A/N: Sorry for the long time since an update. Life has been super crazy! Plus it's hard to find time to write working a full time job, but I've got bits and pieces hammered out for the next few so hopefully I'll get on a roll. I can hope. A lot of this chapter was written to me listening to Watermelon Sugar by Harry Styles and Paris by Magic Man. Thank you all for being so patient. I promise the guys will start showing up soon, but there's more moving sibling parts to get through first. Hope you enjoy!

The Thing About Paris

The thing about Paris, was that it felt like home. Even more than Illéa did at some points. Most points. All points.

Kase didn't know when he started escaping to Paris, just that one day he woke up with an overwhelming sense to flee and followed it all the way to France. Uncle Ahren and Aunt Camille were very surprised to find him on their doorstep. Gen was even more confused when she realized that he was there unattended and without legitimate reason. But ever since that trip, Kase had found himself habitually running back to Paris, not for the food or the sights or the revelry, but for the people.

Okay, maybe just two people in particular. And the revelry. Could you really blame him though? Not even a saint could avoid the Paris nightlife, and Kase was hardly that.

There wouldn't be much of a nightlife tonight, not with grey clouds letting out a persistent drizzle. Kase watched the droplets of water streak across the jet window, staining the tarmac even darker as it soaked into the cracks. It's going to be fun walking through this, Kase thought, trying to spot his ride through the mist. The perk of having a private air strip was so not to be delayed by other travelers. However, the downfall of having a private air strip was the lack of an indoor terminal should the weather provide inclement. Kase hoped it wouldn't be like this his whole trip, however long that panned out to be. He hadn't decided yet. Usually these jaunts lasted a couple days to a couple of weeks. One time he stayed for a whole two months, though everyone was sick of each other and ready to fight by the end of it.

The jet landed and the fasten seat belt light flipped off. The first thing Kase did was switch his phone back on. Numerous notifications, tagged posts, and one text from Hayden saying, "don't forget my Chanel! xo," pinged across his screen before he pocketed the device. Kase didn't even know why he checked it. It wasn't like anyone important was going to call him. It wasn't like Drina was going to forgive him out of the blue. She had probably blocked his number, unfriended him on all her platforms, burned that stuffed bear he had won for her at the Angeles Province Fair. He tried to make himself believe that her radio silence didn't bother him, that he was okay letting her have her space, but that was a lie. It was eating him up, tearing his insides and making him sick. He tried to push it down, but this pain was like venom, making him mean(er than he already was).

But that was all in Illéa. He was in Paris now. Everything was going to be better now.

The pilot opened the exit and lowered the stairs, letting the cool, wet air into the plane. A chill ran down Kase's spine. Time to go.

He took the stairs two by two, eager to get out of the inclement weather. Flight staff scurried to move his bags from the cargo hold, not that there was much to de-plane. Just a duffle and a suitcase or two. He never knew how much or how little he needed, so he always packed it all to be safe.

Kase was lying before. There were more than just two people he loved to see when he came to Paris. One of those few stood in front of a black limousine, dark skin and hair blending into a black suit pressed crisp with lines made to cut. The man didn't smile, he didn't even blink, but Kase had been around him long enough to know not to be intimidated.

"Henri, my man!"

Kase extended a fist in front of Henri's face. Henri looked at with mild disdain, wondering whether or not it was worth suffering the blow to his pride, before completing the bump. The force Henri put behind his fist was nothing to joke at. Even when delivered in a friendly gesture, Kase's knuckles throbbed when he pulled back.

Henri said nothing as he opened the car door. Usually that was a chauffeur's job, but it was just Henri to pick Kase up today - there wasn't even any paparazzi, which was weird. But Kase didn't think about that too much. He slid in the backseat of the limousine while Henri walked around to get in the driver's side.

"So, how's the family?"

"Fine." That was all Kase was going to get unless he pried, but there was a smile on Henri's lips - so quick he almost missed it. "Manon will be glad to know you're back in town."

Manon was Henri's seven year old eternal ball of energy of a daughter. She spent most of her days running circles around Versailles and generally making a mess of perfectly neat spaces, which tested the limits of the reserved and controlled Henri's patience. Henri's wife, Elyan, was much better at dealing with their daughter's tornado-like tendencies, claiming all her years holding back Gen's hair while she puked prepared her for having a child this rambunctious. But neither of them could corral Manon like Kase could. She had been drawn to him since she was a toddler, finding companionship in a fellow storm. Kase just wished his storms were full of light and laughter like hers, instead of doom and gloom.

"And you? Are you glad that I'm back in town?" Kase teased, knowing that he got on Henri's nerves more often than not...not that the Head of Royal Security would ever voice a word of this to his queen and employer.

Henri hummed noncommittally, ever the man of few words.

The rest of the car ride was spent in mutual silence. Which was fine. Henri did his driving thing and Kase played games on his phone. The ride from the airstrip to Versailles was a short one anyway. Kase was only four moves into a game of Candy Count when the engine cut off, the grand front entrance of the palace spread out before him.

Staff ran down the steps, umbrellas in hand, to unload the car. Kase gave them space, taking refuge under Henri's proffered umbrella as the two ascended the stairs.

"They're in the sitting room," Henri said, leaving Kase to his own devices.

There was a time when Kase first started coming to Paris that Henri would follow Kase closely at the heels, making sure that Kase never left his line of sight, always the diligent bodyguard. Now, Henri didn't care where Kase went. Probably because there was no part of the palace Henri hadn't pulled a drunk and belligerent Kase from. Besides, Henri had better thing to do than babysit Kase, and Kase definitely did not need nor want a babysitter.

Kase knew the route to the sitting room by heart. He knew all the routes to everywhere by heart. He could probably navigate Versailles blindfolded.

True to Henri's word, the Queens of France were found in the sitting room sat across from each other, occupying their own sofas: Neelam's covered in swatches of color fabrics and Gen's empty save for the pile of manilla folders to her right. Both were absorbed in their own thing, in two separate words save for the hands they laid over the rests, the tips of their fingers barely brushing across the space.

Gen was the first to notice him, spying him over the edge of whatever document she was reading, her lips curling into a smile. She had bobbed her hair sometime since he last saw her, and she had to bat the edges away so that she could get a better look.

"Well well well, look what the cat dragged in."

Kase barely had time to react before he had the wind knocked out of him. Literally. By a screaming Neelam running at him and tackling him to the ground. Gen made no move to help him, watching with vague amusement as Neelam smothered Kase to death.

"Good to see you too Neels," Kase gasped, trying to push her off before she broke his ribs.

"I've missed you so much!" Neelam pulled Kase up and into a hug. For someone who stood a head shorter than him, Neelam had surprising strength.

Gen cocked her head, frowning at the display. "Why don't you ever greet me like that?"

Neelam detached her octopus limbs from Kase, still beaming as she turned to her wife and leaned seductively over the coffee table. "Because I see you every day." Her fingers walked over the deep mahogany, trailing up Gen's arm. "But I'm sure something can be arranged..."

"You would think after being together for so long, you wouldn't be this disgustingly sappy," Kase groaned. He did not come all the way to Paris for this.

"White people, they've rubbed off on me." Neelam shrugged her shoulders.

Kase pointedly avoided the innuendo. He would not feed that beast. Not today.

"Don't be a jealous hater." Gen pulled away and fixed the sleeve of her powder pink suit jacket. "I'm sure you and Alexandrina do plenty of disgustingly sappy things."

"Nope. Not anymore." Both queens gave Kase a confused look. Kase did not want to talk about this; he would literally do anything else. But it was better to rip off the bandaid now instead of when the tabloids found out. "We broke up. A couple days ago, actually."

"Christ," Gen swore, but she did not look surprised. "That explains it. What did you do this time?"

"Why is it always my fault?"

"It's always your fault."

Damn. That was cold. But Neelam looked unapologetic, and Kase couldn't fault her for saying it. She had a point. It always his fault for their break ups, just like it was always his fault for their eventual make ups.

Kase sighed and ruffled his hair. He was going to get so much shit for this. "I may have...possibly...forgotten her birthday."

For a while, both queens were quiet. Gen even looked a bit murderous. But it was Neelam who spoke.

"If Gen ever forgot my birthday, I would ask for a divorce."

Gen reared back, offended. "Thanks, babe."

"I'm being honest. Honesty is the best policy." Gen shook her head. It was just Neelam being Neelam. There was no need to take her seriously...most of the time. "In the spirit of honesty, I am glad that Alexandrina kicked your ass to the curb."

"She didn't kick me to the curb...per say." Kase kicked at the carpet, feeling more and more embarrassed the longer he sat under Neelam's scrutinizing gaze. " More like her brother picked up her phone and threatened me in the vague way Russians do when they're pissed."

"Well, I'm glad you chose to jet here instead of show up at Constantine's front doorstep." Gen sighed, scrubbing her face. Maybe Kase was imagining it, but he thought he had just given Gen her first grey hairs. "The last thing anyone needs right now is World War V."

"You sound just like my Dad." Kase tried not to sound bitter, and failed. He shouldn't be mad at Gen. She was only trying to help. But he couldn't stop the resentment bubbling in his chest, smarting at the weight of all his failures. "The reason I came was to get away from all that bullshit."

"What makes you think that we want your bullshit?" Gen asked with just enough bite to make Kase really consider if she was joking or not. He knew it must have been a lot to deal with his comings and goings. The last thing he wanted to be was a burden to anyone. He had tried so hard his whole fucking life not to be a burden, but he kept failing... Gen stepped forward and took his hands in her her own, squeezing. "We love you, Kasey, but you're a hot mess."

Kase laughed. "Yeah, I know."

"That would have been a banging caption," Neelam lamented, true disappointment on her face as Kase realized what she was talking about: the instagraph page.

"Don't think for a second I didn't see that pic you posted of me." Kase's teasing tone completely betrayed his intention of a threat. He was grateful for the change of conversation. He didn't think he could stand hashing out his misgivings for any longer without completely losing his shit. "My revenge will be sweet."

Gen hardly looked troubled. "I doubt you'll have time for revenge. Since you'll be here for a while, we're going to put you to work."

"Seriously? I was thinking I'd just lie low, watch some movies, eat a few crepes, maybe go out with a few models?"

"I don't think running around town with models is the best way to show Alexandrina you're sorry."

"No, but it would improve my mood more than working whatever crazy thing you're about to push me into."

"Kase, you're here so much you might as well pay rent. I figured this was the best alternative." Gen rolled her eyes, laughing like she had made a particularly funny joke. Then, her phone went off. She looked at it and then to Neelam. "I have to take this. He's all yours babe."

The couple traded kisses and 'I love yous' - a nauseating show that made Kase want to gag - before Gen walked out the room towards whatever last-minute meeting she needed to attend.

That left Kase with one very excited Neelam.

"Oh, you're gonna love it!" Neelam clapped her hands, making her bracelets jingle. Kase had a feeling that he was not going to love this at all. "My dance academy for the orphaned children of Paris is putting on its annual autumnal recital in a couple weeks, and I am in desperate need of a photographer. Everything else has come together - well, almost everything. I've had a hell of a time deciding on costume design - all these options are making my head swim - and set design, and which brand of make up to use that is both eco-friendly and ethically sourced, and - "

Kase held out a hand before Neelam got too far ahead of herself. He was still trying to wrap his head around his part in this chaos. He could not have heard her correctly.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to take pictures of a bunch of six-year-old ballerinas in tutus?"

"I know it's not as exciting as models, but give it a chance. Pleeeeaaaasssseeeee," Neelam pleaded, her dark eyes wide and puppy-like.

"Fine. Whatever, I'll do it." As if he could ever say no to Neelam. Kase may have acted like it was a hardship, but he would help Neelam with just about anything, guillotines included.

Neelam leaned up and placed a kiss to Kase's cheek. No matter how many years passed them by, Kase's face never failed to flush pink at the gesture.

"Practice starts at eight sharp tomorrow morning. I'll be waiting for you in the main foyer at seven."

"Are you for real?"

"Perfection doesn't just happen. You have to work for it!"

Kase tipped his head back and groaned.

"You're such a baby, honestly." Neelam laughed and smacked at his chest. "Go and get some beauty rest. All your stuff is exactly where you left it."

"Thanks Neels."

Kase knew a dismissal when he heard one. They parted ways, Neelam returning to her swatches and Kase heading towards his room. The halls were second nature to Kase now, as familiar as the ones in Illéa. He dared even say that Versailles felt more familiar, more welcoming. Even the staff knew his face, and not from magazines and family photographs like they recognized all the others. He waved and said hello to all the usual faces, their expressions ranging from shock to pleasant surprise.

His room was at the end of the guest hall: a whole suite with all the royal fixings. Only the best for the only son of the King of Illéa.

Kase shut the door behind him, leaving him alone in the wide open space.

Neelam wasn't kidding when she said everything was where he had left it. Not a single thing had been touched, down to the knick knacks on his bedside table to the clothes he had wadded up and thrown in the corner. However, his bed was freshly made, a basket of fruit sat on a coffee table, and there were flowers in a vase that were too alive to have been there long. A welcome basket, perhaps? Or a gift meant to guilt him into doing Neelam's dirty work. His guess was on the latter.

His suitcases had already been unpacked and stored somewhere else in the palace, shirts and pants and everything else folded neatly inside the chest of drawers. Kase pulled out a pair of comfy plaid pajama pants and put them on, his clothes covered in airplane and travel germs. They joined the growing pile in the corner. One day he would find a hamper, but today was not that day.

Kase took a turn round his room. It had been a couple of months since had had been there, but it still felt like home, more so than Illéa did. Maybe it was because there were no cracks in these walls, no testaments to his outbursts, no reasons for him to manifest his pain. The walls were smooth and a soothing blue color, the moulding a stark white and the windows draped with delicate linens.

Except for the far back wall. That was was covered in photographs.

It was more of a pet project, meant for Kase's eyes and Kase's eyes alone. There were all kinds of photographs, old and new, made from digital prints and polaroids. The result, all carefully tacked to the wall, was a mural of some of the happiest moments of his life. The wall made him smile. The wall made him sad. Strange how it could do both at the same time.

The closest photo to eye-level was recent - only a year or two old. It was of him and Alexandrina. They had held a photoshoot in the gardens of Le Petit Trianon the one and only time he convinced her to meet him in Paris. She sat high in a tree, like a princess in a tower, with Kase looking up at her, completely in love. And he was. He was so in love with Drina. Looking at the photo, Kase could almost hear her laughter, could almost feel the sun on his face, could realize now how that day was the last he remembered with her as being golden.

He took the photo down and shoved it into the desk drawer.

Inside the drawer, there was another unexpected surprise: his grandfather's polaroid.

Smiling, Kase picked up the old camera, careful not to damage it. Kase had thought he had lost the damned thing. Figures he would have kept his prized possession here instead of risking damaging it back in Illéa. He was only ever inspired to photograph anything in Paris anyway.

For a moment, he considered using this camera for Neelam's recital, but decided against it. He wasn't going to waste his spare polaroid paper on tiny ballerinas who would not sit still. He didn't know what he was waiting to use it on, but that was not it.

Kase put the camera back where he found it, shut the drawer on Drina's smiling face, and went to bed.