Tommy fails to wash off the ink from his knuckles. A simple attempt to rub at the skin sends a lightning of pain through his hand. It doesn't look half as bad from the outside; his hand is yet to be covered in a splash of ugly purple bruises, but it hurts so much that Tommy bites down on his lip to prevent himself from whimpering like a wounded animal.
Techno would've killed him for not calling for the Imperial physician- but what new information would they have told Tommy? He can tell that some of his bones are broken; and if not broken, then surely fractured. Whatever the case, Techno would insist on him skipping the Special Banquet. Tommy can't afford that. The Banquet is the most important event of the season and his last chance to speak to foreign royals before they return to their countries tomorrow and the day after. Sickness, minor injury, fatigue - such excuses tend to get lost when word spreads from mouth to mouth - in the end the bare truth would be that the crown prince skipped an event that he himself was hosting.
That the two princes were hosting. Prince Theseus and Prince Wilbur: Wilbur, who Tommy threw an inkpot at; Wilbur who looked at him with an expression in equal measures shocked and sorrowful. If Tommy were any more naïve, he might've thought that Wilbur regretted his words. As it is, however, he isn't sure if his brother is capable of such emotion anymore.
It must've been too much, even for Wilbur - ink and glass don't feel pleasant on one's skin. Tommy would've laughed darkly if he didn't feel so empty inside. The little energy he had to begin with was burned in the feverish heat as he clawed at his own throat, trying to loosen the collar and let the air rush through. Tommy wasted too much time on gathering himself, and he was sure that however great Wilbur's bewilderment was, he's done perplexing over it and now prepares his next step.
Tommy has lost himself. Wilbur poked a wolf with a stick and was bitten, but in return, Tommy exposed his vulnerable throat. He knew he shouldn't have shown weakness in front of Wilbur, but he felt so angry in the moment, and there wasn't any satisfaction in seeing Wilbur scared of him, only the gut-twisting sensation that one feels after making a mistake. Tommy doesn't know what Wilbur will do now. And thinking about it terrifies him.
The sun rolled over the skies over an hour ago. In its dying light Tommy was still shaking with silent cries, but now he just sits on his knees, head sullen, over a basin filled with water. He ordered it to wash the ink off but now his reflection taunts him, moonlight sharpening the pathetic parody of the steadfast crown prince he was supposed to be. Eyes red and swollen, bottom lip bitten down to blood, wrists covered in crests from his nails breaking skin - Tommy hates that he had gotten used to seeing this side of himself. He hates this new normal of him crying his eyes out every other evening. He hates Wilbur for driving him down to this state.
Wilbur insulted and humiliated him in public.
Wilbur twisted his words and the image of him in their father's eyes.
Wilbur sought out his greatest weakness and turned Ranboo into a knife to repeatedly stab Tommy with.
For the past few weeks, Tommy has shed so many tears that he could fill this basin three times over. Enough is enough. Tommy is stronger than this. That was the first and last time he'll ever give Wilbur the satisfaction of seeing him hurt.
Gather himself up, don't let the cracks show. Tommy grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut as he slowly lowers his hand into water. It's freezing cold already - the first contact makes him shudder, shoulders spiking up to his ears, but he forces it still until the needle-prickling sensation turns to numbness. It crawls up his arm and leaps to the rest of his body, sucking the tension out of his muscles and steadying his breathing. Fingers brush over the seething anger that coats Tommy's soul, and under its icy crust is born pure, cold hatred.
Tommy goes to his wardrobe. He puts on the outfit prepared for him beforehand, trying not to startle his hand too much. The neckerchief is tossed aside immediately; instead, Tommy grabs a tie that's easy to tug on. Smearing the concealer over his face turns out to be the hardest part of them all, but it's not like he had much practice to begin with, and he's satisfied with the result once the bags under his eyes are no longer visible from any side.
Finally, Tommy roams through the shelves and finds a pair of tight gloves. He pulls one over his injured hand. The sleek black fabric hides the swelling, the ink and the newly forming bruises, and the unbreakable Antarctic crown prince is back in his full icy glory. In the dim lightning of a candle on the other side of the room, Tommy's eyes hold a new sort of flickering fire - mayhem and grief and anger blending dull blue irises into blood-red. He has seen a similar gaze on Wilbur's face, just a few hours ago, when he said the words that started this whole mess. It's ironic that the moment Tommy starts hating his brother is the same he resembles him the most.
Tommy doesn't know what will happen now, but Wilbur is not going to leave him alone anymore, and he is done enduring every word and strike. If Wilbur wants to go to war with him - then it's his choice. Tommy will make sure he regrets it.
***
The Special Banquet is to be held in the Blue Sky room, in an entirely different section of the palace to where the rest of the guests will be. Like all major rooms meant for big gatherings, it has a chamber attached meant specifically for the Imperial household: somewhere to share a private word or to take a quick rest during a lengthy evening of diplomatic negotiations. Tommy can't seek comfort and privacy in a place that the rest of his family had access to, but with Wilbur missing from his chambers in the Northern wing, it's his next best guess on where his brother can be.
The person inside greets Tommy with an impatient tap of a foot against the floor, a quirk of an eyebrow and a fox-like tilt of his head. Tommy's heart sinks, until the boy sitting on a low stool leaps to his feet and into brighter lighting.
The illusion of Wilbur's sly smirk twisting the child's mouth is gone. Bouncing on his feet and waving at him from the other side of the room is just Fundy. Tommy feels ridiculous for getting spooked like that. It must be the lack of sleep fueling his imagination, but, blinking away the surprise in his eyes, he still glances at Fundy in a new, careful way.
With how well Tommy gets along with Fundy, it's easy to forget whose son he is. The closer Tommy looks the more similar Fundy seems to how he remembers Wilbur from their shared childhood. He hasn't realized it until now because his brothers were already teens in his earliest memories. Fundy has more baby fat on his cheeks, and his eyes are clear of the swirling fire that Tommy was used to seeing in Wilbur's, but the resemblance is still obvious in everything but the color of his hair.
"Uncle Theseus!" A hand tugs at Tommy's sleeve. Fundy stands in front of him, head thrown back. He looks upset by the lack of response on the crown prince's side. Tommy instinctively moves his injured hand behind his back; kneeling to get them on the same eye level, he gives Fundy an apologetic smile.
"Fundy," he greets. "I do not envy the poor maids that had to get you dressed in this."
Fundy wears a pristine white shirt and a sleeveless surcoat over it, both tailored specifically to fit the child's proportions and ironed into smooth perfection. There are traces of somebody attempting to brush the wild orange of his hair back, but a glare from under wavy bangs and a brush on the floor shows that the efforts were both fruitless and unwelcome.
"Dad said that I have to put on formal attire if I want to attend the Banquet, but if one more person calls me adorable, I'm going to claw their eyes out."
"I'll take that into consideration," Tommy chuckles. He looks around the room, but it's empty save for a servant who is quick to shuffle out of the doors the moment the crown prince's eyes land on him. "Where is Prince Wilbur?"
"We're alone, you know," Fundy throws Tommy a belittling look, as if it's him who spent years mastering manners and decorum and Tommy is a mere child that he's scolding. "You can just call Dad by his name."
Tommy's lips part. Titles can be dropped when two people are close, whether that'd by blood relation or friendship- not the case for him and Wilbur anymore, but it's not something that he's going to explain to Fundy.
When Tommy was younger, Wilbur used to argue with Father a lot. In his early teen years, he already had a sharp blade of a tongue and patience as thin as a wooden chip. Both sides argued loudly, unaware of a boy in the next room pressing his ear to the wall, taking each word in like a sip of poison or the strike of a whip. To this day raised voices make Tommy's hand itch with a desire to cover his ears and hide.
Fundy's intelligence is far beyond that of his peers, and even if he doesn't see the depth of the crack between two brothers, Tommy has no doubt that he feels the strain in their interactions. He wants to grant Fundy the blissful ignorance that he didn't get to have, so he had done his best to keep the boy blind to the other side of their family that wasn't all about shoulder rides with Techno and generosity of the Emperor showering him with toys and gifts.
"Of course," he says, not meeting Fundy's eyes. It's vague what he's agreeing on, but that's the aim; the boy just blinks at him in a confused way. Tommy looks for a way out of uncomfortable silence and his gaze lands on the discarded brush.
"I was wondering if you could help me with my hair," Tommy says, one hand clasped around the wrist of the other and shifting weight from heels to toes. He couldn't fix his ponytail earlier with one hand, so it's not as much of a lie as it's a timely used opportunity.
Fundy brightens up and snatches the brush from the floor. He strides up to a chair and climbs on top of the cushions, gesturing Tommy over. "Sit down," he commands.
Tommy drops on the floor in front of him, crossing his legs and leaning back to give Fundy better access to his hair. On the opposite side of the room stands a tall mirror: he can both see and feel small fingers carefully untying the ribbon and a brush pulling at the tangled strands. Fundy sticks his tongue out in concentration, chin tilted forward and bangs getting into his eyes; it's so adorable that Tommy musters out a small snicker despite the constant pulsation of pain in his hand.
Fundy casts Tommy an angry glance, and tugs a bit too harshly on his hair, making him yelp. "Oops, sorry," Fundy grins innocently. "So do you want me to braid it, like Uncle Techno's?"
Tommy's smile withers, and his eyes, momentarily lighting bright blue, grow dull again. His mind spirals back to what happened in the morning- Techno with Ranboo, Ranboo wearing one of Techno's cloaks, taking the spot that was reserved for Tommy.
Maybe he misunderstood something. Ranboo could've tricked Techno into liking him - like he did with Father, and even Wilbur, if his defensiveness was anything to go by. The thought would've made him feel ridiculous just a few weeks ago - he who can't tell two corridors apart, manipulating somebody? - but after what happened at the dinner last evening, Tommy knows better than to underestimate Ranboo.
But Ranboo won't be attending the Banquet today. It'll be just Tommy, his family, and a handful of foreign guests. Surely with Ranboo not there to distract Techno, he'll remember who his real younger brother is.
"Yes, please," Tommy says quietly. "Like Techno's."
***
They end up going to the Sky Blue room together. Celeste and white marble of the floor intervenes in cloud-like patterns, walls of pure lazuli stand tall, seemingly holding the dome of night sky above. With the ceiling made entirely of transparent glass, it's no longer of use once snowfalls start, so it stays locked for the post part of the year, reserved for an occasional gathering during the warmer months.
Fundy never has been to this room before, so he leaps at the opportunity to explore it. He bounces between banquet tables full of dishes and silverware, tugs at the curtains, interrupts other guests' conversation to slip his own two words before Tommy can step in and chide him. A shy smile and a naïve blink of big yellow eyes is all it takes for his every action to be forgiven, but if he keeps up the same pace, Tommy is going to collapse soon.
There are colored spots already dancing in his vision. Background music, albeit soft and unobtrusive, doesn't do favors in relieving Tommy's headache, and his injured hand reminds of itself with wrenching pain upon the smallest of movements and twitches. Taking a warm bath and falling asleep is beyond his dreams already - the only thing the crown prince wants is to find a chair to glue himself to and drift mindlessly for the rest of the evening.
Alas. This time, Tommy finds Fundy standing near the entrance, chattering at a lady in a light-blue gown. Tiny tears of sapphire stones start at the hem of the skirt, leading all the way up to a lacy collar and partially woven into coral-pink hair. As soon as he realizes who that woman is, he jumps up to Fundy and places a hand on the boy's back; he bows, forcing the boy to duck forward with him.
"We greet Her Majesty the Queen."
"Prince Theseus," Niki says.
A hand of pure white skin and delicate fingers gestures to Tommy to straighten up. He does so, respectfully avoiding looking into Niki's eyes, but still catches a glance of a smile residing on her lips, no trace of irritation or offense to be seen.
For a woman of her status, Niki is far too gracious and forgiving. She doesn't throw manners out of the window like Wilbur does but diplomatically chooses not to point others' mistakes while her every gesture and word remains in the highest degree flawless. Niki is royalty in the best of its guises; admiration that Tommy had for her as a child had progressed into uttermost respect once he understood the full power that one's image holds in the court. He can only strive to reach her level of eloquence one day; for now, he feels simply honored to stand in her presence.
Fundy attempts to duck under Tommy's arm and sprint away, but a firm grip on his shoulder keeps him pinned.
"Prince Fundy seems eager to get to the dessert table," Niki points out, chuckling.
"Because I'm hungry," Fundy pouts. "Aren't we done with the formalities already?"
Tommy winces and makes a point to hire a new etiquette teacher for his nephew- because clearly, the old one has failed at their job to teach him anything about proper behavior in the presence of royalty. He's about to shush and scold Fundy for his lack of manners, but Niki speaks up first.
"Well, far be it from me to stand in-between you and your sweet tooth," she says, tilting her head. "Prince Theseus, would you...?"
Tommy sighs and releases his hold on Fundy. In a blink, the boy is gone, only the sound of his footsteps counting down the seconds before a new incident occurs. He turns to Niki, ducking his head apologetically. "Forgive my nephew, for all he's still learning."
"Please don't apologize," Niki flicks her hand, "you know full well my stance on excessive decorum."
Another apology clings to Tommy's tongue, but he holds it back so as not to make the conversation awkward. "I can't address Her Majesty with any less respect than she deserves," he argues.
They both watch Fundy, letting the silence between them speak of what neither chose to put into words. Sadness touches Niki's features like a soft stroke of watercolor. "He reminds me of somebody," she says quietly, her voice dropping formality that usually coats her every word. "Somebody that I dearly miss."
Tommy keeps his back straightened even as though he knows that the woman beside him is no longer the Queen but simply Niki: Niki who baked pastries so good that he refused to eat anything that wasn't made by her hands, Niki who guided his hands with knitting needles through complicated patterns and Niki who Tommy once told, 'You know, you're like a big sister to me.'
At seven, Tommy was a nuisance that came as a package to having Wilbur as her best friend.
At ten he was her student, a boy with too many ambitions and too little patience.
At age thirteen he looked newly crowned Niki in the eyes and saw the same broken glint that had warned him before his brother's disappearance. Tommy failed to help Wilbur when he needed it, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Before Tommy left Drywaters the next day, he ran up to Niki and encased her in a tight hug; the mere offer of comfort earned him more than a few disapproving gazes, but it was all worth it when she brushed his hair in return, expression touched and a soft thank you on her lips.
Niki left as the crown princess. Three years later, back to the Empire came a Queen. But Tommy wasn't the same anymore, either; he refused to call Niki by her name, wouldn't meet her eyes and avoided with ease her questions regarding his well-being. She sat him down one day, in a garden pavilion they used to practice dancing at. 'You saved me that day,' Niki said to him. 'So let me do the same for you.'
Tommy stood silent. His tongue refused to form any words, and he felt guilty- because it was Niki who was asking, Niki who always listened, Niki who he sought comfort in presence of. He wanted to apologize, tell her that he wanted it but couldn't . The whispers of don't trust anybody, and you're not worthy of her attention were louder than Tommy's heart. He bowed to her, muttered an excuse and took his leave.
Niki talked to the Emperor the next day. Tommy wasn't close enough to overhear them, but when he tried to approach, a lady-in-waiting - a daughter of a noble family from the Antarctic Empire, one of Niki's friends who agreed to leave the country to serve her abroad - shook her head and stopped him.
Whatever Niki has said to the Emperor, he didn't like it. Because the next day, she left the Empire - two weeks earlier than she was supposed to - with one less person in her court she arrived with. Tommy has never seen that lady-in-waiting again.
Avoidance had already cost Tommy a brother. When Niki accepted the invitation to the Empire this year, he dreaded that she would loathe him like Wilbur does. By the sad look in her eyes - not pity, never pity - Tommy understands that he worried over nothing. He wants to fidget under the concerned gaze that seems to pick apart every tiny detail of his impassive expression but at the same time it seals the truth that he already long since knew: if Niki doesn't hate him, then Wilbur doesn't have an excuse to, either.
"Prince Fundy is certainly treating himself well," Niki finally comments- and yeah, that's a concerning amount of cookies on Fundy's plate. Tommy has half a mind of stepping in, but he can't leave the queen's side until he's dismissed. "I couldn't help but take notice that you haven't had a bite or a sip of anything yet."
Tommy's stomach churns. Doubly so when he thinks of trying and lifting a fork with his wrecked hand- or answering questions of why he suddenly became left-handed.
"My appetite is at loss as of late. Besides, I'm content to supervise and make sure that my dear nephew stays out of trouble."
"If that's the case, it would be my pleasure to watch Prince Fundy for the rest of the evening to allow you a reprieve," Niki hums.
Tommy can't help a look of shock on his face. "No, no, Your Majesty. I wouldn't dare to burden you like this-"
"Are you calling your nephew a burden?" Niki throws him a teasing side-glance.
Tommy recollects himself. "Of course not. It's just that it's my responsibility to watch him."
"Odd. I thought that taking care of children is their parents' responsibility."
Tommy opens his mouth, then closes it again. "Of all family members, as I perceive it," he finally unseals his lips.
"Well, I'm practically Prince Fundy's aunt, aren't I?"
As always, Niki takes the upper hand in verbal brawls. Tommy doesn't find anything to say to that but the idea of having her - a Queen - babysit Fundy doesn't sit well with him.
"I assure you that it would be no trouble," she says, as if reading Tommy's thoughts. "Tonight is not for creating networks or renewing trade deals, but for enjoying ourselves in pleasant company, which Prince Fundy has already proved himself to be."
"But- "
"I'll be gone in a few weeks' time," Niki says, and for the first time since they started talking, looks directly at him. "But while I'm here, it would make me happy to see you enjoying yourself, too."
Tommy's gaze falls to his feet again, but now there's warmth thrumming underneath his skin. Maybe social standings did dig a trench between them, one that Tommy wouldn't dare to trespass, but he would be forever grateful to Niki for letting him feel like somebody cares for him again.
"Thank you, Niki," Tommy whispers.
***
The evening feels like it's never going to end. Once Tommy is done greeting the guests with quick words and pointed dip of his chin, he finds a chair at the far side of the table and entertains himself by watching a piece of lemon in his drink. It drifts at the top, spins around with the glass- nothing too exciting, he took it just so he could concentrate on the chill on his fingertips and not the anxiety that starts to drum his mind. Niki had asked him to relax and enjoy the evening- but it's been quite some time since the Banquet has started, so where is the rest of the Imperial family?
"Da- I mean Prince Wilbur!" Fundy's exclamation snaps Tommy into sharp awareness. He turns his head to see the boy jumping up into Wilbur's arms. Wilbur lets out a surprised oof and lifts him up with a chuckle, but his brows stay furrowed as he surveys the room- looking for something, searching for someone.
Wilbur puts Fundy down as soon as he spots Tommy and exchanges a few words with him and Niki. Tommy is already on his feet and backing away a few steps for balance. He brushes his hand against the chair momentarily, and the explosion of pain in his knuckles turns his expression from a frown to a sharp wince. Wilbur, about to approach, stays over at the doors and freezes there. It's like there is a sword of two blades between them, pressed into the flesh of each other's throats: neither dares to move and risk it sinking any further.
Wilbur brushes bandaged fingers down his cheek where a faint trace of black still stands out- but it's quick, almost mechanical. He looks lost, and that uncertainty of not knowing what is happening in his head puts Tommy on edge. He feels like a cat hissing at a shadow: baring its teeth and arching its back, fear plunging him into defensive mode even though there's nothing threatening him yet.
It's weak- it's cowardly, and Tommy had just promised himself to get his revenge on Wilbur but he can't resist the urge to put more distance between them. He backs away, one step after another, until he bumps with his back into someone.
"My apologies-" Tommy spins around and tilts his chin up to look into the person's face, "Grand Duke Sam."
The man is more intimidating up close than Tommy has anticipated, not as much because of his imposing figure as because they haven't properly spoken once before. Grand Duke Samuel- or more known as Duke Sam, is told to rarely leave his domain, and any rumors on his character or life are scarce and in-between. His duchy is thriving as cities are expanded, he is known to lend vast support to the merchant guild, and he's an author to several books that contain surprisingly broad and contemplative analyses on the state of the laws in the Antarctic Empire. Tommy had grasped a range of discussions that could occur but nearly not enough information about the Duke himself.
Conversations with nobles always feel like a dance of sorts, figuring out the pattern that makes the other person talk, or how much flattery he needs to win them over. Not uncommon is for Tommy to deal with people who like the sound of their own voices, but that clearly didn't apply to the Grand Duke. He seems to be on the opposite side of the scale: calculating, observing, one who knows his own worth and would purse his lips distastefully at a mirror shoved to his face.
It's the type of person Tommy is the most wary of: people like the Grand Duke, people like the Emperor, who always have more stored in their mind that they let into words and expressions. Straightening under the gaze of piercing dark eyes, the crown prince knows that the calculations and judgment are happening on both ends.
For a second, Tommy weighs his options: step into a loaded field of a conversation he doesn't know nuances of, or face Wilbur fidgeting in the corner of his vision- and it's not much of a choice, not really.
"Prince Theseus," Duke says slowly, and Tommy puts on his best greeting smile.
"Has the food been to your liking?" He makes a vague gesture towards the table, catching one last glance Wilbur casts at him before he is swept away into a conversation by another guest. Tommy suppresses a sigh of relief, but he is too quick to relax as the Grand Duke's next words drop on him like an anvil.
"Is this the state of the Antarctic Empire?" he asks.
"...I can't say that I know what you imply, Your Grace."
"I mean that the Emperor doesn't bother showing his face, whilst his youngest son is performing adult duties."
The sheer disrespect of the Duke's words make Tommy's smile drop for a second. When he manages to drag it back on, it's a lot more strained than before. He finds himself fiddling with a button, seeking coolness in the perfect metal circle under his fingertips and avoiding the intense stare of the Duke who - Tommy only now realizes - looks deeply indignant. His views are not strong only on paper, then.
It makes sense, given that the age of majority is much greater in Badlands than in the Empire. The laws haven't changed much from a century ago, when the Empire and Kingdom of Esempi were still at constant war, only that now at fifteen you're not handed a weapon and shoved into a battlefield but rather expected to bring income to your household and face criminal trial if needed to be. Slaves are no longer used as cannon fodders, either, but rather are a cheap working force for nobles who are too poor or greedy to pay for quality.
"I know your concerns about the efficiency of a government that includes somebody as young as me, but the Empire is not the same as your duchy," Tommy says. It's not a place where you can speak of the Emperor with disrespect.
The stone-cold expression on the Duke's face shifts. "You've read my books," he says, disbelieving, and Tommy nods. "They are written entirely in Ender, a dead language."
"I'm much more competent than people give me credit for," Tommy gives him a half-hearted shrug. His eyes sting uncomfortably at the memory of the nights spent over parchments that were all but crumbling with dust. He allows his gaze to stray from the Grand Duke and to Fundy; it seems as though the boy finally managed to tire himself out because he is drowsing off on a chair, head on Wilbur's lap. Wilbur and Niki are talking to each other in hushed tones that Tommy wouldn't be able to hear even if he was standing next to them.
"No fourteen-year-old can - or should - be competent enough to rule over an Empire."
Tommy's eyes snap back to the Grand Duke, his heart skipping a beat. "That was a special case, and three years ago," he argues. "It's my duty as the crown prince to step in the Emperor's place whenever he has more pressing matters."
For a few months after the assasination attempt, the Emperor couldn't walk, let alone participate in meetings or leave the palace. It's been three years since then but the memories that float up to the surface are so vivid that it takes the pain of a bitten-down tongue for Tommy to prevent himself from sinking into them.
Tommy isn't sure why he's telling any of it to Duke Sam - the Emperor's choices don't need any explanation, and yet suddenly the air he inhales seems too hot, his clothes - too tight, and his fingers are tugging at the poor button with almost violent intensity. He blames it all on the Grand Duke and his eyes that stare at him incredulously, as if suspecting a lie.
"So the Emperor is so occupied that he neglects his child but at the same time has enough time to spare on a random stray?"
Snap. Tommy stares at the button on his palm, but shoves it into his pocket once he realizes that the Duke's eyes are still on him. He can feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, anger boiling in his blood - same defensive reaction he got with Wilbur earlier.
"Neglected?" His voice sounds like it's coming from underwater, and he grimaces. "That's- that's ridiculous. I'm not- you're mistaken."
"Am I?" the Duke says. "From what I've seen, Emperor Philza treats Ranboo more like his child than he does you."
His voice sounds softer now. To Tommy, it feels like pity, and it makes his cheeks burn with humiliation and anger. The crown prince is not someone to be pitied- Duke Sam doesn't even have anything to pity him for.
Tommy is Emperor Philza's son. His blood, his heir, his shadow- and Ranboo is nobody. Like the Duke himself said, a random stray.
A random stray that he breaks palace rules for. A random stray whose words he believes over Tommy's. A random stray that is being treated like he's part of the Imperial family.
Tommy's chest burns.
The ink stain on his knuckles sinks into skin like fire.
It takes Duke Sam's concerned gaze for Tommy to realize he tried clenching his hand into a fist and now cradles it to his mid-body with a hiss of pain.
"That's not true," he says weakly.
"What parent doesn't realize when their child is hurt?" Duke Sam says, and Tommy has a strong feeling that it's not only his hand that he means.
It's at that moment that Emperor Philza walks through the entrance and from across the room, he vaguely gestures to Tommy to come over. In any other case the crown prince might've been hesitant to drop a conversation so abruptly, but now he all but escapes the Grand Duke's side.
"I assume that no issues have occured in preparations for the Banquet," the Emperor says, as soon as he is finished greeting a couple of nobles standing the closest to them.
Tommy thinks back of the incident earlier- Wilbur asking him to add Ranboo to the guest list, his outburst of rage and the ink stain on the wall. The throb of his hand becomes unbearable; his fuming skin begs and pleads for the coolness of the air, but the best he can do is tug at the edge of the glove and hold back noises of pain.
Techno would notice. The unnatural way that Tommy holds his hand, the way he bites on his lower lip, how his chest heaves a bit too fast to appear calm. Techno would notice but Emperor Philza is not him; he pays no mind to Tommy's fiddling, only raising an eyebrow when the pause lasts for too long.
"None, Your Majesty," Tommy dips his head. "But... May I ask, where is Prince Technoblade?"
"Ranboo was anxious about being alone amongst strangers, so Techno stayed behind with him in the main hall."
Tommy touches his temple, where a small braid starts, running all the way to the ponytail at the back of his head.
"Oh," he murmurs. "I see."
He wonders how noticeable it is the way his face falls, but maybe not as much as he thinks, because the Emperor turns away, and Tommy is left standing alone in the middle of the room. Most of the guests are dressed in blue, he only now realizes. A nice gesture of appreciation to the hosts of the event, but amongst them Tommy is a splatter of dull gray that doesn't belong in the picture. He stands right under a giant crystal chandelier; showering in light, yet he never has ever felt so much like a shadow.
The Grand Duke is right.
Wilbur was right.
People are talking. Music flows through the air. The sounds are all muffled and turned into indistinguishable hum. Faintly, Tommy registers Niki's concerned glance on himself, and he gets moving towards double glass doors that he can feel a gust of wind from.
Once he's outside, Tommy feels like he can breathe again. He walks forward until the railings cut his way, separating the veranda and the gardens. Tommy leans forward until he can reach and pluck out a flower growing on a bush.
He looks forward, at the outer walls. On the other side and under the hill the palace stands on, a festival keeps the capital alive. If Tommy closes his eyes, he can pretend to feel the warmth of its flickering lights.
They used to visit the festival, just the five of them. With a group of guards, of course, but when Tommy thinks of the festival those minor details are brushed away like pinches of dust. He can remember the bursts of color in the sky, sparkles flying like under the strike of a hammer on sizzling hot metal, the sickening sweetness of honey lollipops and the crisp of roasted nuts on his tongue - he can remember everything but not his family's smiles.
What a sorrowful feeling, to grieve for people that are still alive.
Thinking of it now, Tommy feels stupid about living in denial for so long. Muttering, again and again, that it's okay that things have changed. That he shouldn't miss the sweet dream that was his childhood and accept his family as it is now.
Tommy was wrong. His father hasn't changed, and it was never about the duties either. The Emperor is as caring and patient as he used to be, just not for Tommy, never for the cruel, heartless Prince Theseus.
It has taken somebody on the outside saying it outloud for Tommy to realize that Ranboo is getting everything that should have been his. First he stole his father, then best friend, now he's stealing his brothers too. What is he going to aim next for? His crown?
Tommy knows that it's impossible, but he still curls his fingers, squeezing the flower in a fist. The sound of steps has him whirling around and pinning his back to the railings. Prince Dream, standing in the archway, raises his hands apologetically.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
Tommy breathes out, trying to calm himself down. "No need to apologize. It seems I've been too deep in my own thoughts." Tommy glances one last time at the gardens and makes his way back to the archway full of light and music. If Prince Dream came here, he must've been looking for some privacy, and Tommy doesn't dare to reserve the shelter of night for himself only.
Dream turns to him half-way through, "Actually, there's something I'd like to discuss with you, if I may."
Tommy foot freezes on a step, heel pressed to the floor. "And that would be...?"
"I've read your letter," A pause. "I understand that I should've kept our letters a private matter."
Tommy puts his foot down. Carefully, slowly, he turns around to face Prince Dream.
"You knew it was me who you were exchanging letters with?"
Tommy's voice stays in the same indifferent tone as ever, but he can feel his expression crumbling both with surprise and dread. Where did he make a mistake? How long has Prince Dream known the truth for?
Prince Dream moves his mask to the side of his face. Instead of frowning and accusing him of slandering and insulting the Royal family, Prince Dream let's out an awkward chuckle and runs a hand through his hair - a shy attempt at easing tension.
"Please don't be alarmed. It was through no fault of your own."
"Then how..?"
"Ranboo knew the contents of the first few letters. So I assumed that somebody who's seen part of the exchange must've informed him. A former aide of yours has recently started serving Ranboo, and then yesterday you said that you know the real recipient of my letters, so I made a solid guess."
Tommy had nothing to say to that. With his reaction, he eliminated any chances of denying Prince Dream's words and therefore the responsibility for his lie. Though it wasn't as much as a lie as it was avoidance, he still partially fueled the disaster that was yesterday's dinner, and the letters-
"You said you wish to stop the exchange," Prince Dream says, in a concerned tone, and the trail of Tommy's thoughts runs into a wall. "Would you rather talk to me in person from now on?"
Tommy's head snaps up, staring at the prince in disbelief. When the initial shock subdues, he narrows his eyes - in a careful, observant way. Until a few weeks ago, the only thing he had known about Prince Dream were a few rumors that managed to cross the borders and travel the Empire. But now that Tommy has seen the heir of Esempi himself - spoken to him personally, a few times - he doesn't think he is any less confused than before.
Prince Dream, who impulsively challenges an Antarctic prince for a duel in his own palace, the man with a laugh like a kettle and owner to the bird Prince - the most wonderful creature that Tommy has ever met - that same prince is said to be the most threatening person of the southern court. Tommy would think that whoever spread the rumors got him completely wrong, but life has taught him to look deeper than outward appearances.
('Don't trust anybody', Quackity said to him.
'Not even you?'
'Not even me,' Quackity confirmed. 'I'm using you as much as the next person, but I have the guts to be honest about it.')
No matter how exaggerated and twisted rumors can sometimes be, there is always a core to them; an ounce of truth that is hard to see over the layers and layers of gossip tossed on top. In this particular case, Tommy extracts a gem of helpful information - Dream holds a lot of power, and he constantly seeks more.
Tommy uncurls his fist, looking at crumbled petals left from a pretty flower earlier. There is only so much patience that a person can have in one day. Tommy is exhausted, and angry and hurt - he has no strength nor desire to dance around the topic anymore.
"What do you want, Prince Dream?" he asks, not raising his head.
His question and tone take the prince by surprise. "What do you mean?"
"You barely know me but defended me against Emperor Philza. You knew I was your penfriend yet prefered to cause a scene over calling me out on my silence." Tommy throws the flower away and looks straight in Prince Dream's eyes. "I'll tell you straightforwardly - if you're looking for a powerful ally, then you're digging in the wrong place. I have no real influence outside the walls of this palace, and even inside; one word from the Emperor overrides my any wish or will. You'll have better luck with either of my brothers."
Understanding and a tint of sadness sip into Prince Dream's expression. He makes a step towards Tommy. "You've got it all wrong," he says carefully.
"I don't accept pity, either," Tommy glares, taking a step back. "I might be a miserable sight, but I'd prefer to be stabbed rather than be someone's charity case."
Prince Dream stops. He stands, thoughtful, contemplative; looking at the way Tommy's shoulders flew up and frown deepened, he came to a conclusion of his own. He walks all the way to the railings, right to the spot where Tommy stood before, and rests his elbows on top. In the lasting silence, Tommy can feel himself relaxing slightly. One step after another, he approaches Prince Dream and freezes a few feet away to his right. Far enough so that the proximity wouldn't feel threatening but close enough that he can see the flicker of light in the green eyes.
"To be honest, I don't have a lot of friends," Prince Dream says. "Wherever I go, I'm always in the center of attention, and one might think I never feel lonely. But as the next in line for the throne of Esempi, there's no one I can truly open up to, because I must always be mindful of how other people perceive me."
It's still Prince Dream who speaks, yet Tommy feels like the words are taken straight out of his own soul. He made an impression of a person bold and ignorant to what others think of him- but it was all an act, a mask.
Tommy silently looks into Prince Dream's eyes, at his own reflection.
Staring in his, Prince Dream sees his own.
"I know how you feel," Tommy says, and it's as though a connection snaps into existence: a flash of green to blue that has him blinking and instinctively looking away. Even then, he feels an invisible thread, a weak but persistent tug that cheers and sings- because finally, for the first time, somebody has understood him.
"Then you know why I was happy for the opportunity to share my thoughts freely with you, not as a prince but as myself," Prince Dream says. "Therefore, I'm asking you not to make a rushed decision to cut our friendship off."
Tommy hesitates, both with his answer and looking into Prince Dream's eyes. He knows if he looks up to them he won't be able to disagree.
"I can even call Prince Wilbur a bitch if that would help," Prince Dream says suddenly. Tommy chokes on his own saliva and starts cackling. Prince Dream's lips stretch into a vicious smile, and he says, bringing his hands to his mouth: "Prince Wilbur is a bi-"
"Stop!" Tommy cries out, grabbing Prince Dream's arm, but he's laughing despite his best efforts to stifle the sounds down. "Somebody might hear you!"
Something shuffles in the bushes. Tommy barely notices it, but Prince Dream pauses and throws a pointed look over the veranda, "Yeah, someone might."
"Chill out, I just got here," a familiar voice says, making Tommy jump.
Sir Sapnap climbs out of the bushes, swiping off a few leaves that got stuck to his hair and clothes. He bends in half before the princes eloquently, and for a second Tommy is worried about how much of their conversation did he overhear- until notices a box in the knight's hands.
"Sir Sapnap... Are those fireworks I see?"
Sapnap looks at the box like he sees it for the first time. "Yes, and I'm going to launch them."
The grin on Sapnap's is nothing short of concerning. Tommy blinks at the knight who strides away from the veranda, fireworks in tow. "That seems like a fire haza- Prince Dream?"
But Prince Dream already jumped over the railings with a stuttered curse, landing on the ground a few feet below.
"Where are you going?" Tommy asks, bewildered.
"Somebody needs to make sure that he doesn't burn your palace down," Prince Dream throws casually, like preventing his knight from committing arson is part of his daily routine. He stops for a second, frozen before a step - and in the distance, Sapnap does too. "Do you perhaps... Want to join us?"
Tommy looks at them with his mouth open. Just a few days ago an offer like this would have scandalized him - just as Prince Dream swearing, and Sapnap's bold behavior - but now the thought of going back to the Banquet seems less appealing than tripping with his throat on a knife.
The Emperor wouldn't want him disappearing mid-event, Techno wouldn't want him anywhere near Prince Dream, and Wilbur... Tommy doesn't care what Wilbur thinks, actually. He'll have to face consequences for this, but they always come regardless of what he does- so why not break decorum this once?
Besides... Tommy kind of wants to see something set on fire.
Tommy climbs over the railings and jumps to the other side. He strides up to Prince Dream and Sapnap, leveling his expression on habit.
"I'll show you the best place," he says, ducking his head to hide his burning cheeks. This is new, and he feels embarrassed about the excitement thrumming in his veins. "You know, so that you don't burn my palace down."
Prince Dream and Sapnap exchange a glance. "Fuck yeah."
Tommy ends up leading them to a circular pavilion paved with white stone. It's surrounded by a crown of marble columns, all different sizes, and apart from veins wrapping up around them, there are no other plants in close proximity that could be accidentally set on fire. Sapnap bends over the fireworks, preparing them for a launch, while Prince Dream and Tommy sit at some distance with their backs pressed to the same column, watching the night sky.
In any other case, Tommy might've been worried about his reputation, but the only people to witness him now are the other crown prince and Sir Sapnap, who Prince Dream has shown to be very trusting of.
It's silent. It's comfortable. Tommy's soul feels at ease. He thinks he could fall asleep like this; fall into a long rest free of nightmares and troubles and memories.
Tomorrow, everything will go back to normal again. Wilbur won't suddenly stray from his goal to make his life miserable. Tommy won't become anything more than his title and duties to the Emperor, and Techno- Techno might linger in the capital a bit longer than usual, but he still is going to leave, and Tommy will watch the wind sweep away the dust under Carl's hooves.
All of that will happen later, but all that Tommy cares about is now: the fireworks, the sweet scent of flowers in the air and his constantly throbbing hand. He pushes himself forward, knees bend to his chest; gritting his teeth, he pulls the glove off his right hand.
Just as expected, it looks ugly. Purple swallowed his knuckles whole, with less intense splatters up on his fingers. His hand is terribly swollen but hurts a whole lot less once free of the glove; Tommy throws it somewhere over his shoulder - never again.
Prince Dream is watching him from the corner of his vision. As soon as Tommy realizes, he tries to hide his hand out of view.
"I fell," Tommy says, looking away. "An inconvenient accident."
It couldn't be more obvious that he's lying, but Prince Dream doesn't call him out on that.
"You should get it looked at by a physician," is all he says. "If it doesn't heal right, some damage might be permanent."
Silence settles once again. Tommy thinks back of the conversation they had on the veranda, and unease churns his stomach. He won't be able to go back to resting until he puts a period on the end of that paper.
"So, what we were talking about earlier..." Tommy starts, and he's unsure of what to say next, but it seems as though he doesn't need to speak at all.
"I understand that you want to avoid conflicts within the Imperial household, thus I'll keep our interactions a secret," Prince Dream says, "But please give me a chance to prove that my offer of friendship doesn't come from pity or ill intent." He pulls off a neckerchief from around his neck, and extends a hand towards Tommy. "Will you trust me?"
Tommy hesitates. He knows that he shouldn't be so trusting, that he shouldn't be here in the first place. But he has been alone for so long, and a little part of him - however weak or pathetic or childish that might be - is starved for warmth and understanding.
He turns to that inner feeling, to the seeds now resting on the soil hardened with years of distrust and hurt. If he nurtures them, they could turn either into beautiful flowers or a sprawling weed- but he won't know which it is until he tries.
Carefully, Tommy puts his injured hand into Prince Dream's.
He doesn't jerk away even as a whistle of a firework startles him, and consequent thud of Sapnap's feet against stone follows. Tommy throws his head back just as the sky bursts in colors of green and red.
When Tommy looks back at Prince Dream, his hand is already wrapped in cloth. The makeshift splint is tight enough not to press on the injury while keeping him from moving it around too much.
Tommy nods with gratitude and pulls his hand away. "Thank you, Prince Dream."
"You can call me just by name," Prince Dream- no , Dream says.
***
They run out of fireworks to launch some time later.
Tommy would be content with spending a few more hours outside, but Dream admits to him, shivering and an embarrassed edge to his tone, "I'm cold."
In the midst of everything Tommy managed to forget that Dream is unused to the chill present in the Empire even during the warmest months. He bursts apologizing, not stopping even after the prince reassures him that it's of no concern, and offers to take him indoors. The Banquet must be coming to an end now, so Tommy doesn't see any reason to be returning there and instead leads Dream and Sapnap to the main hall.
As soon as they enter, he is put on edge by the buzz of voices in the crowd. Nobles seem to be discussing something intensely in groups of two and three. Tommy spots Marchioness Beau, keeping her distance from everybody else, fanning herself with a puzzled look on her face..
"What happened?" Tommy asks.
"Baron Quackity," the lady says. "He recognized Ranboo as his missing younger brother."