A/N: Sorry y'all I totally forgot about this fic here, I'll try and post the rest of the chapters for this story in quick succession XD

Summary: Blaine is doing just fine, thank you very much. He has never been better.

He was the ace. He was the number one, he was on top of the whole world. He was the crucial key of his father's plan, his favourite son, crown prince, and in the eye and respect of the entire kingdom.

So why did he feel so… sick?

Blaine brushed it off. It was nothing. He didn't have time to get sick. He wasn't supposed to, anyway. He was perfect.

Perfect…

He breathed in, adjusting his necktie. He tried to put thoughts of the gala aside. That was a one off. And he definitely didn't want to think about Princess Maria. The nerve of her words… of course he had loved her. She was the most beautiful princess he'd ever seen.

And maybe, she had a point. No matter the situation, Maria was always unabashedly herself. She never wore a mask of lies.

It was almost enviable. She never cared what anyone thought of her. And now she was gone.

Blaine sighed, staring at himself in the mirror. His stare hardened.

It wasn't over yet. His father still had a plan. Not that Frederick wanted anything to do with it.

Blaine wasn't surprised; Frederick had been locked in his room, barely eating, barely talking. He would refuse to speak to anyone, even the maids.

There was no point trying to reason with him. He wouldn't listen. And that was fine; the plan had to continue. The kingdom always came first.

Frederick was so selfish, so flawed. He always put himself first. He was so wrapped up in his own little world. No wonder a single sentence of his had thrown the entire engagement apart.

But could Blaine entirely blame him? That boy needed the support… and he was capable of change.

Change…

Frederick had changed so much in the last few weeks. Perhaps it was Gwen's doing; the two of them were growing so close.

(Blaine didn't want to think about how his relationship with Maria seemed to be going in the opposite direction.)

Perhaps that boy was finally growing some sense… Well, at least he was. Not anymore, shut away in his room and speaking to no one. It was for the best, to just leave him be.

Blaine splashed some cold water onto his face. He still felt queasy. He was not looking forward to breakfast; would he even be able to stomach a single bite?

Well, he really had no choice. There was no time for weakness and submission. He always had to be strong.

Or at least he thought.

He was the ace, he was perfect.

But he was just a human.

He applied some coverup under his eyes. There was no time to go back. He had to keep moving forward. No regrets, no pain.

"Blaine!"

Blaine bit his tongue; another wave of sickness went through him. He headed out, addressing his younger brother Lance. He furrowed his brow in concern when he saw his brother's face; his eyes were wide and he'd gone completely pale.

"Lance, what's wrong?" Blaine asked, softly.

"Frederick's gone," Lance got out.

Leland didn't seem concerned at all. Perhaps the plan had kept him occupied the whole time. Maybe it was a brave face. Or, worst case scenario…

"We don't have time to waste looking around for that irresponsible boy," he snapped. "Besides, he won't survive out there alone. He'll come crawling back."

Lance seemed to want to go looking for him regardless, but Blaine disassued him.

"Going against Father's advice would be… reckless at best," he advised him.

Of course he was concerned for his youngest brother, but during this crucial stage, he was not willing to test Leland's limits.

Lance looked off to the side. "But…"

"After all, he's right," Blaine forced another smile. "He doesn't know what's out there. He'll come back."

He felt another wave of queasiness.

Lance still didn't look very happy.

"Come on," Blaine gestured for him to follow. "We have work to do."

Blaine kept pushing down his sickness as fans approached him in droves. He put on another smile, holding up his pen.

"Your highness," a fan giggled. "I love your work so much!"

She held out a picture of him.

Blaine kept up his facade. "Why, thank you! I'm glad to hear that."

He signed the picture and the girl left, another one taking her place.

"Ahhhh," she panted. "I can't believe it's really you, Prince Blaine! You're so… perfect."

Perfect…

Blaine shook it off, signing the girl's photo.

"Thank you very much," he told her, before another fan approached.

"Ahem," the fan coughed, his face flushed. "I'm just here because my, um, sister is a big fan of yours. Not me. Hahahah."

"Don't be ashamed to admit how you really feel," Blaine told him. "Your feelings are perfectly valid."

He handed the fan a poster of himself grinning, with the words 'It's Okay!'

"Hnnng," the fan got even more red in the face and took off.

Blaine addressed the next fan, who was eagerly hopping on her toes.

"How do you do it?" she asked, as he signed her photograph.

"Pardon?" Blaine asked.

"Be so perfect!" she replied. "You're good looking and good at everything! How do you do it?!"

Perfect…

Blaine gritted his teeth. A migraine was coming on.

"Your highness?" the fan asked, cautiously.

"My apologies," Blaine handed her the photo back. "Your question. Ahem, well…" He breathed out. "It simply is years of practice and precision, as well as a strong work ethic. You can't get anything done by moping around and being indecisive."

His migraine was getting worse.

"Strong work ethic…" the fan looked down. "How do I get that?"

"As cheesy as it is, you must believe in yourself," Blaine told her. "If you really want something, then go for it."

He thought about Frederick once more, all the times he had given him similar advice.

The fan sighed. "You make it sound so easy…"

"Yes…" Blaine put a hand on his forehead. "My apologies, but could you excuse me for a moment?"

He took off, heading over to his crew. He eyed his bag of supplies.

"Is everything alright, your highness?" a guard asked.

"Of course," Blaine assured them. "I just need a sip of water."

He pulled out a water canister, taking a few long sips. He breathed in and out.

Everything was fine, as it always was. He wasn't thinking about his runaway brother, he wasn't sick, he wasn't guilty, and there was no pressure at all from his father's looming plan.

He had to keep his kingdom happy, his people content. That was the most important thing.

The migraine was still there.

Lance wasn't his usual peppy self during the function. Even around his friends, he lacked the usual laid-back grin he always wore. The palace hall felt oh-so-very quiet, with them not running around.

Blaine sighed; he didn't have time to worry about that now. His migraine was still there, but he kept on his brave face.

It'll be gone by tomorrow, he assured himself. Put up with a little longer.

He smiled and waved at the guests, decorations dangling from the ceiling. Although Frederick almost never attended functions anyway, there was still an odd, painful loneliness with him gone.

Blaine pushed it down, just like his weak stomach, just like his queasiness.

He smiled and waved, taking another sip of water. He eyed the tables of food and drink. He figured with his current migraine, it would be wise to avoid alcohol.

"Ah, Prince Blaine," a noble walked up to him. "I heard your marriage fell through?"

"Unfortunately," Blaine sighed.

"That is quite a shame," the noble shook his head. "She was such a nice young lady."

Blaine nodded, sipping his water. His throat still felt dry.

"Well, if you're looking for a new fiancée, my daughter is available," the noble said.

"That's… wonderful," Blaine swallowed. "Thank you for the offer… I will have to get back to you."

He quickly excused himself. Another marriage was the last thing on his mind. Not that he would admit it.

"Prince Blaine!" a group of girls walked up to him.

"I heard you're single?" one of them asked.

Another giggled. "Hey, I am too."

The pain was getting worse.

"My apologies, ladies," Blaine excused himself once again.

He grimaced. Of course, everyone would assume he wanted to hop right back into marriage.

A young girl winked at him, giggling to her friends.

They still see me as nothing more than a piece of meat… he cursed.

A ringing went through his ears. The girl stared at him. Her voice was muffled, her face fuzzy.

"Hello?" she asked, confused.

"Please excuse me, but I have to go," Blaine got out, moving away.

He stormed over to his younger brother, who was standing around, anxiously. His friends were giving him weird looks.

"Lance, come on," Blaine scolded. "You can't keep standing around like this!"

Lance just stared at him, dejectedly.

"Father wants us to keep up a brave face," Blaine explained. "It's all part of the plan."

Lance kept staring at him.

"… do you think he cares about him?" Lance asked, quietly.

"Pardon?" Blaine raised a brow.

"Do you think Dad cares about Frederick?" Lance asked.

"Of course he does!" Blaine responded. "He…!"

He grimaced, a sharp pain going through his head.

"Blaine?" Lance reached out.

"I… I need some more water," Blaine took off, waving at the guests.

He shoved down the urge to vomit, quickly sipping down another glass of water. He would have to go to the bathroom and apply more coverup. He couldn't stop sweating.

He eyed his father, who was staring at him from the front of the hall.

You're my ace.

He took another sip.

"Bro, are you okay?" Lance asked, appearing behind him.

"Of course," Blaine wiped his brow.

A wave of nausea went through him. He blinked, shaking it off.

"You keep zoning out," Lance told him. "You wanna sit down?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Blaine insisted. "It's nothing to worry about."

The fear of falling… he was about to come crashing down all over again. This time, though, there was no one to catch him.

He stared at his reflection in the glass of water, his own red eyes piercing back at him.

Frederick had never been scared of falling. In fact, he embraced it, digging himself into even deeper holes. That was until he finally had the urge to climb out. He was doing so well… until he fell again.

Or perhaps he didn't fall back down after all. He climbed out once more, taking a different path than last time. He had chosen freedom. He realised what he wanted and went for it… just like Blaine had told him to do.

Blaine grimaced; he clenched his jacket in a tight fist. People were staring at him. For once, he truly understood how Frederick felt, loathing the feeling of being in the spotlight.

"Bro?" Lance asked.

"He was right," Blaine uttered.

"Huh?" Lance made a face.

Leland was watching.

"It's…" Blaine trailed off. "It's not okay…"

Without another word, he passed out.

Even Prince Blaine was not immune to weird dreams. More often than not, he was victim to nightmares, his every living fear coming out to haunt him.

He was standing on a stage, a grand piano resting beside him. The audience groaned and booed, throwing rocks.

"GET OFF THE STAGE!" they thundered.

Maria emerged from the darkness, her eyes cold. "You two are ACTUALLY beautiful!"

King Leland approached him from behind. "You're supposed to be perfect."

The scene shifted. Blaine was at the bottom of the hill, a looming hole right behind him.

And then of course, there was Frederick, who was standing on top of the hill.

"They're right," he said. "You should've been more like me."

"Be more like you?" Blaine huffed. "Not a chance. You are everything I strive against."

"That's what you thought," Frederick muttered.

There was a cold silence. Blaine gazed up at his brother.

"I understand now," he replied. "You may not have pride, but you have humility. It never bothered you, being down at the bottom."

Frederick didn't respond.

"Why?" Blaine asked. "How can you be so content to just… stay there?"

"Because," Frederick turned back, "it's good enough for me."

Blaine felt his throat go dry.

"Frederick," he reached out. "Perhaps… when I fall down again… will you be waiting for me, at the bottom?"

Frederick smiled. "Where else would I be?"

Blaine stifled a chuckle.

"If only you were the real Frederick…" he sighed.

Dream Frederick shrugged. "I'm still out there. But you'd have to against…"

"… Father's plan," Blaine gritted his teeth.

"What was that thing Lance asked?" Dream Frederick questioned. "Oh yeah… well… I think there's really only one thing Father cares about. And it's not us."

Blaine looked away. "Of course Father cares about us! He…"

He trailed off.

"The plan," he uttered. "It's a sabotage, isn't it? He wants to ruin the life of his dearest friend, the Pastel King."

Dream Frederick nodded.

"I need…" Blaine gasped. "I need to wake up!"

Blaine breathed out, sitting up. He was lying on a bed inside the palace's infirmary, dressed in his pyjamas. His mother, Queen Isolde, was sitting beside him.

"Mother?" Blaine asked.

"... it was me," Isolde spoke, quietly.

"What?" Blaine asked.

"Those flyers with the poem," Isolde kept her gaze at the ground. "I was behind it."

Blaine stared at his mother in shock. "You…? But… what? Why?!"

"BLAINE!"

He was interrupted by his younger brother, of course. Lance kneeled beside him, body trembling.

Blaine grimaced; his brother looked almost as sick as him, his skin chalky, sweating heavily.

"Oh, Lance," Blaine sighed, "you look dreadful."

"Are you okay now?!" Lance asked. "You've been out for so long…!"

Blaine turned away.

"How could I have been so naive?" he uttered. "This must have been difficult for you as well, Lance. Being stuck in the middle of all this… all you wanted to do is support your team."

Lance just stared at him, clenching onto the bed.

"What are we gonna do?" he asked.

"What do you want to do?" Blaine asked instead.

"Me?" Lance sweat-beaded. "I, uh…" He shrugged. "I dunno. What do you wanna do?"

Blaine facepalmed. He found himself laughing; genuine laughter, a feeling he hadn't felt in forever.

"What's so funny?" Lance asked.

"All of this," Blaine spread his arms. "This has become such a disaster."

He leaned back on his pillow.

"Lance," he addressed his brother. "You are my most trusted advisor, and my future right hand man-"

"Left hand man," Lance looked at his hands, "because I'm pretty sure I'm a leftie, last time I checked…"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Fine, you're my left-hand man. Regardless, I want your input. There's something you want, isn't there?"

Lance blinked. "Well… I was gonna say, y'know…"

"Go looking for Frederick?" Blaine asked.

"That," Lance nodded.

"Doing so would go against Father's plan," Blaine told him.

"I know," Lance replied, glumly.

Blaine moved over, standing up. He hunched over; his legs were not used to lying down for so long. He straightened his posture.

"But that is what I want," Blaine turned his attention to his mother, who perked up, "because this time, I have a plan of my own."

Lance suddenly stood up. "You're gonna go against Dad?!"

"Not just against him," Blaine stared at him. "I've got a counter attack in mind."