The candelabra was the only source of light in the room, a soft orange glow illuminating sparsely decorated chambers. Thick crimson curtains blocked out moonlight from the single window while a fireplace sat unlit. However, the sole occupant of the room remained unbothered by the chill.
The hedgehog sat motionless at the vanity on the far side of the room, head down and palms flat against the smooth mahogany. With an exhale, he raised his gaze, taking in his reflection in the low light of the mirror.
Three days of arduous preparations had taken its toll on him—no easy feat. Bruised skin sank under dark eyes, stubborn cowlicks sticking up in clumps around a mess of blue spines. At the far end of the table a comb lay abandoned, having been tossed aside in a fit of frustration some time ago.
He fidgeted with the tassels dangling from his shoulder. Golden epaulets contrasted against blue finery, the fabric perfectly tailored to his dimensions. It was exactly the kind of regalia one would have expected of the soon-to-be-king. A frown twitched onto the prince's face.
The extravagance of it all. What a pain, and what a waste.
("A shame—the Queen has passed. May chaos rest her soul.")
He let out a bitter laugh, forehead dropping to the table with a dull "thud."
The prince turned onto one cheek, eyes falling onto the pedestal in the corner of the room. The artifact rested unceremoniously upon it—dim light reflecting off of its golden finish.
The crown was the same one his mother before him had worn, and her father before her, and before him, and before that and that and that until he couldn't have been bothered to keep track anymore. It was as radiant and refined as ever, and terribly out of place in the modesty of his study-turned-bunker.
Now that it was his, he could hardly stand to look at it.
A curt knock at the door stole his attention from the crown. However, he was less than grateful for the distraction.
"If it's about the ceremony—save it!" He shouted, a scowl stretching across his muzzle.
In one of the only royal decrees of his lifetime, the prince had insisted upon an hour of undisturbed privacy leading up to the big event, and by chaos, he would see to it that he got it.
However, there were none of the nagging voices he had grown to expect from his assigned entourage of aids and advisors. Instead, there was only silence from the other side of the door. The prince peeled his face off the varnish, eyeing the door suspiciously before abruptly rising from the vanity. Once at the door, he gave the gilded handle a quick yank, only to be met with a face he had not quite expected.
The prince blinked at one Lady Amy Rose, standing tense and alone before him with an urgency in her eyes. Immediately, the prince noticed she was dressed for the occasion—a cascade of ruby layers swept the floor at her feet, quills carefully arranged up in a twinkling headpiece. Despite her look of consternation, there was a regalness about her that put his own shoddy state to shame. If the prince had been a different hedgehog, he may have worried about what the aristocracy would have to say about the disparity between their appearances.
Luckily for him, though, he was not a different hedgehog.
Amy's eyes darted back and forth, as if on the lookout for something, or someone. A small smile twitched onto the prince's face. He dipped—a cordial bow, and with one arm out, presented the open room before him. Amy didn't waste another second slipping inside.
"And what brings you here, my lady?" The prince cooed as he shut the door behind her.
With a frazzled sigh, Amy sank into the plush cushions of the sofa against the wall.
"This is the only place my ladies won't come looking for me," She grumbled, a hand to her forehead. "I swear, they were going to drive me mad!"
The prince gave her a sympathetic smile. "Hey—all that means is that you still have some sanity to lose!"
Amy rolled her eyes at the comment. Then, she directed her attention to his appearance, doing a once-over of unruly spines with a scrutinizing eye.
"And it's a good thing I did come here!" She cried. "Looks like you could use some help."
The smile promptly dropped from the prince's face.
—
By some miracle, the prince was coaxed back into his seat, and with the previously discarded comb in hand, Amy got to work taming the mess of tangled quills. A particularly rough patch of fur halted her progress, and she let out a noise of frustration. The prince snorted from in front of her.
"Told you they're impossible," he said.
"I got it," she assured him doggedly.
"Really, no one would fault you for giving up—yeOUCH!"
Hands darted to the top of his spines protectively, a tear pricking at the corner of his eye. He shot daggers at the culprit in the mirror, who only beamed back at him in return.
"Sorry," she said, fur-tangled comb still in hand and a coy smile on her face, "but if you want all this to look believable, you have to look your best!"
With little additional problems, the prince and his somewhat-tamed quills retired to the sofa. Amy joined him, the two of them settling into crimson cushions and a palpable silence.
The minutes continued to tick by. The candelabra flickered from the wall. The prince tapped his foot idly.
"So, are you ready for this?" He asked.
The silence between them now banished, Amy let out a small giggle.
"I should be asking you that!" She responded with a facetious flutter of her eyelashes. "All I have to do is stand there and look pretty!"
"Right," He chuckled at first, but then the smile promptly disappeared from his face.
"But I meant for after the coronation," He clarified.
Amy's face fell. A forlorn smile crossed her features, gaze drifting to her hands clasped in her lap. Clothed fingers fidgeted with the delicate lace cladding her wrists.
"Honestly, it's a little strange. For my whole life, I thought this day was the only thing that mattered. Being Queen—it's what I thought I wanted, and it's what everyone always expected of me. But now, I just can't wait until this is all over."
"It's just…after that, I don't know what's next for me," she admitted with lidded eyes.
The prince hesitated, but with a resolved huff, placed a hand down onto her shoulder. Amy looked up from her lap in surprise.
"After tonight, you have the rest of your life to figure out what you actually want to do with it. There's no rush," he assured her. "You and I—we're in the exact same boat."
Amy blinked at him. "You mean you don't plan to run off as soon as you abolish the monarchy?" She teased with a smirk.
"Well, not immediately . It'll probably take some time to smoothly transition the kingdom. I don't plan to just leave them all floundering—I'll probably wait until they flop back onto land, at least."
A giggle escaped Amy's throat, and the prince joined her, until laughter was radiating from both of them and the room around them was beginning to feel just a little bit warmer. However, their fit was promptly interrupted by a barrage of unusually loud and rhythmic knocks.
Amy instinctively startled at the noise, but the loud banging didn't even phase the prince. With the crack of a mischievous grin and the blink of an eye, he was off the sofa and at the door.
"Huh, I don't recall ordering any knuckleheads," The prince jeered at the imposing figure waiting for him in the hallway. The newcomer, clad in shining formal armor, stared down at the prince with unimpressed eyes.
"Good one, Your Highness. Chaos knows I've never heard that one before." Knuckles replied, voice laced with sarcasm but a smile evident in his tone.
From behind the guardian, the face of a small fox popped into view and the prince's grin grew. Tails beamed back at him, a gloved hand raised in greeting.
"Room for two more?"
—
With the three extra occupants now inside its walls, the room suddenly felt significantly more cramped than it had been an hour prior. However, the prince didn't mind it. In fact, he wouldn't have had it any other way.
Playful conversation danced between the four of them, and for a moment, the perpetual anxieties and frustrations that had plagued the past month of his life seemed like a distant dream.
Naturally though, it could not last.
The prince rested his chin into the palm of his hand, leaning back into his seat.
"It's just about time, then," he muttered.
The remaining three exchanged quick glances with one another. Moments later, Tails hopped up from the sofa.
With curious eyes, the prince watched the fox as he made his way across the room, coming to a halt just before the pedestal in the corner of the room. Hesitantly, Tails reached out to the crown, and with an exhale, placed his hands around its brim.
"After tonight, I know…I know nothing is going to be the same again." Tails declared, lifting the crown into his arms. He turned to face his prince, a determined gleam in his eye.
"I don't know exactly what that means for us. But what I do know is that no matter what happens after tonight, we're beside you. We'll do whatever it takes to end all this."
Tails held out the crown to his prince expectantly. Knuckles gave a firm nod in agreement. Amy clasped her hands together, positively radiant.
The prince blinked at them, words nonexistent on his tongue. He peered into the crown in Tails' hands, a warped reflection staring back at him in its sheen.
Until the very end, his mother had clung onto the responsibilities wearing this crown had represented, alongside the hope that her son would do the same. To those ends, her dedication had not faltered once, even as she deteriorated into nothing before his very eyes.
The prince raised his gaze, and one-by-one, took in the faces of his allies. His friends. They were the people he could count on, and they were the ones he was fighting for.
The prince's eyes began to waver, but that was all. He closed them quickly, a fond smile gracing his features instead.
Sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if his mother was currently cursing him from whatever afterlife she had ended up in, knowing what his actual intentions were for her kingdom. Or perhaps, just maybe, she would be proud to see him sticking to his ideals, even when they did not align with her own in life.
However, in the end, what his mother would think didn't really matter. Her reign was over. And this time, things would be different.
With his friends by his side, there was no doubt in his mind he could change the future for the better.
The prince rose out of his chair. He turned his head down, a nod of gratitude to his friends as words were entirely unnecessary by that point. Their goals, their bonds with one another was a universally understood constant between them. Carefully, he reached his arms out, accepting the crown from Tails' waiting hands and placing it on top of his head.
With luck, it would be one of the last times he would ever have to wear the thing.
The prince turned to the vanity, taking one final look at himself in the mirror. He placed a hand to his chin, pleased that he now looked at least marginally more presentable than he had been just an hour prior.
Ready to put on a show, in any case.
With a smile, the prince turned to face his companions one last time.
"Let's not keep them waiting any longer then, shall we?"
—
.
.
.
An ocean and a continent and a half away from that enchanted castle in the depths of the Nulle Forest, yet another work day was coming to a close in the bustling capital of the United Federation.
All across Central City, workers departed their jobs and took to the streets. The cacophonic rattle of rush-hour traffic saturated the city air—an entourage of people all longing for the respite of home after a long day's work.
Cars piled onto the roads, and just off the congestion of Route 280 and the Capital Beltway leading out of the city, a massive structure stood proud against a backdrop of monuments of the nation's capital.
Although this particular building was situated amongst some of the city's top tourist attractions, unlike them it was strictly off-limits to civilians.
On the surface, the Guardian Units of Nations Headquarters appeared no different from any average Federal building. And in many ways, it was just that. Even in G.U.N. HQ, the mundanities of office-life and the day-to-day grind persisted.
Agent Rouge the Bat hummed quietly, a pen to her lips and a set of manicured nails tapping rhythmically on her desk.
This building was different from the real upper echelon of the organization. While G.U.N Fortress dealt with all manner of weapons, testing facilities, and shady operations, G.U.N HQ was all corporate and communications. That being said, to be stationed here was still considered a great honor amongst G.U.N. agents—the big leagues, the metaphorical peak of the mountain. Only the cream of the crop had the luxury of reporting to G.U.N HQ in the heart of the capital.
For Rouge, however, it was little more than her crummy day job.
On any typical day, Rouge wouldn't have bothered staying her entire shift. But since her little extended vacation, HR as of present seemed to enjoy nothing more than breathing down her neck every chance they got. Her workload had increased, and with it—the number of eyes on and whispers around her.
It was enough to get under her skin, but certainly not anything she couldn't handle. Compared to the countless life-threatening missions and daring escapes she had seen in her time, navigating office politics may as well have been a trip to the jewelry store.
At promptly 5:15 PM, Rouge rose from her desk, pen still twirling in her fingers. As a top G.U.N. agent, she had been graced with the rare honor of an actual office of her own rather than a shoddy cubicle or a swivel chair in one of the massive control centers housed in the building. It was largely wasted on her, though. Nine times out of ten she was nowhere near the space, instead galavanting around somewhere she probably had no business being.
Not like anyone ever found her doing that, though.
Casually as ever, Rouge strolled her way down the hall, passing nods of acknowledgement to the odd coworker or two. By now, most agents had clocked out, and the rest were eagerly on their way out. No one paid attention to Rouge as she made her way to the elevator at the end of the hall, entering its doors with a handful of employees.
At the ground floor, her posse abandoned her. Once the steel doors had closed off the reception room, Rouge slipped a key card from her bag.
The international communications control center was located three floors below ground level. Rather than relying on satellites and radio waves, correspondence between international factions of G.U.N. occurred through proprietary fiber optic cables. This room made it possible to contact any G.U.N. agent from anywhere in the world.
Of course, the only problem was that Route wasn't the only one in the room currently. Rouge stopped in her tracks at the sight of a figure hunched over his control panel—some workaholic who clearly did not notice his shift should have ended nearly half an hour ago.
Rouge let out a huff, before quickly smoothing over her demeanor. With her signature charm in hand, she approached him with an authoritative stride. Judging by the shock in his eye when he noticed her, he was clearly aware of her rank. Rouge gave a sardonic smile.
"Now, what are you still doing here? Does your boss have you working overtime?" She cooed through lidded eyes.
The agent nodded dumbly, and Rouge gave a sympathetic click of her tongue. "How cruel! I'll tell you what—how about you take the rest of the day off?"
The agent blinked at her, hesitant to take any sort of action. Rouge suppressed the urge to roll her eyes in frustration. Instead, she just gave a wink.
"Between you and me, I outrank your superior. And for a dutiful worker such as yourself, I'll be sure to put in a positive performance report. How does that sound?"
This seemed to do the trick. The agent was practically leaping from his seat. Calculating eyes followed him until he was out the door, at which point Rouge casually slipped into his abandoned seat.
An international connections agent—he had left his console open. Not exactly indicative of a star agent.
Rouge put on the headset, cracking her knuckles before swift fingers moved expertly over the keyboard.
Satellite phone calls could be tracked, but from here, Rouge could ensure no one was listening in. And more importantly, it ensured the call she needed to make couldn't be traced back to her.
"This is Agent Rouge, designation Bravo, Alpha, Tango 190601. Unit, open an individual agent connection terminal," she spoke into the mic as the prompt appeared on the luminous green screen before her.
A buzzing sounded over the headset and a moment later, an AI-controlled voice connected. "This is the Guardian Units of Nations Continental Connection Terminal. Please indicate the name, country, and extension of the agent you wish to contact."
"Agent Topaz, Spagonia, 230803," Rouge purred into the receiver.
The low buzzing returned, followed by a beat of silence.
"I thought I told you not to contact me again," a perturbed voice hissed into her ear. "And what do you think you're doing, calling me through the Terminal?!"
"What, I can't just call to say hello to my old teammate?" Rouge feigned offense, pouting dramatically. "You didn't return my personal calls, so I thought I'd officially transition this conversation to 'business matters,' seeing as you still owe me a favor."
An exasperated sigh sounded over the receiver, and Rouge could practically picture her ex-partner pinching her eyebrows in frustration.
"What do you want, Rouge?" Topaz barked.
"Papers," Rouge smiled. "A Spagonian passport, ID, the works."
"And why on Earth does the world's greatest treasure hunter need my help with something as trivial as that?" Topaz glowered.
"Well, it's not for me. My beneficiary is stationed across seas, near you actually. In Orleanais. He needs assistance leaving the country, and let's just say I've used up all my vacation days," Rouge said. "Since you've been in the country so long, I figured you'd be well-versed in what needs to be done to move a foreign miscreant."
"Foreign—what…? Rouge, this isn't about who I think it is, is it?" Topaz mumbled.
Rouge beamed. "Think you can handle it?"
Topaz went silent over the line, and Rouge waited in anticipation. And then, a drawn out exhale sounded over the receiver.
"Fine. Passports, papers, whatever. I can handle them. But it might take awhile." Topaz responded gruffly.
Rouge's smile stretched further across her face. "You're a gem, my dear."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. But after this—we're even. I mean it. I don't want to hear any more about this from you," Topaz growled. "And don't contact me again, alright? I'll call you."
"I'm flattered," Rouge replied. "But in any case, I'm technically off the clock right now. How about you say we catch up a little, while I have you?"
"Goodbye, Rouge." Topaz deadpanned.
The line went dead.
Rouge clicked her tongue, but the sly smile remained on her face as she wiped the call, and any other evidence of her presence, from the system.
