Hannibal's hand still brought summer to Will's when it slipped into his outstretched palm. Will could feel the way that Hannibal pulled the strength from him, and Will found himself more than willing to offer it. He pulled Hannibal closer to the head of the room that was tensely quiet.

As they neared a sound like a wounded animal came from Hannibal, stifled and nowhere near as loud as the fox cries Will had heard mere days before. Hannibal's hand slipped from Will's and Will could only watch as Hannibal's knees gave out, sending him to the floor. A trembling hand reached out and took Mischa's as the other, still twisted with red ribbon, clasped over Hannibal's mouth to help hide the noises that were wanting to burst from him.

Doctor Chilton took the opportunity to slowly approach, his well put together self as pristine as it ever was. Will found that the doctor preferred to make sure he was presentable more than he enjoyed the job of being a physician and Will wondered if he did it for the money or for the limited fame that came from being the royal physician.

Whatever the reason, there was no concern on his features, simply curiosity and Will tasted something bitter in his mouth at the idea that Hannibal were something interesting to watch while he was sobbing over his sister's body.

Hannibal's muffled cries were the only sounds in the room for a time as the discomfort settled into everyone else. Will could see it on their faces and Bella's composure, while usually firm and sturdy, broke first.

She fell to her knees beside Hannibal and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "That's enough now," she cooed softly, doing her best to gently manipulate Hannibal's body away from Mischa's. "It's time that we let her go be with your parents." The wordlessness continued from Hannibal, show or not, Will couldn't tell. His grip on Mischa's hand held tight and he shook his head against Bella's shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of her. I promise."

"Can we please have her removed?" Sanford instructed, waving around the room for someone, anyone, he was uncaring, to follow his orders. Several of the staff went to work.

"Sanford," the queen scolded, sounding choked up. Her eyes were brimming with her own tears and Will's head tipped to the side, trying to remember a time he had witnessed his mother cry and coming up empty. "Let the boy grieve."

"This is neither the time, nor the place-"

"I do not care what the time or place is," Theophania hissed, waving off the several people who were trying to squeeze around Bella and Hannibal to get to Mischa. "The child is allowed to mourn his loss."

The room was becoming too loud, and Will took a step back. There was too much happening. It was heavy, crushingly so. Everyone in the room felt some sort of way and they were all screaming at Will who had little choice but to stand there and take it. His mouth was going dry, and he inhaled deeply to try to keep his heart rate from racing.

The last time he had come under the same attack was at the Christmas party a few weeks back. It was as if his mind could no longer take in all his surroundings. There were exorbitant amounts of information to be categorized and filed away and Will couldn't handle the pressure of it all.

But he could stand here for Hannibal. As long as it took for Hannibal to return to his cocky, rude, self-absorbed self. He had been put in charge of watching Hannibal. He couldn't abandon him now even if he wanted to. The only reason he wasn't being berated for asking Jack to go out and find Mischa was because Hannibal was in such a state.

Had Jack taken others with him, or had he gone out on his own? Not only had the temperatures been exaggerated, all the snow that had fallen had to have turned to ice by now. Maybe that would have in turn made it easier to reach Mischa if Jack had been able to get past the snow just outside of the doors. They had been snowed in as far as Will had understood, the snow taller than him, but maybe it hadn't been quite so tall for someone like Jack. Or maybe there had been another way out that Will was unaware of.

Whatever the effort of the rescue, Will was sure Hannibal was grateful. Will was grateful too. Maybe it would mean that Hannibal would finally start speaking to Chilton or his parents. Maybe he would say where other family members were. Maybe he would explain what had been happening, why his father's men had been out there. Maybe they would all finally obtain the answers they all were so desperate for. Or Will assumed they were just as curious as him. And maybe, just maybe, they could finally ship Hannibal away to somewhere else where Will wouldn't have to deal with his irritating antics any longer.

"Hannibal," Will muttered, squatting down beside the still crying boy. "My family will take good care of her. I promise." Hannibal sniffled, pulling from Bella's shoulder enough to shoot an icy glare at Will. "She's safe now. Why don't we let her rest with your family, and we can go back to the library?"

After that moment, Hannibal was silent, even around Will. Will wasn't sure how to take it at first. He tried to speak to Hannibal, but he didn't even get the normal glares that came from before. Hannibal was there. That's all he was. He moved in and out of rooms ghostlike. He was finally deemed well enough to join Will in his studies, but he never did more than point to a scribbled answer on a piece of paper if Bella asked him something. Will had not been granted the same privilege and he wracked his mind for what he could have possibly done wrong to receive such treatment.

As far as he was aware, he had done exactly as Hannibal had wanted. He had gotten Mischa back for him, but maybe that had been a little too much. Maybe Mischa should have stayed where she was until spring like his father had ordered. But these were all maybes and what ifs. What was done was done and there was no going back now, and Will had to simply accept that this was the way the world around him was choosing to work.

Will starred in the mirror as he was dressed head to toe in black. The bruising around his neck had finally faded enough to the point where he felt comfortable enough to allow Alana to dress him again, after having received more than enough reprimanding for breaking tradition or some such other things. Will hadn't paid attention to what Alana had exactly said, more worried about an investigation being put on to find out why the prince, heir to the throne, an untouchable being above God himself, had been bruised.

"Has Hannibal spoken to you?" Alana questioned as she adorned Will's body with more black that only caused Will's porcelain skin to look even paler than it always did.

"He is silent," Will replied with a roll of his eyes. "As he has always been. Why do you ask?"

"I only say this as a warning." Alana's words were firm, and Will knew he was meant to listen to what she was saying rather than shrug it off. "Your father is growing impatient with the lack of cooperation from Hannibal."

"He's in mourning," Will found himself defending bitterly. "My father is an impatient-'

"As true as that might be," Alana interrupted the insult, though Will could see a smile pull at the corner of her red lips. "Your father is still the king and therefore he has the unfortunate power to do as he pleases. If Hannibal does not start talking soon, he might find himself in some unsavory positions."

"My father wouldn't take his title from him," Will said, the determination strong in his nod. "My father is not that empty-headed. He would have to find someone else to take Hannibal's place and as young as Hannibal is, I am certain that Count Lecter did tutor his son in such aspects."

"There are other things that your father can do aside from removing Hannibal's title," Alana reminded gently. She patted his shoulders and looked over him carefully, fixing an errant curl that had fallen into his eyes. "There. You look like a prince for once."

Will grinned at that and looked past Alana and to himself in the mirror. He could look rather put together if he tried, he supposed. The black wasn't the color he preferred to wear, but it did add a bit more regalness to his countenance than he was currently able to achieve alone. Maybe that would come with time or perhaps it wouldn't. Hannibal already seemed to embody such a trait.

"Speak with Hannibal. See if you can get him to at least inform your father of possible other relatives of his. Maybe some on his mother's side. His father's records have all come up short and we do not have his mother's records at our disposal."

Will's smile fell and he exhaled deeply and nodded. He had no control over Hannibal Lecter, but he was certain that he could talk some semblance of sense into him like he had the night Hannibal had tried to leave to find Mischa.

Will left his room and stepped into the hallways, adjusting a cuff of a sleeve that felt a touch too stiff and stopped when he spotted Hannibal leaving his own chambers. He wore a similar suit to Will's, black and tailored perfectly to him. There was something about the way that this world fit around Hannibal so much more than it ever did Will and even now Will felt he could in no way compare to the Count.

How did one person embody the responsibility or generations thrust upon them with the amount of poise and grace that one Hannibal Lecter did? He was bred for this life. A life of fine linen and fancy food and parties. A life of money and responsibilities. A life that Will had never quite found where he fit in. He had always found the prince mold to have been broken when he was born from it, but maybe it was just Hannibal shaped.

Hannibal met his gaze and Will swore there were a thousand years of sorrow in those eyes. Eyes that no longer sat as far back in a hollow face. The starvation had slowly ebbed from Hannibal's features, and he had filled out a touch more. His cheeks were just as sharp though. Sharp enough to cut, but the rest of him had softened, filling him with more strength and more life. It was a good look on him. All of this was a good look for Hannibal, even the misery.

Instead of turning away from Will like Hannibal had been prone to do the last few days, Hannibal waited. He stood tall and held out a hand to Will, palm up, offering the chance for Will to take it. No words were said, but Will didn't need them there to understand what the gesture signified.

I need you today. You will be my strength when mine fails, and it will fail. Please help me through the torments of today and tomorrow will be better. I'll be stronger. I'll be me again. But for today, let me be weak. Let me be anything but me and help me when I come up short.

If Will took that hand he was promising to fulfill those nonverbal statements. He was promising to be exactly what Hannibal needed for the entirety of that day and Will couldn't find a reason to deny the request.

His steps were sure as he went towards Hannibal. He stopped before the count and looked him up and down before finally allowing his gaze to rest on the still upturned palm. Will let his hand slide into Hannibal's, summer somehow still burning there despite the winter in Hannibal's eyes.

The grip was tight, and Will led Hannibal towards the chapel that had been used for Will's family's funerals for as long as he could remember. Centuries of people were honored and had been buried there and Will thought it only fit that someone like Hannibal's family was also welcome to be honored there. Sure, the newest snowstorm was raging outside of the castle now and Will doubted there was a way to reach the abbey for any other sort of funeral arrangements.

People had found a way in though and it made Will question if his father had been telling the truth about the storm being far too harsh for anyone to be out in or if it was another one of the many excuses that his father enjoyed making so he didn't have to take responsibility for anything he didn't want to.

Families from the court that he recognized, some of the children were acquaintances. He never obtained enough time for friends, save for possibly Hannibal. Could he call Hannibal a friend? He didn't have anything to compare their relationship to, so he thought it a proper term for them. Friends.

One of the girls he was closer to nodded at him as they passed by in the crowded hallways. She had long shining dark hair that matched her eyes. Beverly was her name and Will did enjoy her company, the few times he was welcomed to it. She had an air about her that Will couldn't name but it made him smile every time she was around.

James and Brian were next in the silent greetings and nods.

Will kept a tight hold on Hannibal's hand as eyes stared at them. The rumors had to have spread through the court. People had to know at least the bare minimum of the details. The prince found a boy in the middle of a storm, clutching to his murdered sister, miles away from his estate where his parents had also been murdered. The last in the Lecter line and no one knew why.

That must have been what brought so many people here while winter tide pounded at the windows, begging to be let in. The questions and mystery surrounded the entirety of the situation that not even Will could fully answer. The only person who could was Hannibal and Will was beginning to doubt that Hannibal would ever say exactly what had happened.

Will paused when he was greeted by a less familiar face. A young girl his age with mousy brown hair and eyes that were far beyond her years. Will had never spoken to her before, but he knew of her.

She was Princess Margot, daughter of King Molson Verger from a distant kingdom. Will had witnessed many times the way Sanford's jaw clenched whenever the Vergers were brought up in conversation and the way he swiftly sobered up if anyone from that kingdom were going to be making a visit.

As far as Will understood, the two kingdoms never could see eye to eye. They had rather overly exaggerated disputes over old grudges that went back so long that Will wasn't even sure why they were still being held. The demand for resources, the right of trade and everything in between was strung as tightly as a violin string. The pressure was insurmountable and bound to fray and snap. The only thing that had been keeping the two kingdoms in line had been Count Giuliano and Madame Simonetta Sforza-Lecter who had been placed in charge of all correspondence between the two families.

Will's eyes widened and he took a long look over Hannibal who did not appear lost in the importance of this moment. Will's hand was dropped, and he could only watch as Hannibal stepped over to Margot and took her hand, kissing it. She looked shocked as a deep flush filled her cheeks and Will bit his tongue as something angrily hot knotted up his chest.

Hannibal's next action was to outstretch his hand to Mason Verger, Margot's older brother whose blond hair stood as on end as his personality was. They shook hands amicably. Will had only ever heard the gossip that Mason needed a physician constantly on hand to help keep his odd proclivities under wraps. Perhaps that was the tall and rather refined looking, veiled blonde woman behind Mason. She clutched his shoulder with a brutally tight grip and Mason stayed silent, though Will could see the longer to speak on his face.

And lastly Hannibal turned his attention to Molson Verger. Hannibal bowed lowly before standing upright, being swallowed by Molson's height. He held out his hand to Molson who looked down his nose at it, something obviously dissatisfied about the gesture. But he took Hannibal's hand and shook it in the same way that Mason had.

"As the new head of my estate, I hope that I can be as helpful and understanding as my father and continue to bridge the efforts between our two kingdoms. And I ask for forgiveness of any shortcomings I might have. I will do my absolute best to live up to my father's name."

The hall somehow fell into an even thicker silence as Hannibal's words echoed about, the first ones aside from his screams, to be heard by anyone other than Will. The jealousy in Will was bright and he tried to hide it. He had been unable to notice how much he enjoyed being the only person Hannibal spoke to, even if it had created issues. But maybe this was a good step forward. Maybe Alana's warnings would hold more bearing once Will explained them to Hannibal.

Hannibal's hand was dropped with only an unsatisfactory nod from Molson and Hannibal bowed once more, stepping away from the king. Hannibal returned to Will's side and Will's hand was once more taken in Hannibal's grip and the stability that Hannibal stole from Will in that moment sent Will's head spinning and his knees weak.

Save me. I am not my father. I cannot compete with his memory, and I don't want to attempt such an action. Please, save me.

A hand took Will's shoulder, and he looked up at his mother's veiled face, draped in the same black mesh that the other women all wore. A tradition passed down for years and years. A sign of modest mourning for the dead.

"Are we ready?" she breathed out lowly and Will looked to Hannibal for the answer.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Hannibal answered, causing Theophania to freeze. Her eyes looked down on the boy curiously, taking in the first answer she had ever received from him. Whatever she decided on, Will couldn't be sure, but there was a nod from the queen, and she instructed a nearby servant to open the doors to the chapel so that they might get the procession started.

Will waited his turn with Hannibal by his side for his parents to enter and then the Verger family before he guided Hannibal into the chapel. Will blinked in the brightness that lit up the normally dark and dismal space. Thousands of burning candles were lit, surmounted on every surface possible. The room was hung with rich black and gold fabrics and covered with elaborate architectural ornamentation.

There wouldn't have been time to commission anything of extreme value, so everything of the design had been made of wax. It was a simple way of creating a temporary beauty that matched the meaning of life a little too perfectly. It was an easy enough medium for carvers and sculptors to mold into elaborate forms. There were eight Archangels of wax. Their wings were in different positions but held the same infuriating detail that the bird in the library did. They surrounded the three caskets made of the finest materials Will had seen.

The caskets were not open, and Will didn't need nightmares to understand why. Mischa had been more than enough. If she had been brutalized like that and Hannibal had said that they did more than murder his parents, Will did not want to see.

Will took the seat beside his parents, Hannibal sitting beside him. Will winced at the tight grip Hannibal now had on Will's hand, but Will let it slide. He had silently promised to be this for Hannibal today.

Will turned his eyes back towards the font as the bishop took his place. But Will was too consumed by the blonde girl in a dirty nightgown and dripping fresh blood sitting atop of her casket to pay much attention to the service that was being held. Her attention was fully on the bishop, listening to her own funeral and Will's hand clutched Hannibal's hard enough that Hannibal leaned over to whisper to Will.

"I see her in my nightmares too."

Will exhaled deeply at the admittance and closed his eyes. His mother's hand took his knee and gave it a kind squeeze, enticing him to a better silence. Hannibal's breath was warm against Will's cheek as he continued.

"I can still feel the warmth of her blood on me."

The party after the funeral was much livelier than before the presession. Everyone was gathered in the ballroom where there were copious amounts of food and drink. Live music played and there were people dancing and chattering and eating.

The only one who wasn't drinking was King Sanford and Will watched a much more refined version of his father command the floor of the party, obviously showing off to Molson that his kingdom was just as, if not infinitely better, than their neighbor.

"Hannibal, this is Beverly," Will introduced, hand still clasped firmly in Hannibal's.

Beverly gave a small curtsy, the dress making her look like she was swimming in a sea of obsidian. "Hello," she said sweetly. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Hannibal muttered dully, eyes not meeting Beverly's face.

"I think you're quite smart, you know."

That must have caught Hannibal's attention because he finally looked up from where he had been, staring at his shoes and tipped his head to the side. "I am not sure I understand your meaning," he simply said, tugging Will closer. Will's arm was flush to his, heat burning through his suit.

"The way you spoke to King Molson like you did. My own father wouldn't have the gall to do something so brazen." Beverly's smile was bright.

"Bravery does not equate to intelligence."

"It does when your family is the bridge to keeping our kingdoms out of war."

"I am simply performing the duties I have. Nothing more, nothing less," Hannibal excused humbly. "Wonderful to meet you, Beverly. I think I need to take in some fresh air."

"Of course." She nodded in agreement. "I hope to see you again, if not tonight, then soon."

Hannibal stepped away and Will was pulled along, weaving in and out of the many large dresses and well to do gentlemen. Hannibal guided him out of the ballroom and down the halls, away from the music and the noise, until the only sounds were their footsteps echoing the halls.

Hannibal finally led them to his bedchamber but didn't stop there. Not until he had forced the doors to his balcony open and a biting blast of cold hit Will full in the face. It sucked the air from his lungs and the flakes that fell from the sky sent shivers through his body as they landed on his skin. It only got worse when summer was taken from his hand.

Hannibal stepped out into the snow, hands taking the railing and his breath danced away into the night as he let out a loud scream. It drifted through the dead of the night, causing the stars to shake with the bitterness of it. The pain in it would have rattled death itself.

It blanketed the music from the ongoing party, but Will doubted anyone but himself was privy to the act of vulnerability. Ever since first laying eyes on Hannibal, Will had been gifted these moments of extreme exposure. Other than Hannibal's breakdown in the throne room, they had belonged to Will and Will alone and he suddenly felt protective over them. As if he were somehow more special than the rest despite Hannibal's exact words that he wasn't.

The scream ended, but the sob that came out was just as real and Will watched as Hannibal clutched at his blond hair, pulling at it before he seized up fistfuls of snow and threw it from the balcony with all of the strength he could muster.

Hannibal's breathing became brisk and short as he kicked at the powder, sending it floating off towards the abandoned courtyard below. Several more intense kicks followed until Will rushed forward and hugged Hannibal from behind as tightly as he could. He hid his face between Hannibal's shoulder blades and listened to the racing of Hannibal's heartbeat.

Hannibal's body doubled over in Will's grip, hands that were bright pink from the snow, once more taking up the railing so that the two of them didn't collapse into the ice around them. Hannibal had held it together so beautifully that evening and Will was going to keep being that strength that allowed Hannibal to continue until the sun rose once more.

"I'm sorry," Hannibal gasped out, the words reverberating around his ribcage. He tried to pull himself together, but Will could feel the way Hannibal's body shook with another cry. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," Will assured. He could feel one of Hannibal's hands clasp over his, fingertips freezing cold. He let the grip hold until Hannibal finally did stand up straight. He inhaled deeply with the stability that far outweighed how badly he was crumbling, and Will released him. He stepped beside Hannibal, watching as tear tracks were wiped away from his cheeks. A sharp smile covered Hannibal's face and he laughed brokenly.

"Forgive-"

"There's nothing for me to forgive," Will insisted, letting his fingers tangle into Hannibal's where he felt like they so perfectly belonged. The longer their hands were clasped, the closer summer was and the more their hands grew to fit each other's. Carved and sculpted to align. "Would you like to stay out here longer? We shouldn't avoid the party for too long. I don't need Alana coming after me."

"Just a moment more."

Will nodded in acceptance of the plea. Hannibal pulled him closer, and Will allowed himself to lean into Hannibal's warmth as the snow continued to dance around them, floating in a harsh breeze.

"William-"

"Will," he corrected, looking up to meet Hannibal's eyes, a hand resting against the center of Hannibal's chest. He wasn't sure why he had placed his hand there, wasn't even sure why it felt so normal and natural, but Hannibal didn't pull away or remove the touch, so Will allowed himself to feel all the inner tickings of Hannibal that allowed the count to be alive. His heart, his breath and everything in between. "Just Will."

"Will."

There was nothing else said other than his name and Will smiled as the sound settled between them. A hand slid across Will's cheek, fingertips course and calloused as if Hannibal had been worked every day of his life and wasn't nobility. There was something soothing in the idea of someone being different from everything Will lived every day.

The fingers slid into his curls, and he was pulled closer, Hannibal's lips pressing a kiss to his forehead. The constriction of hair and burst of light that occurred simultaneously in Will's chest made his knees weaken. There was something so strong in Hannibal. Something that seemed to fill Will with a loudness that wasn't overbearing, and Will didn't want it to end.

Hannibal pulled away and released his hold on Will, though their fingers still stayed tangled together. "Shall we return to the festivities? We don't need your maid to find you. I dare say she is more terrifying than your parents."

Will somehow found it in himself to laugh at that, though at the same time there was no air in his lungs to expel. "She is," he agreed. "But there's something important that I need to tell you as well."

"And what is that, Will?"

The way his name sounded coming from Hannibal's mouth. There was every emotion shoved into it. It was adorned with respect and beauty, and it made Will feel worth something for the first time in his short life. Seen as something more than a prince.

"Alana told me that my parents are growing impatient with your games. They need to know if you have family on your mother's side. Your father has no living relatives that are recorded and-"

"I have an aunt and uncle that live in France," Hannibal stated matter of factly. "Not on my mother's side. My mother's side would want nothing to do with me unfortunately. They did not think my mother should have married someone so low in status as my father. Not to mention they hold some sort of grudge against Lithuanians."

"Lithuanians?" Will questioned, letting the origin of Hannibal set into the image of the child that Will was constructing in his mind. "Your father is from Lithuania."

"Yes." Hannibal nodded. "I speak that tongue better than English if I am being honest. I grew up with it. It wasn't until I was being tutored that I learned English. But that is beside the point. Your parents will want to reach out to Count Robert Lecter and Lady Murasaki."

"I am sure that my parents will-"

"Will?" Hannibal interrupted and the thought died on Will's tongue.

"Yes?"

"Can you do something for me?"

"Within reason."

The smile Will received was secretive and Will didn't like the unsettling feeling that coursed through his blood. Hannibal's hand slid into his pocket and when it returned, he produced the red ribbon he had been clinging to for the last week or so that he had been there. Will could only stare as Hannibal's blood-stained fingers effortlessly tied the ribbon around Will's wrist.

"I need you to look after this for me," Hannibal explained, and Will's brows furrowed.

"Why?" He tried to pull his hand free, but Hannibal held it tightly. "This is Mischa's. It's not mine."

Will went motionless as Hannibal's hand once more caressed his cheek. "Keep this safe for me. I only trust it to you."

"I don't understand."

"You don't need to."

"Hannibal, I-"

"Kai kada nors grįšiu, pagal šią juostelę žinosiu, kas tu esi." Hannibal's thumb traced over Will's cheekbone and Will tried to memorize the strange language he had never heard before. It was strangely beautiful and so different from anything he was being taught or heard through the court. "Atsiprašau, kad taip atsisveikinu."

"I don't know what you're saying," Will laughed out, shaking his head as Hannibal leaned his forehead against Will's. Hannibal sighed; eyes closed tightly.

"We should return." Hannibal didn't linger. He pulled fully from Will, leaving Will's hand empty and the ghostly feeling of bloody fingers against his wrist. Hannibal straightened his suit and motioned towards the doors exiting the balcony. "Your family will be missing you and I am unfortunately the center of the celebration."

Hannibal must have found the strength he had been missing or he had stolen all of it from Will because as soon as they returned to the party, Hannibal was playing the room as well as any noble could and Will was left alone on the sideline.

Beverly did keep him company, as did James and Brian, but it did nothing to steal his racing mind. His fingers continued to play with the silk against his skin. And soon he lost track of Hannibal all together and the night came to an end with Alana ushering Will from the ballroom and towards his chambers without Hannibal at his side.

Will stared up at the ceiling the entire night, twisting the ribbon around and around and around, letting the fading memory of that language run on repeat through his mind until the sun was bright enough to break through the depressingly grey over-casting of clouds.

Will got himself dressed long before Alana entered the room and Will stepped past her, choosing to ignore the way she held a guilty air about her. Hannibal did not greet him in the hallways like he did every morning, nor was he in his chambers and when Will entered the dining hall for breakfast, he found it void of the count as well.

The oddness sat heavy in his chest, and he took his normal spot at the dining table, finding Hannibal's place setting missing. He tried to put the dots and pieces together, replaying conversations in his head as he absently ate his breakfast.

Finally, it came crashing into place, a little slower than what was normal for Will, but he blamed the lack of sleep. Someone somewhere along the line had lied to Will and he was certain that his maid had been the one to do so.

Alana had said that Hannibal's father's records had turned up no valuable information, but Hannibal had supplied the opposite last night in a memory that was fogged with sunny heat from searing touches. Hannibal did have an uncle on his father's side.

"Where did you send him?"

Will's words broke the light conversation that had been being held between his parents and he felt both pairs of eyes on him, though he did not look up from his half-finished plate.

Hannibal had never returned to his chambers that night, Will was certain of it. The moment the festivities had come to a close, Hannibal had been put in a carriage and shipped off like a package. Their stolen moment on the balcony being his goodbye. Hannibal must have known all along. Maybe he really could hear better when he wasn't talking or maybe he had been able to conclude the outcome quicker than Will had been able to. Hannibal knew and had said goodbye.

Will's fingers caressed over the silk around his wrist once more.

"Who?" the queen asked, the normally sweet innocence in her voice causing Will to turn sick.

"What do you mean who?" Will demanded, voice a bit tighter as he met his mother's gaze. "Hannibal. Where did you send him?"

"We were able to locate some family that was kind enough to take him in," Sanford replied in the same tone that he used for business meetings that held transactions. Will hated the way the words were said, as if Hannibal were some product up for trade. "And uncle and aunt on his father's side."

"France?" Will rose to his feet, the chair he had been sitting in squeaking as it was pushed across the floor. "You shipped him off to France?"

"You make it sound like we abandoned him," Sanford snapped back, sitting up fully in his chair. "He will be well taken care of there. We have done all we can here."

"You still don't know why his family was killed!" The shout was involuntary, and Will's heart thudded against his ribs. Theophania stared at her son in surprise, having never heard such an outright outburst from him. His father's jaw tensed and the vein in his forehead pulsed. "And as far as I know, you don't care enough to find out why your own men attacked his family! Unless you were the one who ordered the attack!"

"William," Theophania warned, reaching out her hand to her son who stepped out of her reach. "We would never send-"

"Then why were they there?! Why did I find him out in that storm with his sister's body in his arms? Why were your men the ones that lay dead around him?"

"You have no right to question me as such," Sanford spat out. "Sit down, now."

"Answer me!" Will ordered, the desperation unable to be hidden from his words.

"Maybe a better question to be asked would be why my son was out in that storm in the first place." Sanford's brow creased in anger. "You are lucky that I have not ordered complete isolation for you. No son of mine will be-"

"You do not control me!" Will had never wanted to throw his plate to the ground as badly as he did then. He wanted to hear the metal clatter and ring and see the food go to waste. To see the wheat color of the ale from his cup meet and ruin some chosen piece of decor in this hall.

Sanford rose from his chair, his fist slamming on the table and his voice boomed against the stone. "I am your king, and you will sit when you are told!"

"I am not a dog!" Will didn't have to imagine any longer. His hands snatched up his plate and threw it and the sound was as satisfying as he had always dreamed it would be. It clattered and rolled and only settled after Will threw his cup to join it. "I demand to know why you sent your men after his family!"

The swiftness of his father's movements shocked Will. Before he knew what was happening, his arm was brutally captured in a bruising grip. The skin of Will's cheek turned instantly hot, scorched by his father's rage. A wet stickiness slicked down Will's face as his breath was lost to him, frozen in his lungs and his mind halted as he tried to fully grasp what had just happened.

The sting was sickening as Will's eyes flickered between his father's that were cold, and to where the hand that had hit him was. His father's rings glittered with blood and Will's hand went to his cheek to wipe at the tackiness there.

Will's eyes prickled with angry tears and fury boiled in his gut, but he bit his tongue to stay silent as he caught his mother's begging expression over his father's shoulder.

"They were not my men, you insolent child," was hissed through the king's teeth, breath stinking of wine. "Now get on your hands and knees and clean up this mess." Will was thrown to the ground, wrist twinging with pain as he landed wrong on it. "You're a pathetic excuse for a prince and will learn some manners, no matter the cost."