Chapter Text
The Crown Prince of The City of Emeralds was a rumour that graced the streets, stories of power beyond a man's wildest dreams at the prince's fingertips and honey dripping from his tongue, making the strongest of kings succumb to the prince's will.
stories and rumours and tales of the prince himself ranged from him adorning massive, gleaming white wings to being nothing more than a powerless, magicless human.
Whispers of the prince being able to rip the life out of someone's eyes with a flick of his wrist and yet still treating anyone who meets his eyes with the most darling respect, whether it be a peasant ready for jail to the king of the Antarctic Empire.
Philza would know, standing across from the man himself.
But none, not one of the rumours could even begin to describe the beauty that radiates from the prince in front of him, with gleaming golden hair and stunning blue eyes, fair skin and clothes designed specifically for his lithe figure.
The prince's smile is dazzlingly bright, and if Philza was a lesser man, he too would be swept up in these tested charms, signing a contract he knows will result in the end of the Antarctic empire, being sucked up into the ever-expanding rule of the Emerald City.
But Philza can see it. The minute twitch in the prince's hands, the way his eyes don't gleam as he smiles despite them crinkling at the corners, Philza can tell the prince has no care for them.
Not that Philza minds, of course. because along with that, he can tell that the prince looks young.
His skin to smooth, his face too full, his stature too short. The Crown Prince couldn't move more than fifteen, or sixteen if Philza was pushing it.
Which, considering he had been Crown Prince for about six years, doesn't paint a pretty picture. This changes their plans.
Originally, it was to murder the Crown Prince and let the kingdom fall apart without their precious prince, but Philza can't let that happen.
A smart, powerful, treasure of a boy can't be wasted on something as petty as death. No, the prince deserves a much brighter future, one Philza can give the young boy. A life, a childhood that was snatched from him so early.
So, the plan was changed. Instead, they take the boy with them. His spirit is bright, his eyes full of fire and his tongue is sharp.
He will fight. He will probably win, at least once or twice before they manage to find a way to contain him.
Philza knows that the prince's violence is not a rumour, having seen it by his own hands, seeing the way the prince’s power works in real-time.
But he’s also seen the way the boy leans into touches when Philza brushes past him, the way his eyes would gleam any time he or his sons would praise the boy, even if it barely counts.
Philza can see the look the boy gets when he looks between the three members of the family and the way he glances at his own father, the gleam dimming as resignation sets in once again.
Oh, how Philza is going to spoil this boy.
And from the way Techno’s hand twitches over his sword every time the king even insinuates the Crown Prince has done anything wrong and how Wilbur’s eyes darken when his eyes catch on the bruised skin craft fully hidden by gloves and sleeves and bracelets, he knows his boys will agree.