CHAPTER CONTENT WARNINGS
- violence [punching]
- suicidal thoughts [no will to live, wishing to be left for dead]

"The Hole." The worst part of the city. It held the refuse house (where trash was stored before being shipped off the island) and the fertilizer station (where animal manure was kept until needed by farmers or disposed of as waste).

A full cart transported to the latter had brought him here. With the drop made, he was eager to leave. Terrible as it was, the stench was not the cause. No, it was the area's residents that hastened his steps. Some were criminals, some were poor, but all were desperate — or worse, bored. He was always in and out before the first hint of twilight. At least, before tonight.

His clothes were still damp from the giant snowball that had mysteriously — or magically — crashed into him. The bizarre event would be lauded as divine retribution by anyone who knew his past, so perhaps it was a small mercy that the only witnesses were horses. Of course, whether the incident was accidental or intentional made little difference. What mattered was that it had taken precious time to free himself, and now dusk was upon him as he strode with purpose.

He sensed the presence of his shadows before he glimpsed them. Three unsavory faces trailing behind with half-hearted stealth. The attempted subtlety would be laughable under different circumstances. Presently, however, it only underlined their confidence in hunting their prey. The edge of their territory was still far off, and there wasn't another soul in sight. Even if there were any bystanders, they wouldn't help. Not here, and certainly not him.

A memory from his youth flashed through his mind. He briefly contemplated the benefits of being truly invisible before dismissing the useless infantile fantasy.

Fighting the trio was too risky. Not only would he be outnumbered, his strength giving out was a real possibility. Running after rounding the next corner was the best plan.

He made the turn, only to be snagged by waiting hands and a pair of dark grins.

Damn. He should have anticipated it. Exhaustion was no excuse for being caught unawares. He was surrounded.

"You're out late. Don't you have a curfew?" a sixth man inquired as he approached the circle.

The prisoner sized up his captors as the man spoke. Any move would have to be swift and fierce to catch them off-guard.

A blow to his back knocked the wind out of him.

"The Boss asked you a question!"

"Now now," the leader chided, "that's no way to treat royalty! Don't you agree, Prince Hans?"

He had held a sliver of hope that they wouldn't know who he was. He'd clearly hoped in vain, as usual. The thugs might have gone easy on someone who could be missed, but they knew they had a free pass with the ex-prince. No one would care if he was beaten to death.

"We ought to give a prince of his caliber the respect he deserves," the boss continued, squaring himself with Hans. The subsequent hit would have sent the redhead reeling had he not been held with such iron grasps.

"That means being face-to-face when you clock him," the leader concluded with a chuckle. Standing back to admire his handiwork, a sadistic satisfaction lit up his face. "We're going to have fun tonight!" he declared as he turned his back on the group.

Now. A quick leg sweep and over-the-shoulder throw freed him, and he took off. The trio of grunts left standing weren't far behind as their boss shouted, "Get 'im, boys!"

Left. Left. Right. Le— A dead end. He doubled back the instant he realized his blunder, but it was too late. The gang was blocking the exit. He was as good as dead.

One of the brutes stepped forward with a sloppy punch. Hans blocked, but the force still sent him flying backward into a heap of muddy garbage.

"This is where a piece of trash like you belongs!" the leader crowed. The rest of his lackeys cackled along with him.

"Excuse me, gentleman—"

The six shot glares at the source of the interruption. Hans propped himself up as best he could, his body screaming at him with every movement.

"—I seem to have gotten my directions mixed up. Could you point me toward the harbor?"

"Get lost," the boss growled, "or you'll get what he got."

"Get what who got?" came the far-too-upbeat reply.

A shift in stance from one of the members created a chink in the armor, and the stranger casually slipped through the blockade.

"Hm, oh, yes, I see now!" His tidy clothes were those of a commoner. His dark, curly hair and tan skin gave him away as a foreigner. Any fool could sense the danger, yet he examined the scene as one would casually appreciate a quaint antique.

"Yeah, so like I said, 'get lost!'" the leader repeated.

"Well, I can't do that!" the young man gasped with pointed indignation. "There's a man here who needs help!"

"I warned you!" the boss spat as he advanced on the intruder. "Now—" He grabbed the man's shirt. "—you're gonna pay." His fist recoiled, set to spring forward in an instant.

The angled view from ground level obscured most of the perky fellow's expression, but Hans thought he saw a decisive "do-or-die" confidence flash across the foreigner's face. Did I imagine it? He couldn't be sure, but something must have happened, since the prepared punch was never thrown. Instead, the leader shoved the busybody away.

"You're not even worth it," he grumbled as he backed into his gang. "C'mon, boys, drinks are on me."

The murmurs of approval faded with the squelch of mud under boots. Hans let his bewildered stare linger until the young man spun to face him.

"The Lord is looking out for us tonight!" The bright smile and cheery tone were as foreign to the former royal as the stranger was to the Southern Isles. Despite that, his attitude didn't seem forced; rather, it was almost... child-like.

"What did you say to him?" Hans queried flatly.

"Huh? Nothing!"

"Then why did he abandon the fight?" The gang's victory was guaranteed. It made no sense.

"His type is all bark and no bite. He must have realized there was no way he would win."

Hans scoffed. "It would have been six-against-one."

"Six against two," his rescuer corrected as he closed the gap between them, "and they would have lost."

"I wouldn't have been any use," Hans grunted as he managed to raise himself another centimeter.

The foreigner smirked bemusedly and knelt beside him. "I wasn't referring to you." He chuckled at the ensuing perplexed squint and pointed an index finger to the sky, his dancing chestnut eyes augmenting his brilliant grin. "So, like I said, they would have lost."

Hans shook his head. "You're crazy."

The man shrugged. "I've been called worse." He reached out and offered his hand. "Come on, I'll help you home."

If he knew that "home" for the ex-prince was a cell in the castle dungeon, he wouldn't be so eager to offer aid. Of course, Hans wasn't exactly eager to return home, either. He closed his eyes and let himself sink back into the pile. Even if he had the will to move, he lacked the physical strength to do so. His escape attempt had drained what little energy he'd reserved for emergencies. Why bother? His mere existence had become a grueling grind of misery. Any hope of improvement for his situation was so slim and distant that it was inconsequential. His life mattered to no one. In fact, there were quite a few individuals who would be thrilled to hear of his demise. He was an irredeemable criminal. There's no point in carrying on.

"Hey, stay with me!"

He cracked open his eyes and gave the forgotten stranger a sideways glance. The man's expression puzzled him, and it took him a moment to place what it was. Genuine concern. He couldn't remember the last time such a look had been directed at him. The small comfort was fleeting. The foreigner didn't know who he was. Any care for his well-being would evaporate when the truth was discovered, and he'd return to his current state. Hans attempted to dissipate the helpful intent with a menacing glare. Don't bother. Leave me to die.

The concern morphed to comprehension then determination in the blink of an eye. "I'll carry you back to my family. We'll get you cleaned up, and you can stay with us!"

Hans' confoundment instantly gave way to disgust. His true intention must have been obvious if this naïve simpleton saw through him.

He bristled as a hand clapped his shoulder.

"Leave me alone!" he barked, wrenching himself away. "I'm not some stray dog for you to groom into the family pet!"

The young man was taken aback and pursed his lips in thought. Without warning, he threw himself into the trash heap, rolling around in the muck. The former prince sat up out of sheer amazement. After a minute, the foreigner stopped to examine the results. Satisfied, he presented himself to Hans.

"There! Now we're both stray dogs!"

What?

Hans was completely dumbfounded.

Did he—

"Oh!" The stranger snapped his fingers. "I'm Leone!" He beamed as he extended his now-filthy hand for a shake. "Pleased to meet you!"

Thoroughly, absolutely dumbfounded.

He—

Hans continued to gawk as it slowly dawned on him what had just occurred.

He made us equal.

Leone lowered his arm, undeterred by the lack of response. "Can you stand?"

His mind still reeling from the realization, the ex-prince remained still. I don't understand. What kind of person just debases themself like that? What could he possibly gain from it?

Leone adjusted his position to look the redhead in the eyes. "Will you let me help you up?"

Westergaards don't need help. Hans pushed against the ground, but found his arms and legs more gelatinous than he'd expected. But I'm not exactly a Westergaard anymore, am I?

"I might... require assistance..."

Leone put Hans' right arm over his shoulders and pulled the dazed man to his feet. This time, there was no resistance. Supporting the other's weight, Leone started to walk. Hans' reflexes reacted, and his legs began to move him along in sync with the taller man's gait.

"Phew! You had me worried for a minute there!"

Hans turned his head toward the bizarrely happy face but said nothing. Leone's smile widened.

"Let's go!"