Chapter Text
The day started as normal for Call Hunt. Sure, the squirrel on his windowsill that morning spat a peanut at him and possibly gave him rabies, but that’s pretty on-brand. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth yet, so it was clearly fine. A lot worse could’ve happened in far less time.
As Call heard the loud engine outside his door, he said a quick goodbye to his father and walked out. Greeted by the telltale BMW of the Rajavi family, he pulled open the door to the backseat and came face to face with his best friend, Tamara.
“Did you hear the news?” She asked him immediately, though she didn’t spare him a glance as he reclined in his seat beside her. She seemed too busy reading an article on her phone. Long before this point, Call had already given up on checking the news himself. If there were anything he should know about, Tamara would be the one to tell him.
Before he had the chance to open his mouth, Tamara already knew the answer. “King William Rufus announced retirement plans.”
At this, Call raised an eyebrow. Though he would listen to anything she deemed important, they both knew they shared a common preference in sociopolitics. “No way. Isn’t he supposed to wait until he gets an heir?”
“Exactly,” she said, turning to look at him. “Apparently, they found a blood heir.”
“What? No fucking way, blood?”
“Yes. Blood.” She said as she leaned in to show him the article. “Everyone thought King Constantine was the last of the Maddens, but they found a blood relative who could take the throne. No one knows who they are or how they’re related. Apparently, they’re supposed to be introduced at the Summer Solstice in June.”
“Wait, so King William is gonna retire so another Madden can rule? House Madden was supposed to stop at Constantine,” he asked, baffled, “And how is there a Madden still alive? All four of them fucking died!”
“Exactly! Do you think they’re lying? Why would they want to lie?”
Call scoffed, “If I were a Genovian, I’m pretty sure I’d feel better not being ruled by the relative of a tyrant.”
He heard her sigh. Call leaned back in his seat, deciding to milk the time he had left before school started. “Well, anything else?” he asked. Immediately he internally groaned as he began to regret it. He could feel the smile growing on her face.
“There’s one other thing,” she smiled in a way that made him grimace, “Who are you asking to prom?”
He groaned out loud, “Anything other than that?”
She smiled wider, enjoying his impending torment. “No, I don’t think so. I think I wanna talk about that, specifically,” she said as she crossed one leg over the other, in that sassy way Call both liked and hated. “Y’know, if you don’t want to grow a pair, there’s always Aaron Stewart.”
“Oh, you’re not even trying,” Call scoffed, crossing his arms, “No way, Tam.”
“Why not? You know he’s got it bad for you. If you had enough balls to ask he might put on a dress for the pictures.” She arched an eyebrow, smirking, “Plus, you already think he’s hot.”
He rolled his eyes, “First, he doesn’t . He’s like, way too straight. And second, he is hot. In fact, too hot.” He grumbled, “All blond hair and green eyes, tall and athletic-- too perfect . Something is going on with him, I swear.”
She sat back in her seat, rolling her eyes, “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re jealous or want to hate-fuck him.” She smoothed her uniform down as she saw Magisterium Academy in the distance, “Sometimes you make me think it’s both at once.”
He didn’t bother with his own uniform, preferring the “Before you ask, I did, in fact, roll out of bed and into this” look. As Tamara’s chauffeur opened the door for her, he followed her out on her side, deciding not to face the morning rush on his side. She looked him over quickly, wordlessly reaching up to undo his tie a little more.
“You made it look like you don’t know how to tie a tie, instead of looking like it’s a choice,” she said, pulling away. She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she began to walk inside, Call wordlessly following her in-step.
As they walked to the first period of the day, she whispered to him, “You should try to ask Celia. This might be your last chance, Call.”
He cursed himself as his heart tightened at the mention of her. “There’s just--” he looked her in the eyes, and her genuine expression left him without an excuse. “I just… can’t, Tam.”
She sighed gently, looking at him imploringly. Though, he could see the gentleness in her eyes. “I just don’t want you to regret it if you don’t. I know you’re worried, but I know you want to try.”
They stopped walking as they reached her first class of the day. “See you later, Tam,” he said as he began to walk to his class.
Throughout the rest of the day, the thought of prom kept sneaking up on him, worming its way into his brain. The pit in his gut twisted when he thought of Celia, his crush since the day she stole his first kiss in middle school.
He knew Tamara was right. If he never asked her, never gave himself the chance, he’d regret it. More than he’d regret anything else in his high school experience. He knows that once he’s out of here he won’t regret not being popular, not being a heartthrob, or not being an athlete. He’s resigned himself to knowing he would never have any of that. If he never gets it he won’t be so surprised, since he already knew he would never have it.
But he’d regret not asking Celia out. Celia, with her cute blonde curls and pretty light eyes. And her bright smile and her sweet words, never looking at him as any less than what he was-- a person. From middle school until now, she never failed in making him feel welcomed. Like people are happy he’s here.
With the desire to ask her out came the feeling of impending doom. Should he risk it, she was most likely going to let him down easy, look at him with a pitying gentleness that would make him want to swallow himself up and spit himself into a drain.
He didn’t know if he wanted to risk it.
He was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of a familiar ringtone, piercing through the teacher’s droning lecture. It took him a good two seconds to realize it was his own. As he scrambled to get his phone out of his pockets, he looked at the caller ID and saw it was his father. Knowing his father only called during class for important things, he was silently grateful to have a nicer teacher for his history class.
He raised his hand, standing up, “Mr Graves?”
“Yes, Callum?” he answered, too busy writing something on the board to look at him.
“It’s my dad, can I answer it?”
The teacher flashed a glance at the clock above the door, likely figuring even if Call wasn’t lying, he still wasn’t gonna come back. Call didn’t know if he was right or not yet. Mr Graves sighed, seemingly having come to a decision. “Go ahead.”
Exiting the classroom, he accepted the call. “Hello? Dad?”
“Call?” his father’s voice rang in his ear, “Sorry to disturb you during class, but it’s important.”
He sounded a little… off. Though Call couldn’t seem to pinpoint it, he thought his father sounded a little ruffled. “Your great-uncle Will came to visit.”
Momentarily, Call thought the expression on his face must’ve looked a lot like that one reaction meme of the blinking guy. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Uncle mafia boss? But he hasn’t called in months. When’s he coming?”
He could hear his father sigh on the other end, “Don’t call him uncle mafia boss, Call. And actually, he’s already here. I needed to tell you to go straight to his house after school. We need to talk to you.”
“What?” Call said, “What is it? And why ‘we’, like as in both of you?”
“Yes, both of us. We’ll answer the rest of your questions then, okay? I’ll see you.”
Then Call heard the line beep, cutting off. He sighed, glaring at the dark screen impatiently. What is his great uncle even doing here? As far as Call knew they were each other’s only living relatives, and even then he hasn’t visited them in person for years. Sometimes he’d send letters that looked machine-printed, even though Call knew that was just his handwriting. But he wouldn’t visit, not in person. That felt awfully suspicious and very mafia boss-like to Call.
Additionally, every once in a while he’d send an expensive gift that was either efficient but blazingly futuristic or was glaringly rich person-like. He wouldn’t forget the day his father was gifted two sets of whiskey stones, one made of 24-carat gold and the other made of soapstone.
Though Call was always baffled by the gifts, that didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful. That plasma TV he was given on his twelfth birthday was dutifully used every day. It was rather detrimental to his sleep schedule though, so there was that.
Every time he called, he and Alastair would spend a solid half hour whispering to themselves before his father forced him to talk to him. Then there was always ten minutes of awkward, stunted small talk before Uncle Rufus gave him a cat fact, then they started talking for hours. And yes, he may have listened patiently to Call’s rants about Brexit but that didn’t mean they were very close. He barely even remembered what the guy looked like. The mystery the guy was shrouded in alone was mafia boss-like.
Glancing at the door to his history class, he decided that if Mr Graves thought he’d skip class, Call might as well let him be right. He started walking to the school gates, not bothering to wait a few more minutes until class ended. As he rounded the corner, he collided straight first into someone else. The speed they were going caused him to lose balance, plummeting to the floor butt-first. He groaned in pain slightly.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I was just going to the bathroom and--” the person said. He looked up to see Aaron Stewart, all blond hair and green eyes, sputtering nervously. As he caught his eyes, Aaron’s fussing paused for a second.
Call would never admit it out loud before someone gets the wrong idea, but he thought Aaron’s fussing was kind of cute. The flush on the guy’s cheeks only enhanced it. His face seemed to get even redder when he recognized who he’d bumped into.
“I’m so sorry Call!” he said, “It’s my fault, I just wasn’t looking where I was going…” Aaron held out a hand to help Call up, but he refused, preferring to get up on his own. His mood from seeing Aaron’s cute face soured slightly. It’s bad enough Aaron had athleticism, attractiveness and popularity over him-- he didn’t have to be all kind and golden-hearted about it too. To Call, it was less nice and more patronizing.
He dusted himself off as Aaron awkwardly pulled his hand back. “What are you doing outside of class?” Aaron asked. Call raised his brow. “I’m expecting you to know I won’t answer that, considering you’re out here too.”
Aaron frowned. “I was just, uh,” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “Going to get a snack. From the vending machine.”
Call stared at him quietly with a deadpan look, and Aaron seemed to scramble for an excuse. Call wouldn’t buy that shitty delivery for a second. Aaron seemed like the type to be a terrible liar.
Something’s up.
To avoid the awkward silence, Call knew Aaron would keep talking. The other boy fidgeted in his spot, “My favourite’s the M&M’s, and Mars chocolates.”
Call raised an eyebrow, “That’s good to know and all, but didn’t you say before that you were going to the bathroom?”
Aaron seemed to gulp, “Uh, well, I was gonna do both. So, yeah.” he said, walking off in the direction of the bathroom further away, in the hall Call just came from.
“Hey!” Call called out to him, “Are you not gonna get your snack?”
Aaron paused briefly, looking back at him from over his shoulder, “Uh, I changed my mind!”
Unwilling to leave it at that, Call took a glance at the nearby vending machine, then back at Aaron. “Ugh, fine,” he grumbled to himself. “Aaron, wait a second!”
Knowing he had Aaron’s attention, he walked over to the vending machine and looked for a certain divot in its side. As he located the indent with his right, he placed his other hand on the side of the glass face. He hit the dent with a marginal force as he pulled on the face, popping it open and exposing the snacks within. He took out a Mars bar and pushed the face back where it belonged.
Turning back to Aaron, he couldn’t help but smile at his astonished face. He shoved the chocolate bar into Aaron’s hand. “Don’t rat me out for this, alright?” he said, “There’s something up with you, so this is my one allotted good deed per day.”
Aaron’s jaw was wide open, a pink flush on his cheeks for reasons Call doesn’t know. It took him a second to formulate his words, “I... won’t. I promise.” he said. As Call was about to walk off, Aaron called after him with a wide smile on his face, “Oh and, thank you.”
Call paused, “Uh,” he said intelligently, “No problem.”
As they both went their separate ways, Call was traitorously reminded of what Tamara said earlier that morning. Now, the thought of the resident Mr Perfect refused to leave his mind.
Uncle Rufus’ “house” wasn’t exactly a house, but more like a penthouse in the most expensive hotel for the nearest two hundred miles. Even from the outside, looking in through clean glass doors it looked like one of the nicest places Call’s ever been in. Well, that he remembers vividly, at least.
As he boldly walked into the hotel lobby, a suit-wearing guard stopped him. “What are you doing here?” the broad-shouldered man asked him, not exactly rude but certainly not kindly. Call fully expected it, but it didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes or crossing his arms. “I’m here because I was invited to dinner. My uncle William Rufus is expecting me.”
Before he could gauge the guard’s reaction, the guard was pushed out of the way by a tall platinum-blond man. Call quickly noticed the man’s gaunt, lightly-scarred face, and if it was anyone else wearing that stark white suit Call would’ve called them a dork. Instead, it just made him look like a Bond villain.
“Hello,” the man said, smiling politely, “You must be Callum Hunt. I’m sorry for my guard’s behaviour. He wasn’t briefed of your appearance when I told him we had a special guest.”
“My name is Joseph,” he said, dark brown or black eyes trained on his face, seemingly studying his features. Call didn’t know what to think of him, or whether or not his sugary smile was more predator-like or genuinely polite. “Your uncle is staying on the top floor. You can visit him now. I’d also like to inform you that you can come and go in my establishment as you please.”
Call narrowed his eyes sceptically, “Can I ask why?”
At this, Joseph chuckled lightly, “I’m sure your uncle will inform you.”
Joseph pointed the way to the elevator, in that weird “Welcome, Master” kind of way, with a slight bow. Call walked across, observing the hotel lobby. It was beautiful, every stone surface made of marble. Most of the floor was carpeted with red velvet that felt luxurious instead of cheap, accenting the white room. The fanciest thing in the lobby seemed to be the white two-tiered fountain, basking in attention in the middle of the room. A statue of a woman sat at the top, her eyes closed.
He briefly noticed a delicious smell emanating from a place Call assumed was the restaurant. Inside he noted a more “manor” type of decor with burnt sienna and cream walls, a large fireplace and red carpets.
Bypassing the restaurant and the front desk he entered the elevator, scanning the buttons for the top floor. As he pressed the last button, he was surprised that instead of the doors closing, an automated female voice rang out, “State your name and business, please.”
“What in the goddamn…?” Call mumbled to himself, confused, “Um, Call Hunt. I want to see my uncle,” he said. This was, apparently, the wrong fucking answer.
The bright cream-coloured lighting in the elevator turned red, and a beeping siren went off. Call stood, shocked and speechless, as guards turned his way and Joseph flashed a look of horror. “Full names!” Joseph screeched at him in a panic. People from the restaurant were beginning to stand, concerned and nearly panicked. “Yours and Rufus’ full names!”
It took Call a long, agonizing second for his body to catch up with his brain. “Callum Hunt! Here to see William Rufus!” he said, voice embarrassingly high in panic.
And suddenly, the police-red lights shut off and returned to its translucent off-white. Inside the elevator, as if to mock him, a tiny light on the panel of buttons turned green. “We have been expecting you. Esteemed guest William Rufus is waiting for you in floor twenty-six.” the automated voice from before said.
Call gripped his heart in his hand as the steel doors slowly closed. His eyes were wide in panic and he had to lean on the elevator wall to catch his breath.
For fuck’s sake. He thought, politely.
Just as the steel doors opened up, Call was seized by a mop of black hair not nearly as unkempt as his and olive skin that was darker than his own. “Jesus Christ, Call! Did something happen in the lobby? Someone told us a security breach happened!”
Call baulked at the idea of having to explain that to his father, “Well…”
Alastair pulled back from examining his son to shoot him an unimpressed face. “Callum Hunt,” his dad said. Oh no, “That wasn’t you, right?”
“Uh,” Call scratched the back of his head, “...No…?”
“You’re a better liar than that, Call.” his father sighed at him, “But we can talk about that later, I guess.”
A new voice rang out, “Please, take a seat.”
Callum turned to the source of the voice. A dark-haired man was sitting in the velvet armchair, with umber skin and an aura that screamed regal. “You look better than I last remember, Callum.” he said, sipping on a cup made of fine china, “Let’s have a talk."