PASSERINE

Chapter 2: like carillon bells (the house of Augustus rings)

Wilbur's fingers stilled on what was undoubtedly going to be another bad note. Something was moving, down on the lawn. He squinted at the figure until it came into sharper focus.

"Technoblade?"

Wilbur pressed his face closer to the glass, just to make sure his eyes had not deceived him. There were many people in the kingdom with pink hair, but perhaps fewer who also moved with the lethal grace of a python.

Technoblade walked across the lawn, and disappeared past the gates without a glance back. It wasn't until his breaths fogged up the window completely that Wilbur realized he was hyperventilating. He pulled away from the glass and stumbled over his guitar on his way to his bed. He pulled the covers over himself, as if the darkness would dampen his thoughts.

Where is he going? followed by Will he come back? Will he come back? Will he come back? Will he-

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"You're late."

Wilbur blinked in the dim sunlight barely breaking through the horizon. "Wha...?"

He blinked some more until he finally recognized his surroundings: the smooth marble floor, the four columns sculpted like gods bearing up the flat roof, ivy following over the roof's edge like a waterfall, curtaining them off from the rest of the garden. This was the training pavilion-Father's personal training area, where he attempted to teach Wilbur fencing before it became clear that weaponry was not to be Wilbur's forte.

"It's alright, son," Father had said, carefully tending to the cut on Wilbur's leg from his own rapier. "Kings don't really need to know how to fight. That's what armies are for." Father had sounded angry as he said this, but Wilbur somehow knew it wasn't because of him.

"But you know how." Wilbur had pouted, dutifully trying to hold back tears as Father applied stinging herbs to his wound.

"Well," said Father, "that's different."

"Different how?"

"Just different." Father finished tying the bandages around Wilbur's leg and smiled at him. "I'll tell you when you're older."

He never had.

But it wasn't Father standing before Wilbur today.

"Well?" Technoblade said, gesturing to the heavy chest in the corner. "We're burning daylight here, little prince. Hurry up."

Wilbur blinked again. "Sorry, but how did I...?"

Technoblade stared at him quietly as they both waited for Wilbur to finish his sentence. His eyes are red, Wilbur noted distantly, even as he struggled to remember anything else. He could not recall falling asleep, or waking up, or walking down to meet his new tutor for their first lesson.

"Well?" Technoblade prodded.

Wilbur shook his head. "Nothing, nothing. What are we, um, learning today?"

Technoblade cocked his head to the side, unimpressed. His hair had been pulled into a braid so tight that it hurt Wilbur's scalp by proxy. "Philza said you were crap at fencing."

Wilbur grimaced as he walked over to the chest, kneeling to filter through its contents. "That's one way of saying it." He picked up one of the swords, and turned to Technoblade, who'd apparently brought his own weapon: a wicked-looking broadsword with a ruby-encrusted hilt. "I'm a bit better at long-ranged weapons, if you were wondering."

"I wasn't," Technoblade snorted. "Get into position."

Wilbur did.

"That's not correct."