Butterfly Reign

22. Tell Me About Your Lovely Day

“You’re on edge,” he says instead, seeing the small lines forming on Wilbur’s forehead. 

For a moment Wilbur looks like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "That tea party has stirred up some nobles' displeasure with me," he admits. 

"How odd," Techno hums, squeezing the excess water out of Wilbur's hair. "It's almost as if you have to face the consequences of your own actions."

"I'm not speaking just about the letter incident," Wilbur says bitterly. "Suddenly they decided to remember it all. Running away, marriage with Sally, that my son was born as a commoner." Wilbur presses his lips tighter. "I've been their crown prince for twelve years of my life. Why does nobody ever remember that?" 

In high society, the past is a luggage shackled to one's reputation. Theseus bears his as a brilliant golden crown and from Techno's shadows people tend to avert eyes and cower away. Wilbur, though... In the majority's eyes, he is forever labeled as a traitor. 

Wilbur grew up hungry for praise and attention. He might claim not to care about public opinion, but Techno knows his brother better. Wilbur wouldn’t be here If Niki's support and advice was still available. Whether the queen told him to stay away or the prince himself didn't dare to show his face, he decided to turn to Techno instead. 

"Do you want me to silence the culprits of the rumors?" he asks. 

Wilbur shoots him a look from under deeply creased eyebrows and shakes his head. 

"You wouldn't be asking if you knew how many enemies I have," he says. "Before, the fear of Emperor Philza had been keeping them at bay. Now they are using the crown prince's name as a shield to call me a waste of imperial blood."  

Wilbur wears the same expression as he does when he tries not to let his emotions show through. In his eyes is a wildfire, and the nature of fire is that it won't stop blazing until it burns down everything it can reach. 

In twenty-five years of their life Techno still hasn't figured out the way to put it out, but he never stopped trying. With the same hands that can snap necks like they're matches, Techno gently squeezes Wilbur's shoulders. 

You're not a waste, you're my brother, Techno could say, but those words, meaning the world to him, would be an empty sound to Wilbur. It's not from Techno's lips that he wants to hear ‘I care’ from. 

“You know that Theseus didn’t really mean when he said-” 

“Of course he didn’t," Wilbur snarls, shrugging Techno's hands off. "It was Prince Dream's doing." 

Techno steps away despite hollow protests of something deep inside him. He opens a drawer, pushes a crumpled piece of bloodied fabric further out of Wilbur’s view and takes a soft towel from where they are piled neatly on top of each other. 

“Don’t trust George,” he says, turning. 

Wilbur's shoulders tense, but the next moment he leans back and sighs. “Shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve been listening in on me. What’s next? Eating out of my plate first to make sure that food isn’t poisoned?" He makes a sour face, "Oh wait, I forgot that we already have food tasters working shifts for that." 

Techno ignores the sarcasm in Wilbur’s voice. “That man clearly wants something from you," he says, handing Wilbur the towel. Wilbur straightens up and rubs it and down his head, far more violently than necessary. 

“I am not five, Techno,” he sighs, exasperated. "I know a trick when I see one. And yet…" Wilbur tosses the towel away and wrenches around to look at Techno. "He has a point about a few things. First the tea party, now fueling rumors? Theseus would never dare to do that, or could for all that matter. It's clear as day that Dream is manipulating him into making those decisions."