After a pleasant afternoon spent in Prince Dream’s company, comes the evening, and together with the evening, dreadful thrill of anticipation starts singing in Tommy’s veins.
The outfit Tommy will be wearing throughout the event was prepared weeks in advance. He puts on a white shirt with a high collar without any problems, but when it comes to a grey short-sleeved jacket that is supposed to be worn over it, his fingers tremble and refuse to comply.
Tubbo was the only servant that was allowed to help the crown-prince with dressing up. As much as he sighed and grumbled and rolled his eyes, he’d always help Tommy to clasp the silver buttons and make a decent look of his hair. They’d joke around, poking fun at each other- until the worry would stop clawing at his guts, until Tommy feels like he is confident enough to make it through the evening. Without Tubbo, it’s only him, the mirror on the desk, and a sour taste of regret on his tongue.
The door is thrown open. In the reflection, Tommy sees Wilbur entering the room, hands shoved into pockets. An emerald earring dangles with the beat of his cheerful, confident gait. His appearance feels like an invasion in more ways than just physical. Tommy would very much like to spend some time alone and succumb to his own melancholy, but it retreats, slurping and sluggish, as it collides with Wilbur’s unyielding energy.
Tommy sighs. He still stands with his back turned to his brother. With the jacket finally wrestled on and secured with a belt, he just needs to tie a neckerchief around his neck. No matter how much he tries to make it sit right, he always ends up either tying it too loose or choking himself.
“Prince Wilbur, people usually knock and ask for permission to enter first. I could’ve been getting dressed.”
“Yes, and you’re not doing a good job with it.” Wilbur walks up to Tommy. Tommy rolls his shoulders back to hide the way he tenses, but all what his brother does is reach for the neckerchief. “Give me that.”
Tommy complies. Wilbur wraps it around the collar of his shirt and ties it with one fast, practiced movement. His hands are so impossibly close to brushing Tommy’s skin that it makes him shudder; to his luck, Wilbur doesn’t notice, too busy tugging at the knot and fixing its edges.
“Here you go,” Wilbur says, stepping away once he’s happy with the end result. “How about a small ‘thank you’ for your dearest brother?”
Tommy touches the neckerchief and stares at himself in the mirror. It looks… nice. Certainly better than everything he tried so far.
When Wilbur’s hands settle on his shoulders, Tommy freezes. His doppelganger, lost and confused, stares at him back from the mirror. It reflects the figures of two brothers; the older one pulling his brother into a light side-hug like the thousands of times he did it before.
The familiarity of the motion, the steady warmth of the touch and a big smile lighting up Wilbur’s entire face – it all makes Tommy want to close his eyes and pretend that this care is real. Pretend that he doesn’t see the thoughtfulness behind narrowed dark eyes; unreadable but always cold and calculated in a way that makes him want to throw himself into the closest corner and hide.
“Drop the act, Prince Wilbur. I know that you want something from me.”
Tommy shoves Wilbur away. Wilbur takes a few steps back to retain his balance, having the audacity to look hurt. “What do you mean? Can’t I genuinely want to spend some time with my little brother?”
“I wasn’t your brother earlier, when you were trying to bring me down in front of Prince Dream.”
Wilbur tilts his chin up, crossing his arms on his chest. “And what if I say that I’m sorry?”
“Then I wouldn’t believe that in a thousand years.”
Wilbur knows he’s been caught; Tommy can see it in the way that warm mask of his cracks, and the expression under it drips with sourness, as if a piece of lemon was forced down his throat. The longer Tommy stares, the more annoyed Wilbur looks. He quirks an eyebrow at him, as if asking, ‘ Happy now ?’
He is, really. It’s a lot easier to talk to Wilbur when he isn’t pretending to be the caring older brother he once used to be. It messes with Tommy’s mind; Wilbur’s words are vines that wrap around his neck, the blooming flowers tickling his ears and whispering of things that he knows are no longer true.
“So it is about Prince Dream, isn’t it?” Tommy asks.
“Can’t blame me for being curious about why the famous crown-prince of Esempi suddenly took interest in you.” Wilbur leans against a wall. “Did you know that they call him the Spider of the southern court?”
From what Tommy’s heard, courtiers of Esempi are afraid of Prince Dream more than they are wary of King Foolish. His connections sprawl for much further than the palace walls or even the Dragon’s bay; nobles from all around the country have their weak sides and dark secrets all tangled up in the spider web, bouncing like puppets on strings whenever the prince feels like tugging at them.
Tommy hums. “Now that Prince Dream is here… could it be that you are afraid for your title of the most manipulative bastard in the Empire?”
Oh how satisfying it is to see Wilbur almost choking on air upon his words. Tommy’s mood immediately takes a massive leap upwards, though deep down, he knows that it wasn’t the right thing to do. He might’ve had the element of surprise – but it’s Wilbur’s game, and he will not fail to answer Tommy’s bold move soon.
“Look who’s finally grown a tongue,” Wilbur manages to get ahold of himself, his lips twisting into a playful smile, his teeth flashing in a predatory scowl. “Don’t forget to keep it in check tonight. I’d be a shame if your words will turn against you.”
If this isn’t a threat, then Tommy doesn’t know what is. He opens his mouth to answer, but then the hinges creak and Techno appears, blocking the doorway with his broad shoulders.
“There you are,” he grumbles. “What’s taking you two so long?”
“Me and Theseus had a nice little chat,” Wilbur says, and Tommy holds the urge to snort.
“Well, we should get going now,” Techno says. “The ceremony will start soon, and Father has sent me to bring both of you.”
“Let’s not keep His Majesty waiting, then,” Tommy says.
***
Annually, on the opening ceremony of Solstice celebrations, the whole Imperial family makes a grand entrance. It’s a tradition both of meaning and practicality; the Empire’s royals demonstrate their power and unity while simultaneously introducing themselves to the foreign guests. The members of delegates change – not all of them, of course, but for the new faces, the first true impression on the Imperial family will be formed today.
Here they are, walking through the hall that leads to the palace’s grand ballroom. Tommy exchanged a short greeting with the Emperor before joining his usual place to the man’s right. He seems to be in a good mood today; his smile’s wider, his gestures are more open and welcoming. Tommy thought that he’d be more upset that he couldn’t let Ranbooto tag along, but it seems that his worry was for nothing. He even lets a timid hope bloom in his chest that the Emperor looks happy because they get to spend the evening together, not only like an emperor and a crown-prince, but a father and his son.
The whole Imperial family is together, at last – except for Fundy, to be accurate. It’s way past his bedtime by now, and children as young have no obligation to make regular appearances in court. Wilbur and Techno are here, however, following the Emperor and the crown-prince a few steps behind.
A thrilling sort of pride fills Tommy’s chest. Dressed in varying combinations of white and blue, all four of them look like pieces of one whole. The ring on the Emperor’s right hand, a crown on Tommy’s head, and identical earrings that Techno and Wilbur wear – deep-green emeralds, brighter than any other gem found on the entire continent, mark them as the members of the Antarctic Empire’s ruling family.
Guards, dressed in splendid Imperial uniforms, bow to the Emperor and his sons as they approach massive spruce doors, heavy with silver and lazuli fretwork. Tommy remembers the day he first entered those doors as the crown-prince; remembers the noise on the other side, buzzing and ringing in his ears, the tremble in his hands, the frantic thoughts and worry, so sluggish and dense that it made him sick.
“I’m scared,” he whispered, quiet and wavering. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You do,” Father said. He stood next to Tommy, hands behind his back, posture straight and strong and confident, nothing like the crown-prince’s clumsy slouch. “We’ve been preparing you for this for the past month.”
Tommy thought about the people who talked about him behind his back; quick glances of mockery and pity, harsh words that slit his heart. His breath quickened and his bright eyes flickered up. “But what if it’s not enough? What if they’re not going to like me? What if-”
What if I’m worse than Wilbur , he wanted to say. Or if I’m too much like him.
“Take a deep breath,” Father’s hand found its place on the back of Tommy’s beck. Steadying, reassuring. Tommy concentrated on the feeling of warmth and the way calloused fingers scratch his skin, and little by little, his inhales and exhales became steady and even.
It hurts , he suddenly realized. He was clenching the crown in his hands hard enough for the sharp edges to dig into his skin. Father kneeled in front of Tommy and gently coaxed his fingers into letting it go.
“There are two things that you can’t force people to have for you: love and respect,” the Emperor says. “Love is either present or not, and respect can only be earned with actions. Treat your subjects with kindness and justice, and they’re going to repay you the same.”
The crown was lowered onto Tommy’s head. Despite it being light enough that he could lift it with two fingers, it felt like the weight of the entire empire was encased in that thin silver circle.
“It’s okay to be scared,” Father added, squeezing his hands. “I’m going to be with you the entire time.”
Tommy smiled at the memory. He found himself staring at the Emperor, inspecting every tiny feature of his face. He seems much older now – older he indeed is, with streaks of grey splattered between once golden curls and a net of wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. Tommy has grown since then, too. Over the years, he came to loom over his father; blue faded from his eyes and clothes, replaced by dull silver; it’s almost like he came to live up to the image of the Emperor’s shadow he once convicted himself to be.
In a sense, nothing has changed since then. The Emperor wasn’t a come-and-go sort of presence like Techno was, he never disappeared without a trace like Wilbur did, or came to rest in the soil underneath a marble slab; he was with Tommy the entire time, just like he said he would. Somewhere in the background, in the seals of the documents Tommy signed, on the lips of other people – but he was, and is , somewhere close.
(Close enough to make Tommy feel guilty to say that he misses him, but too far for him to take his hand even when they stand next to each other.)
A herald announces their entrance. Two guards open the doors at the same time as the noise in the ballroom dies out. Tommy is momentarily blinded by the bright light; it has him blinking the white circles out of his eyes. From the height of a massive staircase they stand on, he struggles to make out the individual faces in an ocean of colorful dresses and suits.
The Emperor makes his way down the staircase, his long cape trailing after him. Tommy follows a couple of steps behind. He feels people’s eyes on him from every corner of the room; hundreds of minds, observing, attentive, judging, hundreds of voices that murmur and whisper and all that they talk about is the Emperor and the princes.
The voices don't feel like crawling bugs on his skin anymore but lyrics to a song he has long since memorized. "Your Highness," people greet, bowing, and Tommy smiles back. A smile without any malice or affection, differs from any emotions at all, just the right one to make it a polite acknowledgement.
"It's an honor," others say. And before Tommy realizes that he has opened his mouth, a habitual, 'The honor is all mine,' is replied back.
It's at this moment that Tommy realizes what a long journey he made in the last six years. The music hasn't played yet; but the dance has long since started, or perhaps it never stopped at all. These people, this court, are moving to the same rhythm and steps as their fathers and grandfathers and all the generations that came before.
It once was once the Empress’ responsibility to make sure that the court supports the Imperial family. After she passed away, the Emperor was too busy keeping the country and the government running to teach Tommy to maneuver in high society; he never had much experience with it to begin with. Tommy aimed to rebuild the ruins that were left behind after his mother’s death – and for that, he needed to look for new teachers.
“The thing about power is that the majority doesn't truly want it,” Baron Quackity once said to him. “All these people understand the price that the throne comes with, and it takes major sacrifices to commit yourself to it. But if there is an empty power slot, people will rather occupy it themselves rather than let some fool order them around. So, what you want to do, young prince, is to show them that you're capable.”
After first hearing those words, Tommy mused them over again and again, thinking of the ways he could prove himself. What his duties are and how much control he can extend over the nobles is regulated by the Emperor. He couldn’t commit himself to the art of sword like Techno – and while nothing prohibited him from becoming a scholar, it’s an area Tommy never felt attracted to.
For each generation of noble families, strictly followed etiquette is a sign of dignity and prestige and hard work. Tommy stumbled into this cycle at eleven years old; a cornered animal, a newborn fawn, but now he memorized the steps throughout and beyond, to the point where he no longer thinks of where to put his feet.
He's a fish in a steady current that flows around the same circle for eternity. Nothing can make Tommy waver from this rhythm. Nothing can shake him off the steady ground that he could stride around with his eyes closed- or so he thinks, until a waver in the even tone of voices brushes his ears.
Tommy looks for the source of disturbance and halts in his steps the moment he finds it. It feels like the same current that he felt so confident in decided to twist around and slap him in his face - because in the crowd, surrounded by foreign nobles, stands Ranboo.
What is he doing here?
It’s not that commoners can’t participate in the celebrations at all. Wealthy merchant families with enough influence in the capital get an occasional invitation; even then, only those who qualify would be allowed to enter. But Ranboo..?
As the one who personally went through the guest list more than a dozen times, Tommy knows that Ranboo’s name was not on it. And yet Emperor and Wilbur don’t seem in the least bewildered by his presence- it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who might’ve let him in.
The Emperor throws a look out of the corner of his vision – it slides over Tommy and lingers on him at the same time; watches, expectant, waiting for the crown-prince to say something in protest. The dance figures are shifting; a couple of steps are taken out of Tommy’s space. He pretends not to notice and shifts the same amount back. Tommy stays silent and visually unbothered even as Ranboo walks through the crowd and comes to a halt in front of the imperial family.
“Your Majesty!” Ranboo says, bowing clumsily.
A stony and judging expression on the Emperor’s face changes wholly the second his eyes are not looking at Tommy. He smiles, in an endlessly warm and kind way that would’ve had the crown-prince beaming if it was directed at him – it isn’t, so it just makes him feel like he received a harsh kick to his ribs.
“Are you enjoying the evening?” The Emperor says.
Ranboo fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket. He barks out a small, shy chuckle. “To be honest, not really,” he admits. “I don’t know anybody here, so it’s been just very awkward this far.”
“Leave this to us, Father,” Wilbur says. His hands are resting behind his back. He shifts on his feet and smirks; a quick expression that Tommy knows was meant for him. “Me and Theseus will introduce Ranboo to some people.”
“Very well,” the Emperor says. “Have fun, Ranboo.”
A couple of ministers jump up at the opportunity to start a conversation. The men’s voices mix and get lost in a steady buzz of noise in the ballroom as they walk away, Techno following close by. Tommy trails them with an envious glower; he’d much rather work during a celebration that drag Ranboo around with him, under all those watching gazes – but alas, it’s not like he was given that much of a choice.
Tommy throws a look at Ranboo. He cowers away like he expects the crown-prince to bite him- and as much as attractive that perspective seems, Tommy would never drop himself so low. Disinterested and irritated, his gaze flickers over to the musicians in the far corner. It’s at that moment that they finish tuning their instruments and the first cheerful notes of a violin have people grouping in the center for a dance.
“I believe Niki is attending tonight,” Wilbur says, taking Ranboo by his elbow. “She’s a long-time friend. I’m sure she’ll like you a lot.”
Queen Niki is a frequent guest in the Antarctic Empire. Almost all of her childhood she spent in the Imperial palace, practically growing up next to Wilbur and Techno. Tommy remembers meeting her, a foreign princess at the time, at about four years old. He still flusters at the memory of his own dazed gasp, of the soft giggle that left Niki's lips. She let him reach out and brush the strands of silky hair, tinted coral-pink, out her face.
“Are you a mermaid?” Tommy asked her then.
“I suppose I am, in a sense,” she smiled.
Legends say that where Drywaters now stands, used to be a giant lake full of mermaids. When a drought hit, and the water started draining, some of them decided to abandon their home and instead live on land. The ruling dynasty of Drywaters is said to have descended from these mermaids, and whether it's a story with a pinch of truth or just a fairytale for parents to tell to their children when they put them to sleep, Niki’s face has an ethereal edge to it that makes her beauty unique even amongst the precious gems that are ladies of the Empire’s court.
From as far as Tommy could judge, the ruling families of the Antarctic empire and Drywaters were hoping to arrange a marriage between Princess Niki and Prince Wilbur. Both viewed each other as friends and were against the idea. Whether it could’ve ever turned into a political issue, nobody ever got to see: Wilbur ran away and got married; Niki’s uncle, the late King of Drywaters, passed away, and the princess inherited the throne.
Oh, Tommy would never insult a queen by trying to force her into the company of a mere peasant- but it makes sense, from Wilbur’s perspective. Niki was always on the kind side of the spectrum; strict and patient, she was also a perfect teacher, and not once or twice Tommy has taken lessons from her on different aspects, ranging from knitting to court manners.
Queen Niki isn’t hard to find. She is surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting like a flower in bloom – with petals. Tommy bows to her, his eyes on the flowing skirt of her dress, decorated with thousands of tiny pearls. Niki puts a hand on his shoulder and gently guides him back to a standing position. “No need for such formalities between friends, Prince Theseus.”
If Tommy flashes her a wide, genuine grin, it’s meant only for the two of them. He hides his smile when Wilbur appears to his left, pushing Ranboo forward and under the gazes of the queen and surrounding her ladies.
“Niki, I’d like to introduce you to Ranboo,” Wilbur says. “He’s a delightful young man Father had brought into the palace about a month ago. We’ve become good friends since then- in fact,” a short pause and a pointed look in Tommy’s direction make his heart sink, “I wish he was my little brother.”
The true number of people who were eavesdropping on the conversation becomes apparent as a wave of murmurs in Tommy’s ears. Perhaps the fact that Wilbur’s words make him freeze is the only reason he manages not to drop his expression there and then.
“If it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, you are welcome to address me as your big brother,” Wilbur adds, ruffling Ranboo’s hair.
Brother , oh how much does it hurt to hear that word. It isn’t fair – that the only time Wilbur calls Tommy his brother is when he tries to get something out of him or to mock him. All the more painful is to remember how sacred this title was for them when they were younger- a title, not more or less, that is held way above princes and kings and emperors, and now Wilbur throws it at a stranger with the pure intent of taking his pity revenge, to make it hurt .
Tommy wants to punch something solid while imagining that it’s Wilbur’s face- but no matter how much a silent scream burns his throat and lungs, he must stay at the event for some longer. With Ranboo’s presence and Wilbur’s antics, gossipers are going to have a field day as it is. Tommy can’t let their enemies know that there’s any conflicts or disagreements between him and his brother.
A servant passes by, carrying a tray of drinks – he picks one with a strong smell of fruits. Tommy takes a gulp out the glass, savoring the coldness and sweet taste, when a group of ladies approach him, led by Marchioness Beau. She is one of the frequent guests in the Imperial palace, known for her sharp tongue and straight bluntness – two features that she doesn't pass on a chance to demonstrate now.
"Your Highness, is it true that His Majesty is really going to adopt that peasant?" she asks.
There is a crack in Tommy’s ears - either of the glass in his hands, or of a lighting that strikes him upon the marchioness' words. So that's what people had come up with; an assumption so bold that it hasn't, even once, crossed Tommy’s mind. Or maybe it did- just for a brief second to make his heart feel like it stopped, only to be shoved away with hysterical laughter and a mumbling streak of ridiculous, impossible, painful.
The flick of a hand that was meant to be relaxed and unbothered almost ends up with him dropping the glass altogether - orange liquid comes dangerously close to spilling over the edges.
"The laws wouldn't allow that," he says.
"But Princess Clara-"
"Late Duchess Clara was a daughter of a fallen baron," Tommy interjects, perhaps rather harshly. He can't help the way his mouth goes dry at the mention of her name. "By law, only nobles can be adopted by an Emperor. Even then, they can't inherit the throne, nor they retain their status of a prince or a princess after the said Emperor passes away. Since Ranboo is a commoner, this exception does not apply to him altogether."
"Ah," Beau says, pressing her folded fan to her cheek. "Forgive me for my curiosity. I was merely confused by Prince Wilbur calling Ranboo his brother. Then why Ranboo is here, exactly?"
For a brief moment, Tommy pauses, even though he knows really well what he should say. Keep singing praises to the Emperor, describing how merciful he is for taking a lost and lonely child under his wing. Tell about Prince Wilbur's kindness for letting the kid follow him around and help him feel at home inside the cold palace walls. Tommy knows that and yet-
Maybe Tommy is still angry with Wilbur, or maybe he's tired after a long day, maybe the events of the past few weeks kept stacking and stacking and the wall of his patience has finally cracked - but he plasters on the most innocent smile in his arsenal and says, "He makes for good entertainment, does he not?"
His voice drips with poison - Wilbur has given Tommy more than enough to spare - but his gaze has a confident and honest look to it that one wouldn't ever think that he talks with an ounce of malice.
"Ranboo doesn't know a thing about how the court works- perhaps His Majesty finds it endearing how naive and simple he is. One could say he decided to pick up a stray puppy for his own amusement."
“I see,” Beau says. Women surrounding her exchange curious glances; Tommy can feel how impatient they are to get to discuss – and spread – his words. A firework has already been shot – now he can only stand behind and watch as it explodes and spreads in colorful, burning flames.
“Excuse me for leaving you so soon. I believe I have a few more guests to greet,” Tommy says.
It’s not a lie. Tommy does go around to exchange formal greetings with a few more individuals before he finds a relatively deserted corner to stand in. Nobody will notice if he disappears for a few minutes, especially with the tunes of the music picking up again. If there is one thing that Tommy enjoys about his own reputation, it’s that most young ladies are too wary of him to ask him for a dance first.
He stands at his chosen spot, leaning against a wall with a half-full glass in his hand, when a shadow blocks off the light sipping through his closed eyelids. As Tommy opens his eyes, he is greeted by the sight of a familiar smiling mask.
“Prince Dream,” Tommy greets. “How are you enjoying the celebrations so far?”
Prince Dream has dressed up for the event. Over his usual green tunic, he wears a long vest with an open front. Golden jewelry adorns him; thin chains cleverly intervene into his hair, connect with his earrings and jingle quietly with every small tilt of his head. The only thing unchanged is Dream’s mask; the prince lifts it up, exposing his chin and lips, to take a small sip out of the glass in his hand.
“It’s beautiful. I can tell you put a lot of thought into it,” he says. “Though it’s upsetting how little appreciation is shown to your efforts.”
Prince Dream leans towards him slightly; his gestures are free and open, but the way he’s standing shields them away from the prying eyes scattered around the ballroom. It feels like a silent invitation for Tommy to spill the anger that buzzes under his skin- an invitation that Tommy doesn’t take.
“People always find something to gossip about,” he only sighs. “And I would like to retain from giving them yet another reason to tarnish the Imperial family’s reputation.”
Prince Dream only tilts his head. “I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. In fact, I wanted to ask your help in looking for a certain lady.”
Tommy blinks. He tries not to make his confusion too obvious, humming a passive agreement. What does Prince Dream mean, he’s looking for a-
Oh.
Oh.
“There are a lot of wonderful ladies in the Antarctic Empire,” Tommy says. He thinks of all the noblewomen who have recently made their debut into society – around Prince Dream’s age, coming from prestigious families and with good reputation in the palace court. It would be favorable if the crown-prince of Esempi married a woman from the Empire-
Dream chokes on his drink. Tommy is pretty sure that some of it spilled from his nose. He tries his best not to laugh while he pats Dream’s back and hands him a handkerchief, but it gets harder to hold his chuckles down as the masked man bursts into wheezing laughter. Where is the menacing and sinister prince of Esempi that Wilbur was talking about? All that Tommy sees is a cleverly disguised human kettle.
“I now realize that I should’ve worded this differently,” Dream says once he finally gets enough air for an inhale. He wipes his lips with the handkerchief. “I’m not looking for a fiancée.”
So much for keeping a straight face, and now Tommy can feel himself turning bright red. “Oh. Who are you looking for, then?”
“You see, for some time now, I’ve been exchanging letters with a woman from the Palace anonymously. Since the start of the evening, I asked several people if they could possibly know who she is- but to no avail. I thought that maybe Prince Theseus might give me at least the slightest clue.”
Tommy is glad that he wasn’t drinking at that moment, or he would’ve choked like Dream did. I’m a woman , that’s what he wrote in the latest letter to his anonymous pen pal, who now turns out to be… the crown-prince of a neighboring kingdom?
Dream moves his mask. One eye, grassy green, glints at Tommy. He didn’t notice it until now- but Dream’s gaze, it reminds him of the mesmerizing bright patterns in Prince’s eyes. “So?” Dream prompts after a long pause.
Tommy doesn’t know what he had expected, but he certainly knows that it doesn’t change a thing in his initial plans. Even if there is the shortest moment of doubt when he considers revealing his identity, he ultimately shoves that urge into the deepest parts of his mind.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I know who you are talking about,” Tommy shakes his head.
“A pity,” Dream sighs, sliding his mask back on. Tommy feels a pang of guilt at the tones of sadness in his voice. “Well, I’ll continue seeking for her further, then.”
***
It's a few minutes after that when Tommy notices that there is an unknown man talking to the Emperor. They stand on a small platform overlooking the ballroom - a stair of eleven or twelve steps leading up to it from both sides. The stranger rests his elbows on the railings, but even in this pose, he is laughingly taller than the Emperor.
Tommy isn't fooled by the simple combination of dull green and greys; resting on the top of his head is a golden circlet with a tiny nail of ruby in the center. The way he and the Emperor hold themselves in each other’s presence - with confident respect that can only be seen in two equals, or somebody with statuses so close that they become insignificant - tells Tommy that this man is somebody rather high up on the social ladder. It has to be Grand Duke Samuel, then.
Tommy approaches with the intent of introducing himself, but he doesn't make it to the bottom of the stairs when he sees the Emperor’s eyes locking on him. The way he looks at Tommy resonates in his muscles and bones; it pins him to one place and squeezes his lungs and throat. Tommy’s nervousness and worry prior to the start of the evening is nothing in comparison to the slick grip that fear has on him at that moment.
It seems like a good idea to turn around and leave while it's still possible. He is acutely aware of the music in the background; the sound of violin dropping from the peak to a low, lingering cry just as the Emperor and the Grand Duke exchange last words of pleasantries and Tommy is gestured to come closer.
“What is wrong with you?” he is asked as soon as he makes it to the top of the stairs.
Duke Samuel seems to halt for a moment upon those words. Tommy must’ve imagined it, because next thing he knows, he is gone altogether, lost in the dense crowd.
Tommy turns his attention back to the Emperor. He looks completely unfazed, watching the dancing pairs, not sparing a glance at a frozen prince. In his confusion, Tommy fails to timely feel the dangerous anger that radiates from him. “What are you-”
“Did you even think of what the Imperial family will look like when you called Ranboo ‘entertainment’?”
So now the Emperor cares about their reputation. Not when he brought Ranboo into the palace nor when he thought it’d be a good idea to invite him to an important event.
The violin falls silent, lost in the sound of other instruments. Tommy wonders if it's because its sreak has just snapped. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
The Emperor glares at him. Tommy’s guts twist dreadfully, but he withstands that heavy, angry gaze.
For a few minutes, the Emperor just watches him. His gaze turns heavy and dark in a way that Tommy has never seen before; if the railing he clenches wasn’t made of marble it would’ve snapped in half by now.
“You truly are a heartless prince,” he says, sounding as if he is announcing someone’s death sentence.