thirty three

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A/N

Hi, it's the new author here: Write Owl! (you can call me Owl if ya want).

So before I begin, I would like to say that I'll introduce myself properly at the end.

And also, if I forget something to do with the plot, just let me know and I can fix it! Apologies if that happens.

Anyways, onto the chapter!

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He thought he was loved.

He thought that he was cared for, valued and wanted.

But apparently, he was not.

George, heir to the throne of the l'manberg kingdom, had just been shunned aside by his parents, effectively leaving him for dead. Because that's what he was: roadkill, a stepping stone for his younger brother to be crowned.

The road kill that was hit by a wagon driven by his boyfriend - it's complicated - who had a knife to his throat, courtesy of the younger brother.

This younger brother... He was quite something. A piece of work, troublemaker, future murderer... Put it how you want, Schlatt was there for the throne and nothing was going to stop him.

At least, family wasn't.

If George couldn't convince Wilbur and Niki, his parents and the King and Queen, that his own brother was out for his blood... Well, George was as good as dead.

And where did that leave George's boyfriend?

In front of massive oaken doors that lead to the monarch's private quarters.

This boyfriend - Dream, or Clay as he was known by few - was not the richest, and certainly did not seem to belong in such an extravagant castle. In fact, he barely suited a stable.

But, he must do what he must to save his partner, from his own hands. Because, in one fateful night on top of a hill, he was ordered to kill George, effectively handing Schlatt the crown on a silver platter.

So, this scruffy teenager knocked once, twice then thrice on the door, feeling his knuckles scrape slightly against the weight. He ignored it in favour of his mission.

Soon, one of the heavy doors swung open, cast iron hinge squeaking ever do slightly. It was not rusty, just grinding.

"How may I help you... Sir?" A man, stubble on the chin with pitch black locks questioned, hand already on the hilt of his Excalibur.

"The King and Queen, I need to see them. Urgently." Now more conscious of his appearance, Dream attempted to straighten his shirt. Casually, he ran a hand though his golden hair - which only messed it up further.

"Look, kid, how and why you're here, I do not know. But I can't let you in here." His gruff voice spoke, yet his face didn't twitch a muscle.

"But sir, it involves the safety of Prince George! He's in danger-!"

"Yeah sure, now beat it."

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