A Request to God(You are all I Prayed for)||D3rlord3(Derek) x Avery||

Chapter One: I Never Asked for This(I Never Wanted This)

The mahogany doors of the royal study were thick enough to muffle the sounds of the bustling castle, but they could not suffocate the stifling tension in the room. The air smelled heavily of beeswax, old parchment, and the lingering scent of his father's pipe tobacco. Derek stood before his father's massive desk, hands clasped firmly behind his back. The midday sun spilled across the polished floorboards, catching the gilded edges of the kingdom's map. It was a map Derek knew intimately, having memorized every river and border town. Yet, he had never truly seen it. He was twenty, the crown prince, and effectively a prisoner in his own home.

"We have made a decision, Derek," Derek's father said, setting down his ornate quill. Beside him, his mom offered him a sympathetic but unyielding smile.

Derek felt the small, white-feathered wings at the sides of his head twitch. He forced them still, hiding his irritation. The larger, black wings folded against his back felt heavy, but he kept his posture rigid. "A decision regarding what, exactly?" he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral. Defiance only led to longer lectures.

"Regarding your safety," his mother answered softly. "You know how turbulent the outer territories have been lately. We cannot afford to take risks with the crown prince."

Derek suppressed a deep tired sigh. "I am perfectly safe within the palace walls," he pointed out. "Given that I am rarely permitted to cross the courtyard, I fail to see how outer unrest affects me."

"Which is exactly why we are taking preventative measures," his father interjected. "We are assigning you a personal royal guard. A dedicated protector to be with you at all times."

The words hung heavy. A babysitter. Derek's white ear-wings pinned back flat against his hair, a clear sign of dismay, before he forcefully relaxed them. A shadow to report his every move.

"I do not need a guard," Derek said, a sharp edge of frustration bleeding through into his tone. "I am perfectly capable. If you allowed me proper weapons training, rather than treating a sword like a forbidden artifact—a relic I am only allowed to read about in history tomes rather than wield in the training yards—I could defend myself."

"We have discussed this," his father's tone hardened slightly. "You are not a foot soldier. Weapons training is dangerous. You could get yourself hurt."

Derek's jaw tightened. He was highly intelligent, a master of strategy who spoke three languages fluently, having consumed every military strategy book and foreign language text in the royal library out of sheer boredom. He had secretly practiced hand-to-hand combat with a sympathetic kitchen boy years ago, proving he wasn't fragile. But to them, he was a delicate glass ornament kept on a high shelf.

"I am not a child," Derek stated. "I am twenty-four. I possess the agility and strategic mind to handle an altercation. I do not need someone shadowing my every step in a building I've lived in my entire life."

"Logic does not dictate the actions of assassins," his mother countered gently. "Please, Derek. We simply want you safe. The guard comes highly recommended, trained by one of the finest veterans."

Derek closed his eyes. He could argue the statistical improbability of an assassin infiltrating the inner keep, but as a puzzle solver, he recognized a deadlock. The guard was a fixed variable.

If the guard was a fixed variable, how could he manipulate the equation?

The map on the desk caught his eye. The sprawling forests of the northern border, the winding trade routes connecting the bustling cities of the east. His mind raced, calculating the political and geographical possibilities. If they wanted him supervised, perhaps supervision was the key to unlocking the cage.

Derek opened his eyes, allowing his black wings to shift slightly. "Very well," he said slowly, his parents' expressions shifting to surprise. "I will not fight you. I will accept them."

His father blinked, likely taken aback. "You will?"

"I will," Derek confirmed, resting his fingertips on the desk. "However, if I am to have a highly trained protector ensuring my absolute safety against all hypothetical dangers... then there is no longer any logical reason for me to be confined to the palace."

The study went silent. The grandfather clock's ticking suddenly sounded almost deafening.

Derek held his father's gaze. "If this guard is capable, I should be safe outside. I am the crown prince. It is quite frankly absurd that I have never seen my kingdom. My acceptance comes with a condition."

His mother shared a worried glance with his father. "Derek, the world is unpredictable..."

"And I will have a guard to predict it," Derek countered smoothly, switching briefly to German mentally. [It only seems fair]. He switched back to English. "I want permission to leave the palace. To visit the markets. If I am to be shadowed, I will not be shadowed in a locked cage."

The silence stretched, thick and unyielding. His father leaned back in his heavy leather chair, steepling his fingers. He stared at Derek for a long minute, calculating. Derek did not fidget. He kept his breathing perfectly even, his white ear-wings perfectly still, projecting an aura of absolute resolve. He was sacrificing privacy to gain freedom.

Finally, his dad sighed. "You have always possessed a sharp mind for negotiations, Derek."

"I merely apply logic to the parameters you set before me," Derek replied.

"Fine," his father rubbed his face tiredly. "If you accept the guard without complaint, you will be permitted scheduled excursions outside the palace walls. But only with him by your side."

Victory flared in Derek's chest, but his expression remained neutral. He nodded. "I accept. When do I meet them?"

His mother smiled, relieved. "He is settling into this new room. We will introduce you tomorrow. Give him a chance."

Derek turned towards the door, mind spinning with plans of the lower city. He paused.

"I will give him the chance he deserves," Derek promised quietly(He would, but they would need to prove themselves worthy of it, which he doubted they would. Most here failed to prove worthy of a chance). He pushed the doors open, stepping into the corridor, his heavy black wings giving a triumphant flutter. The game had finally changed.

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────

A/N:

Created for Rook Anon who lives in my fucking inbox(The bitch that scares Dreamer Anon, which by the way rook, you are NOT forgiven for)

Also, I can't afford to commission you, you'll be blocked if you come to my comments solely to ask me to, and I'll feel super bad about it!

────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────