinding case. "Well, I'm just about done. All I need to do now is load everything into the car." Mr. Folchart looked at his son. "Are you all packed, Dante?"

"Mom packed my suitcase." Dante answered with a mouthful of grape and bread.

"No, not that kind of packed. I mean for the trip."

"The trip?"

"It's going to be a long one. We'll be spending all day in the camper van. You'll want to bring something to entertain you."

"Oh!" Dante stood up and swallowed the toast in his mouth. "No, I'm not done yet." He swiftly rose from his seat.

"Well, then you better hurry. Or we'll have to leave without you."

"Oh yes!" Dante said, rushing out of the kitchen. "I'll do that."

"Oh, and might I suggest," Mortimer said as Dante left from the room. "bringing a few books with you."

Dante had felt his heart sink as soon as the word 'book' left his father's mouth. It sank because he knew that now he had to take at least a few.

A few books he would never read.

Dante had really tried to get into books. He had tried so hard. But books were just so boring.

Dante did not care about Charlotte and her web or where the wild things were. He was not interested in the adventures of Peter Pan or Robin Hood. Not even the admittedly clever rhymes of Dr. Seuss could enchant him when spoken from his mother's admittedly beautiful voice.

His parents had been troubled by this from the very beginning, especially Mortimer whose life practically evolved around the written word. For years his wife had tried to console him. "Maybe he just doesn't like when I read. When he learns to read on his own, he'll enjoy books a lot more."

When Dante learned to read perfectly and still didn't like to read, she had said "Maybe he just doesn't like picture books. When he gets old enough to read chapter books then I'm sure he'll enjoy reading."

But Dante reached the age where chapter books were being assigned in his German class and he continued to like reading even less and less.

Mortimer had had been worried there was a medical reason behind his lack of love for words. Dante had been screened for dyslexia and ADHD, but he'd tested positive for neither. He just wasn't interested in reading.

And Mortimer didn't understand it at all.

It had been during one of his late-night gaming sessions that he overheard his parents talking. He turned down the volume on his Gameboy and listened.

"I just don't understand where I went wrong." Dante heard his father say from the other side of the wall.

"But you didn't go wrong." Mrs. Folchart assured.

"But I must have. Why doesn't he like to read, Teresa? Here he is, surrounded by piles upon piles of books. And not a single one interests him. Not any of the ones I read as a kid. Not any of the ones I bought specifically for him. It's so strange. Maybe it's because… It's because I didn't…"

"Don't you dare suggest such a thing!" Teresa shouted. "You know why you made that decision and one day he'll know why as well."

"But if I did…"

"Mortimer. I promise, it will be better for him in the long run."

A long silence followed after that. Dante stayed silent the entire time, his body tense. Finally he heard someone sigh from the room next door. Mortimer.

"I don't know, Resa. I just don't know." And when he said that he sounded so depressed and exhausted. "It's just… he turned out so different from me. And so different from you. It's just…" and Mortimer hesitated. "I don't know how to say it… It's like…"

"Like…" Mrs. Folchart prodded.

"Like he's not even my son."

Dante tore his head away from the wall as if it had burned him. His eyes filled with tears. Tears streaming down his face he turned off his Gameboy and wiped his nose. He flicked on the lamp on his nightstand and reached for the first volume within arm's reach. A copy of Stuart Little. But try as he might he couldn't actually be drawn into its world, for his father's words were still too fresh in his memory and the tears would obscure his vision, making it impossible to see the words.

Later, he would learn how his mother had scolded her husband for saying such a thing. How Mortimer had been apologetic, immediately taking back his words, confessing that he loved his son, oh, how he loved his son. Confessing how that love was what made their differences hurt even more.

But Dante would never hear that part of the conversation. Forever, his memory of that night would be those words.

Like he's not even my son.

That's why Dante's heart had sunk when his father had suggested grabbing some books. Because he knew his father would be disappointed whether or not he did or didn't bring a book.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to look for a few books to raise his father's spirits a little before he crushed them by staying on his Gameboy for the whole drive.

Dante first looked in his room for books. This proved to be rather useless as his room was the only one in the house that wasn't piled high with volumes new and old. Still, this was the Folcharts' house and that meant there were books to be found anywhere and everywhere.

Let's see… there was a copy of Beezus and Ramona under his bed.

Boring!

And there was Guess How Much I Love You in his bottom dresser.

Ew, gross!

But what was that behind the television? Dante reached his hand out and began to tug on a book that was peeking out from behind the technology.

Stuart Little

Oh no, not that one. Dante avoided his eyes and shoved the book back behind the tv. Yeah, there was probably a reason why he stuck it back there…

Dante put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room with a thin frown, copying the look his mother gave him when she was disappointed in him. He would have thought that with how much he disliked books that the ones he did allow into his room would be of much higher quality than what he'd found.

Well, that was fine. This was the Folcharts' house. If he couldn't find a book in here, there had to be one for him somewhere.

Dante walked up the stairs to his father's workshop. If there was any room in the house that had to have good books, it was there.

"Dad!" he called as he approached the door. "Dad are you in there?"

"Dante don't come…" but his father never got a chance to finish his sentence because at that very moment Dante stepped in.

"Dante, what did I tell you about walking into rooms unannounced?" Mortimer said, sounding oddly peevish. It wasn't a tone he usually took on. Dante only heard it when he was being particularly resistant to getting his daily reading done for school. This, coupled with Mr. Folchart's stance, hunched over a paper bag made him look very guilty indeed.

"But I didn't walk in unannounced. I told you I was coming in here."

"You're supposed to knock as well as tell me you're coming in."

"Oh, sorry." Dante said sheepishly. "I'll remember for next time."

Mortimer only sighed in response. "What do you need this time, Dante?"

Dante noticed that something was in the paper bag. It was green, wasn't it? Yes, it was. And it looked like a book too! But why would Mortimer Folchart of all people hide a book away? Wasn't he a firm believer in making sure that books were shared with everyone?

"Dante. What do you need?"

"Oh!" Dante snapped back to attention. Speculation on the paper bag had driven his father's query from his mind. "I'm looking for some books for the trip. You know where I can find some new ones?"

Dante expected his father to relax a bit, even smile when he mentioned he was looking for books, but he didn't. Instead, he said curtly, "Check the living room. There should be a lot of books in there to read. And after your done packing make your way to the car. We haven't got all day.

"Oh, okay." Dante said. "Thanks." He closed the door behind him feeling rather uneasy. His father had been acting strange. Did that green book have something to do with it? Or was he agitated by the visitor after all?"

"Here you go!" Dante set a quaint wooden box down on the pile of suitcases. When his mother saw it, a large smile spread across her face.

"Ah, so you brought your book box with you! What sort of books did you bring?"

"Oh, just some books I thought would be good for the trip." Dante said, remaining as vague as possible. His book box still embarrassed him a little in front of his parents.

For Dante's seventh birthday, Mr. Folchart had taken a break from giving his son books and gave him a place to store them instead. "It's your own personal book box," he had said when he presented it to Dante at his party. "I made it myself and you can decorate it to look however you want it to."

Dante had been excited by the book box, not because he couldn't wait to put books in it, but because he loved the arts and crafts aspect of it. When Mortimer presented his son with paints the next day, he proceeded to adorn his wooden box with crude pictures of Super Mario and Sonic the Hedgehog. He then proceeded to fill the box with each month's issue of Nintendo Power Magazine.

Dante took out as many magazines as was necessary to fit his three books into the box. He had decided on the titles of Huckleberry Finn, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible No Good Very Bad Day and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. They had been the books that looked the least boring. Hopefully they would be interesting enough to occupy him when his Gameboy died.

"Where are we going?" Dante asked his mother as he began helping her load the car. He took a bag in his hands that was honestly much too heavy for him, but he didn't let it go. He wanted to show his mother he was just as strong as Little-Mac from Punch-Out.

"We're going to be visiting my Aunt Elinor. She lives in the country. Do you remember her?"

"No." Dante panted, as he dragged the way-too-heavy bag through the dirt.

"Well, that makes sense. It's been a long time since we last visited her. I think the last time you tow met you were just a newborn."

"Well, I'm a lot bigger now, right Mom?"

"That's right. But you're still pretty little to me." Dante's mother, done with her bags came to her son and relieved him of his.

"I could've done it." Dante whined.

"I'm sure you could have," his mother said before she ruffled his hair and kissed him on the forehead.

"Mom." Dante groaned, wiping the kiss off with his hand.

"I'm ready!" Dante turned to see his father, stepping down the porch steps, bags in hand. There was no sign of the green book or the paper bag.

"Well, it's about time!" Teresa said with a smirk as she loaded Dante's bags into the van. "Come over here and help me with this luggage!"

Mortimer laughed and did as he was told. Dante took a bag as well and before long the Folcharts settled into a rhythm the way families always do when they're working on a task together.

"Does she have any kids?" Dante asked as he lowered a bag into the van that whose weight was far better suited to him.

"Does who have any kids?" Mortimer asked.

"I told him where we were going." Teresa informed her husband.

"Oh! So, you mean Aunt Elinor. I'm afraid she doesn't."

"No?" Dante asked, disappointed.

"No, at least none that are your age."

"Does she live anywhere exciting?"

"I don't know if I'd call the lake exciting…" Mrs. Folchart said, "but it is a very beautiful place."

"Oh…" Dante said. He didn't want beautiful. He wanted cool. Amazing. Unforgettable! "So, if there aren't any kids… and it's not exciting… and it sounds as if it's going to be super boring…"

Mortimer knew what Dante was getting at. "Everyone's coming along because Elinor is family. We haven't seen her in years. Don't you think we owe her a visit?"

"So, this isn't about last night?" Dante had decided to throw down the gauntlet at long last.

And what a gauntlet it was. His parents simply stared at him for a moment, blinking as if they had forgotten who he was and what they were doing. His mother was the first to speak.

"Oh no, of course not!" Teresa said with a giggle. "Why on Earth would you think that, sweetie?"

"Yes, we're only doing a trip for work." Her husband added. "You really do have quite the imagination."

Oh, so I see how it is, Dante thought as he stared his parents down. Looks like it's going to take a bit more work to get them to spill the beans.

Dante was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a trunk slamming shut. "Alright! I think that's all the bags." Mortimer said as he rubbed the sweat from his brow. "Get in the car, everyone."

The Folcharts did get in the car. Mortimer and Teresa in the front while Dante sat at the little table, his book box and "carry-on" bag full of videogames on the seat beside him. It wasn't long before they were pulling out of the driveway and into the German countryside.

For the first part of the drive, Dante ignored all his luggage and looked out the window. It really was a beautiful morning. The fog from earlier had drifted away and a bright sun shone on a soft green grass, wet from last night's rain. Yellow flowers were scattered through the fields and swayed in the wind, while purple mountains in the distance made Dante's imagination run wild with possibilities.

Dante was pondering all the wonderful things that were bound to be found on those mysterious mountains when something much closer to him caught his attention.

"There's someone on the dirt path!" he shouted.

Mr. Folchart stopped the car at once. Now that they had stopped Dante could see the man much more clearly now. He wore a dark trench coat and a stylish fedora. His dark skin shined in the sunlight and wait… dark skin?

Dante studied the man on the road hard. Then he gave his parents the sort of look they'd given him before when he was in trouble. They returned his with a look he was sure he'd given them many times.

A guilty, guilty look.

Reluctantly. Mortimer opened the door. "Prince, what are you doing out here?"

"On the road you mean?" The Black Prince said with a smile. "Why, I was waiting for you, of course."

"Why? I said I could handle the Adderhead on my own."

"Yes, I know that's what you said." The Black Prince said, his gaze moving away suddenly. "But I'm afraid that you don't know his…"

"His true power?" Mortimer suggested. "The magnitude of his wrath? I might not be from your realm but I'm very familiar with the Adderhead, believe me. I can handle him. Just leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?" The Black Prince repeated, aghast. "Why, Mortimer, that's the worst thing one can do in a situation like this."

"What's an Adderhead?" Dante asked, but everyone ignored his question.

"Don't call me Mortimer. And you're really going to insist on going with us, aren't you?" Mortimer said in a defeated tone.

"Yes, I am, as long as you insist on going."

Mortimer sighed but he still didn't say anything. "It might be good to have him come with…" Teresa suggested at long last. "Just in case the worst comes to pass."

A long silence ensued. Mr. Folchart considered the Black Prince, and then his wife. Finally, his gaze flicked to his son who was still quite confused about the ordeal. What were they talking about? It seemed that they were speaking about this "Adderhead" but what was the deal with him? Why was he so awful?

And did it have anything to do with the green book from earlier?

Finally, Mortimer said, "Fine. Come with us. But I really don't think the Adderhead is going to hurt us."

Once again Dante asked, "What's an Adderhead?" Once again, he was ignored.

The Black Prince stepped into the camper van with a smile. "Thank you so much, Mr. Folchart. I promise I won't be too much trouble." His gaze shifted to Teresa, and he smiled and tipped his cap in a most heart-melting manner. "Good day, isn't it malady?"

She smiled slightly but when Mortimer's eyes narrowed, he swiftly moved on. His eyes caught sight of Dante who was staring at him with curious eyes. "Ah, Dante! We meet again," he said cheerily.

Dante did not answer the Black Prince's cheer with any cheer of his own. "What's an Adderhead?" he asked.

"Well…" For the first time, the Black Prince faltered. He glanced towards Dante's parents, an anxious look in his eyes. His parents seem conflicted.

"You guys seem to be really worried about him?" Dante pressed. "Is the Adderhead really bad? What's he gonna do?"

"It's hardly important Dante…" his mother began but Dante held his ground.

"No! It is! And I wanna know what's going on!"

"It's grown-up stuff Dante…" his father began as he made a move to close the door. Suddenly, Dante felt his face grow hot with anger.

Oh no, they didn't.

Dante made it out of the camper van just in time to avoid the doors crushing his foot. "Dante, what has gotten into you!?" his mother shouted.

"Tell me who the Adderhead is!" He demanded, stomping his foot in the grass. It didn't have that strong of an effect though. The ground was too soft.

"Dante, we have to go soon," his father urged. "Please just get in the car and we'll tell you later."

"I want to hear it now!" Dante shouted and he sat down on the grass just to let his parents (and the Black Prince) know that he didn't intend to move until he got his answer.

Mortimer sighed an exasperated sigh but before he could lecture his son the Black Prince held up his hand. "Now, now. I know that this is a stressful situation for all, but Dante is almost eight years old now. And that's far too old to be kept in the dark, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Teresa, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. But the Black Prince only turned to Dante, smiling.

"When children are kept in the dark, they can only make possibilities out of the darkness they see around them. Telling Dante about the Adderhead may keep his imagination from running wild, if you know what I mean."

The Folcharts glanced at each other for a moment, a silent conversation being held between the two. (Dante always wondered how parents did that.) Finally, Mortimer sighed. "Fine. Tell him. But I swear if he ends up having nightmares…"

"He won't. He won't I swear." The Black Prince was chuckling, but Dante's heart had leapt a little when his father had mentioned nightmares. Was the Adderhead really that scary?

"Here's the deal," the Black Prince began his voice grave and his expression serious. All the laid-back and charming energy he had emitted before had completely evaporated. It really drove home to Dante the seriousness of the subject.

"The Adderhead is not like other men. He possesses royal blood, so he calls himself a prince. But he's not. He's a tyrant. Anybody under his rule, he crushes with his iron fist. He will kill the poor and enslave children if he thinks it will further the goals of him and his nasty empire. And he doesn't respond well to dissenters, so if you say so much as one thing insulting something as insignificant as his teeth expect an execution in the near future."

"Oh." Dante said, because what was one supposed to say to something so absolutely horrible? He realized he had drawn his knees up to his chin. Maybe it would have been better if he didn't know who the Adderhead was after all…

"Dante, come on!" It was Mortimer's voice. Dante looked up to find that the Black Prince had boarded the camper van and his parents were waiting for him. He shook his thoughts of the Adderhead from his mind.

"Sorry, sorry," he said. "I'm coming!"

Author's Note: Ta da! That's the update. So yeah, hope you liked it. Dante's turned into such a fun character. I think I gave him a really colorful personality but what do you think? Also, I hope I didn't make Mo too OOC. I still want him to be a good-natured father but this time he has a little more trouble connecting with his child. So, I hope I didn't assassinate his character too bad. Thanks for bearing with me while I start school again and judging by the pattern of these updates you can expect another chapter around Halloween. See ya! :)