Prince Theseus hates him.
That is the conclusion Ranboo comes to a few days into his life at the Imperial palace.
Phil – His Imperial Majesty, as Theseus insists – told him a lot about his sons during the week they spent on their way back to the capital. From the heartwarming tales of a nostalgic parent, Ranboo’s imagination painted a sunny picture of a happy family. He was especially thrilled to meet Theseus, who was said to be the youngest of the three, and thus the closest to Ranboo’s age – theoretically, at least, since he still can’t remember his own birth date.
“Theseus is a bit on the hardworking side,” Phil had warned him. “And might be... let’s say, quite a handful at times.”
Ranboo was too optimistic at the time to pay proper attention to the Emperor’s words. Even the sour expression on the face of a knight who accidentally overheard their conversation couldn’t discourage him enough. Ranboo likes Phil, and if Theseus was anything like his father, he was sure that they would get along great.
Here’s the deal, however – Theseus is nothing like Phil. When the Emperor smiles, his eyes are a warm summer sky, but the crown-prince’s stare is always a cold northern ocean. Ranboo tries to get on Theseus’ good side, he really does. But no matter how much effort he puts, the crown-prince doesn’t see him as anything more than dirt stuck under his nails.
In the end, Ranboo drops all his attempts to get Theseus to like him. In his Memory book, he writes down the crown-prince’s name, along with the words like ‘emotionless’ and ‘cruel’. Ranboo is sure that he’s not going to forget Theseus’ treatment either way, so it’s more of an act of resentment than anything else.
There is one good deed that the crown-prince had done for him, however, even if it wasn’t entirely purposeful. Ever since Theseus had shown him the way to the library, Ranboo couldn't stop thinking about the endless rows of books in thick leather covers. He comes here often, to pick a random folio, take in the smell of old ink, tinted with vanilla and underlying tones of mustiness. Rustling with the old, yellowish pages, and running a finger down the unfamiliar words, Ranboo patiently practices his reading skills.
He puts Phil’s writing lessons to use as well. At nights, instead of shaking and gasping after waking up from another nightmare, Ranboo reaches for his Memory book and sloppily writes down every detail that he can recall. Smell of salt and sweat. Suffocating dark space. Monotonous sway of the world around him as he struggles to swallow down the lump in his throat. This and many other things don’t make sense in retrospect, like pieces of a puzzle yet to be solved.
During their week’s long carriage trip, Phil used to comfort him after the worst of his nightmares. Apologies spilling from Ranboo’s mouth faster than they register in his mind and the thundering beat of his own heart both slow down with the Emperor’s reassuring words and careful touch. Even when the wakefulness comes, and the nightmares fade away, Ranboo doesn't want to leave Phil’s side.
The palace has its own rules, unfortunately. Here, Phil is almost always busy and can’t free more than a few hours of his time for him.
“But you are the Emperor,” Ranboo blinks. “You can do anything you want, can you not?”
Phil looks at him with amusement and just a slightest tone of sadness. “That’s not exactly how it works, mate. As a ruler, my priority is, above anything else, to take care of the Empire and its citizens.”
Ranboo knows very little about how royalty works, but from what he has seen so far, what they mostly do is participate in long, boring meetings, and read through tons and tons of paperwork. “Prince Theseus seems to be doing just fine on his own,” he says, crossing his arms and looking away. He then mumbles, mostly to himself, “Besides, he doesn’t appreciate your company as much as I do.”
The Emperor frowns – in less of an angry, more of a bitter way. Ranboo’s chest still pangs with guilt. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
On an urge, Ranboo reaches out and hugs him. Phil stiffens. Nervousness buzzes in the back of Ranboo’s mind. Did he do something wrong again? Most of the rules in the palace don’t make any sense to Ranboo, but breaking them makes him feel both afraid and shameful.
Then a hand settles on the back of Ranboo’s neck, and Phil hugs him back. “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I think Theseus won’t mind taking over some of the trading discussions later this week. We can have a picnic in the gardens, or I could show you the royal hunting grounds.”
“Really?” Ranboo perks up.
“You can take it as a promise,” Phil reassures him. “But for now, would you mind taking lessons together with prince Fundy?”
Ranboo doesn’t mind, and he is introduced to Fundy the next day. A strand of fluffy ginger hair falling over the young prince’s face did little to cover his yellow-brown eyes, far too clever for a five-year-old. Fundy bats it away with his hand and flashes him a fox-like grin of white teeth, saying that he’d love to have some company except for ‘that old ugly chicken’, who later turns out to be his governess.
Unlike Ranboo, who takes up the lessons eagerly and absorbs knowledge like a sponge, Fundy avoids them at all costs. It doesn’t surprise when he sees the prince slipping through a half-opened door a few minutes before they were supposed to start. Ranboo is about to wave at him when he notices a second person beside Fundy – one sight of whom makes him jump up to the closest corner and hide.
“Dad’s not going to be happy if he learns that I skipped the lessons again,” Fundy says.
Judging by the lack of a reaction, Ranboo wasn’t noticed. Curiosity overtakes – he peeks behind the corner, and sure enough, crown-prince Theseus stands there, next to his nephew.
“Don’t worry about it. If anybody snitches on us, you tell Wilbur that I’ve abducted you, and I shall deal with him myself.”
“You can’t order to execute him.”
“Theoretically, no. But then again, I could always just take a knife and-”
Theseus makes a motion that looks like he’s stabbing someone, chatting casually, like he is not talking about trying to murder prince Wilbur in front of Wilbur’s own son.
“Uh-huh,” Fundy says. “You’re a bad influence. Why would I make my own hands dirty if I can just hire somebody instead?”
An impossible thing happens – Theseus laughs. The crinkle of his eyes and the way his lips stretch – it’s an alien expression on the crown-prince’s face and yet it fits , in a way that it fits for a flower to bloom and for the skies to shine. “That’s why you’re my favorite nephew,” Theseus says.
Fundy looks unimpressed. “I’m your only nephew.”
They continue to joke around, Theseus’ taking the young prince’s hand and walking to the opposite side of where Ranboo hides. He only blinks confusedly as the two disappear down the far corridor.
Later that day, Ranboo is in his room, preparing for sleep. He walks out to the balcony for some fresh air when he sees Theseus and Fundy sitting under a weeping willow.
The crown-prince has a book on his lap. He looks… Different. Relaxed, his shoulders hunched comfortably as opposed to his usual too-straight stance that makes Ranboo’s back hurt just by looking at it. Fundy leans on his shoulder sleepily, and once Theseus notices, he puts the book aside and closes it.
“Come on,” he says, “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I don’t want to sleep-” Fundy mumbles, his words interrupted by a wild yawn. Theseus smirks, and he turns his back to the boy. Fundy wraps his arms around the crown-prince’s neck and puts his cheek on his shoulder.
Theseus stands up, and hoisting up Fundy on his back, makes his way back to the palace. A minute later – or perhaps two, or five, or ten – somebody knocks on Ranboo’s door.
“Good evening, Ranboo,” prince Wilbur says, grinning, “Do you remember saying that you wanted to see the capital?”
***
When Tubbo returns, it’s late evening already. He shifts from his toes to his heels in the doorway, clenches and unclenches his fists. The energy inside him, bursting and overwhelming, shines in his eyes and stretches his lips into a smile.
Tommy expected Tubbo to be irritated – for that their trip to the capital was nothing but a waste of time – and relieved with the fact that he is finally back to his duties at the palace. Instead, he looks simply happy.
“Your Highness!”
Loud . Too loud. Tommy winces. His headache, barely soothed down to weak poundings, spikes again in leaping waves. With Tubbo’s appearance, the darkness of the parlor recoils away, and so does Tommy; he wants to shield away from this light, bright and irritating, and sink deeper into the armchair he sits on.
“As far as I can judge, you had a great time,” Tommy remarks dryly.
If Tubbo was a burning flame, Tommy’s words are a bucket of ice-cold water. He halts, his upbeat mood swept away by a harsh slap of northern winds. A part of Tommy, the wicked, ugly thing, feels satisfied to see it gone: if he feels miserable, then Tubbo doesn’t have a right not to.
“I suppose one could say so.”
“Well,” Tommy stands up from his armchair and walks over to the balcony, where he stops with his back turned to Tubbo. “I’m glad that you did, because I was going to ask you if you could keep Ranboo some company tomorrow as well.”
“I- what?”
Tommy throws a glance behind his shoulder. It doesn’t slip past the crown-prince that for a moment, his eyes lit up with hope. Maybe Tubbo didn't expect this question, but he was certainly excited about it. He recollects himself and says, “Your Highness. May I ask… Could there be a certain reason for this request?”
For a moment, Tommy is silent. The thoughts that haunted him throughout the past few hours come flooding again. Wilbur might be a thorn in his side with his sudden and ridiculous requests, but there is one thing that Tommy can learn from his older brother: regardless of how bad a situation might seem, it always has a side that can be exploited.
“It’s no secret to you that I find it difficult to tolerate Ranboo’s presence,” Tommy says, “But somebody does need to keep an eye on him to make sure that he is enjoying his stay at the palace and doesn’t get in any trouble because of his own incompetence. Best for that role would be fit someone of my close circle, and since you’ve already acquainted yourselves-”
“Do you want me to spy on Ranboo?”
Tubbo sounds incredulous. Disturbed, even. Tommy clearly underestimated how well his friend knows him. Tubbo isn’t going to be tricked with long twisted sentences, so Tommy cuts the part where he would otherwise continue talking about his good intentions and turns away from the balcony. “I do. So what?”
Elbows pressed to his sides, hands gripped in front of himself – Tubbo isn’t necessarily afraid, but he is wary, in a way that a timid deer would be facing a wolf from across a grass field. “I don’t know… It just seems too far.”
“Are you doubting my orders?” Tommy asks coldly.
Deep down, he hates the way that his voice sounds. It reminds him too much of the tone the Emperor has used on him during the eventful lunch on the first day of Ranboo’s arrival at the palace. Tubbo doesn’t deserve this treatment, with his unwavering loyalty through the worst periods of Tommy’s life. There were times when they only called each other by their first names, throwing away the ridiculous mouthful of titles and formalities and yet –
These times are long gone. Just like Tommy is the Emperor’s subject before he is his son, Tubbo is his subordinate before he is his friend. When the silence stretches without an answer, Tommy breaks it with a scoff, “Didn’t think so.”
Dark brown eyes refuse to meet the stern blue ones. “My apologies, Your Highness,” Tubbo says. Tommy could swear he hears disappointment and resentment in his tone. “It’s not going to happen again.”
***
The closer Ranboo gets to know Tubbo, the more he is convinced that he has some sadistic tendencies. Seemingly very shy and reserved, the boy turned into a monster when Ranboo jokingly refused to share the fried chicken wing Wilbur had bought for him at the town fair. Tubbo grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threatened to drop him into the fountain unless he gave up all his snacks.
Today Tubbo laughed when Ranboo climbed onto a horse the wrong way round, and refused to help him down for almost half an hour. Too afraid of falling off, he only gripped the reins tighter to the sound of giggles in the background. Still, Ranboo’s lips were tugging into a smile – Tubbo’s laughter was too contagious not to join him.
“This is the most fun I had in years,” Tubbo says when they are on their way back to Ranboo’s room. Ahead of them are giant stairs, leading up to the upper floors. Ranboo is the first to step up. He looks down at Tubbo incredulously.
“You’re the crown-prince’s best friend. I’m sure you two get in all sorts of amusement together.”
Tubbo’s smile drops into something uncomfortable and bitter. “That’s not exactly – accurate to reality,” he says, his shoulders spiking up to his ears.
“What do you mean?”
Tubbo doesn’t answer right away. For a while, they walk up the stairs in utter silence, the echoes of their steps swallowed by the soft lush carpet.
“We were very close when we were younger,” Tubbo says quietly. “It was me and him against the world. And nowadays… He keeps his distance from everyone, even me, and I can’t help but feel like Theseus is determined to face the world alone whilst I’m somewhere in the background, picking up papers for him.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great honor to be in the court of the prince himself-” Tubbo says, “But I miss the way it used to be. I miss my best friend.”
Ranboo can’t help but remember what he saw a few days ago, Theseus and Fundy’s conversation, the way the crown-prince laughed and smiled, the way his eyes turned from ice to warm summer sky. Getting deep into his own thoughts, Ranboo doesn’t notice how they reach the top of the stairs. His foot gets caught on the last step, sending him flying forward.
His elbow hurts upon the impact, and he rolls over to his side with a hiss. His Memory book slides out of his pocket and across the floor, where it stops, opened wide, next to a polished leather shoe. Ranboo looks up. He freezes, his bones momentarily encased in ice, as Theseus looms over him with his hands behind his back. It’s late in the evening, and the lanterns lit along the closest wall throw a dark, flickering shadow over the prince’s face.
Only now does Ranboo realize that Theseus is not alone. A small group of men and women, dressed in a way that screams of wealth and status, are whispering to each other, their voices merging into buzzing background noise.
Ranboo knows that he had become a topic of rumors inside the palace. Phil had said that it’s just harmless curiosity, and that the nobles will get used to his presence soon enough. It doesn’t feel like curiosity when they look down at Ranboo with disdainful, mocking expressions. Peasant , he picks out someone saying , street rat .
Ranboo feels blood rushing to his face, and he wants nothing more than to simply disappear. Like a cornered animal, he searches for an escape, for a rescue. Against the instincts screaming at Ranboo to scramble away and apologize, his eyes flicker over to Theseus.
In a moment that feels both the shortest and the longest in his life, the crown-prince’s gaze falls on the book on the floor. Theseus stares at it with a storm inside his eyes, raging and twirling, that makes Ranboo shudder with his entire existence.
“Your Highness-” Tubbo says, somewhere behind Ranboo.
Theseus’ anger is gone as quick as it appeared. Back at him stares an impassive, half-hearted frown. “Watch where you go, you filthy rat,” he scoffs.
There are chuckles and approving murmurs, and Ranboo ducks his head, his face burning. Theseus steps over the book, and not sparing either of them another glance, strides down the corridor.