Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every so often, a tournament is held among princes from across the continent. Its purpose is to crown the "best prince," but two, in particular, always stand out among the rest.

Technoblade: A tall, handsome young man with long pink hair and unmistakable crimson eyes. He is never without his distinctive great red cape—a garment so intimidating that even if he weren't royalty, he would be mistaken for a king thanks to his elegant demeanor and the combat skills he has honed his entire life.

Techno is a formidable figure, not just because of his appearance, but because behind that cape lies a trail of endless victories. However, there is a hidden side to him: he loves the violin. Music is his sanctuary, a way to escape his burdens. Sometimes he plays with his brother, Wilbur, a master guitarist. Together, the sweet, melancholic song of the violin and the guitar's harmony create melodies full of feeling. The intimidation is merely a mask for the public—the serious, arrogant, and sarcastic warrior people expect to see. And while that isn't entirely false, gossip has exaggerated his coldness. After all, everyone has a sensitive side. Don't they?

On the other hand, there is Dream. To many, he is the "perfect" boy: tall, with dark blonde hair, emerald eyes, and freckles dusting his face and body. His attire is simple, almost always featuring a green hoodie. Though not traditional royal garb, Dream carries it with a natural grace that proves his status. He possesses a raw, natural talent for combat; while he trains, it is never his sole priority.

Dream loves to explore and have fun, yet he is often solitary, appearing serious because he struggles to express his emotions. However, something constantly stalks his shadow: "Royal Etiquette." While his family respects his individuality, every life has its limits, and Dream is about to cross them. He is ready to take a bite of the forbidden apple, letting temptation guide his actions. He is calculating, yes, but he believes in living without restrictions. What is the use of life if we spend it all in chains?

These princes have more in common than they realize. They see each other as rivals, perhaps even enemies, yet they share a mutual respect that stops just short of admiration. Every tournament ends the same way: victory belongs either to Technoblade or Dream.

The final day of the tournament was grey and rainy. The downpour was light but enough to soak their clothes, making every movement heavy and arduous. They were in the final test: a sword fight to name the best. Sweat mixed with raindrops on their faces as the icy breeze whipped their damp hair. Exhaustion was evident, but neither dared show weakness.

Their swords clashed, spraying water with every impact. Small white clouds of breath escaped their lips, betraying their fatigue.

"Ready to surrender, little prince? You look tired," Dream mocked with a small smile.

It was a calculated jab. He wanted to annoy Techno, to distract him and let him dig his own grave while Dream's own exhaustion threatened to pull him under.

"Don't worry about me. I could have every ailment in the world and still beat someone like you," Technoblade retorted, gripping his hilt tighter. He launched a series of aggressive attacks, which Dream dodged with fluid grace.

Every step was treacherous. The ground of dirt and grass had turned into slippery mud. One false move meant humiliation. And what is worse than losing? Falling in the mud in front of a crowd while your rival stands over you.

A lightning bolt split the sky, illuminating their faces. In a split second, Technoblade's foot caught on a rock. He stumbled. Dream didn't hesitate. He lunged without mercy, pinning Techno to the ground. The great red cape was instantly stained with mud.

"Apparently, someone like me has beaten you... again," Dream commented, his sword pointed toward Techno.

Technoblade looked up with fury. "You only win when everything is in your favor. Have you noticed that, Clay?"

Dream's smile twitched at the mention of his real name, a name seldom used. He lowered his sword and extended a hand, but Techno rejected it, pushing himself up on his own.

BadBoyHalo took the microphone, his voice ringing out: "Our victorious prince, and the winner of this year's tournament, is Prince Dream! A round of applause for our competitors!"

Dream looked at the crowd and smiled—not out of arrogance, but relief. It was over. He could return to his life, to his walks, and most importantly, to George. He could finally drop the weight from his shoulders.

Technoblade, however, wore an unreadable expression. It wasn't just annoyance or sadness; it was something deeper. He stayed for the protocol, but minutes later, he left for the palace with his family, trying in vain to scrub the stains from his cape.

"I just need to rest," Techno thought. "And hope the stupid moon doesn't drag me into another pointless show."

Meanwhile, Dream wondered if this would finally be "their year." The year the Moon would finally confirm George as his soulmate.

Regardless of the winner, King Philza would organize the Grand Masked Ball the following evening. It was an annual tradition to commemorate the Moon and wait for her rays to indicate the year's soulmates.

In this land, everyone is faithful to the Moon. Her word is law. Guests must wear masks, camouflaging themselves so that love may find them based on the soul, not the face. The Moon does not fulfill whims; she complements what is missing. She is sincere in a world that has lost its way. Two souls become one, and for the rest of their lives, they will need nothing more.

Chapter Text

"Perhaps it wasn't the ending we dreamed of, but it was the destiny that was ours. The Moon doesn't ask permission, but sometimes she knows what she's doing; and this time she may have been right, even if we didn't realize it until much later."

This morning felt heavy, like the first time I brandished a sword. However, the beautiful song of the birds echoed in my ears, and the first rays of light illuminated that large, dark room; I envied their song, as it possessed a natural beauty.

There I was, sitting on the window-seat with my gaze lost in the landscape, waiting for something without knowing what. My violin was beside me; I looked at it and began to play a song: "Salut d'Amour" by Edward Elgar, a melody that reached my very soul. My legs started to move on their own to the rhythm, and all of a sudden, I was dancing in my room, clutching onto a fleeting moment of peace.

Until I heard a voice on the other side of the door: — "Excuse me, Your Majesty, the King is waiting for you to attend breakfast."

— "One moment, please," I replied grudgingly, but without losing my elegance.

I placed the violin on my bed and put on my cape. I looked at myself in the mirror, turning around while braiding my hair with agile fingers.

— "I look incredible," I whispered to myself.

I headed to the door and held the doorknob for a moment. I turned to look at my violin one last time before regaining my composure; I let out a heavy sigh and opened the door.

I walked down those enormous hallways, barely lit by the sun's rays. There were large paintings on the walls that recalled our lineage. A lineage of winners. That made me remember my defeat to that boy.

"Is he really better than me?" I whispered. I refused to accept that question could have even a shred of reality. I kept thinking about what happened yesterday; I suppose I hadn't had time to analyze it properly. I remembered the rain, the smell of wet earth, and the sound of the swords clashing. I remembered Dream's face: a serious, inexpressive look. He was usually seen wearing a smile, but everyone changes when it comes to winning. I don't judge him; I would have done anything to win, although this time I can't figure out what happened to me.

Turning the corner, as I got closer to the dining room, I suddenly heard an argument and paused in the doorway.

— "Did you seriously not write any invitations, Tommy?" It was Philza's voice. He is a great father, but like everyone, he has his limit.

— "You said Wilbur and Techno would help me! Speaking of them... there they are!" Tommy exclaimed, pointing at me.

I turned around and there was Wilbur, right behind me. His steps have always been as light as a ghost's.

— "I guess we came at a bad time," he whispered to me.

— "They should put a little bell on you so people know where you are," I quipped mockingly.

— "It's not my fault you get lost in your thoughts. You were so focused you didn't even realize I was beside you. Besides... who is better than you? Dream?" Wilbur let out, repeating what I had just whispered.

I didn't know what to say. Was Wilbur really with me the whole time? To try and kill the subject, I gave him a searing look.

— "No need to look at me like that, little brother," Wilbur said with a mocking smile. "Dream and you are different. Each of you has your own essence. Don't forget it, Techno."

When he finished, he sat in his place, and I did the same.

— "So... what's the matter?" Wilbur asked calmly.

Philza sighed: — "Tommy was supposed to help with the invitations, but apparently he can't do anything without his brothers."

— "There are too many letters!" Tommy protested.

— "We'll help after breakfast," I intervened. "We should finish before noon."

We spent hours in the library. The smell of ink and warm wax filled the air, and although it was a bit suffocating at first, I got used to it. In the end, Wilbur and I did almost all the work, as Tommy fell asleep on the parchments. His silence allowed us to finish quickly.

We delivered the letters to the couriers. There were about twelve hours left until the 10 p.m. party. People like to dance; I like to watch. This year the party would be in the royal garden. I didn't like the idea; the garden is the only place full of peace, but today it would be invaded by strangers. Fortunately, there is a deep area of the garden where no one would go; I could hide there if anything happened.

I returned to my room. Through the window, the forest and the snowy mountains looked beautiful, and part of the garden was visible: there were plenty of lights, tables, and most importantly: music. I knew I had to start getting ready. Time doesn't wait, and if it doesn't, I have no reason to.

It's a shame I can't wear my usual cape; it would easily give me away. I chose a crown of precious stones and my carved pig mask. The rest doesn't matter; I don't want to draw attention. The Moon shouldn't notice me today... and if I'm lucky, never.

There were some knocks. It was Wilbur.

— "Technoblade, it's time. There are quite a few guests downstairs already."

— "Don't worry. Give me a moment, I'll be right behind you, Will."

I stayed a second longer in front of the mirror. The porcelain of the mask hid my doubt, but not the accelerated beat of my heart; my nervousness was evident, but the mask allowed me to hide it. I adjusted my gloves, took one last breath, and went out to meet my family. The night was just beginning, and the Moon was already beginning to claim her place in the sky, ready to illuminate whomever she wished, without asking permission.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the garden, a gloved hand reached out to the boy with the smiling mask.

— "Would you grant me this dance, handsome gentleman?" George asked with a spark of hope in his eyes, having no idea that the Moon already had other plans for them.

— "It would be a pleasure," Dream replied very sweetly, taking George's hand and placing the other on his waist.

The atmosphere was ideal; they were dancing under the moonlight to a lovely melody called Passacaglia. When we talk about the king of romance, the violin cannot be absent; its delicate sound, which makes even the coldest heart resonate, makes it perfect for a night like this. Despite not dancing under the light that would indicate they are soulmates, they liked to imagine that this day would be like that.

Anyone outside of them would think they had already been chosen by the Moon, by the way their bodies followed each other to the rhythm of the melody. They looked so perfect, so synchronized, that the world seemed to stop around them.

It was not allowed for people outside the family to know our attire before the party, but they wanted the Moon's approval, which, unfortunately, would arrive... but only for one of them.

Chapter Text

Many couples were dancing, while I simply watched from afar. There were still a few hours left before the Moon's event began, but two people caught my eye. They stood out from the crowd, dancing with such a perfect, fluid, and hypnotizing rhythm that it was hard to look away—and they knew it.

I felt relieved. Their perfection gave me hope that, perhaps this year, I wouldn't be the chosen one. I knew there were countless people desperate to be picked, not even caring if their soulmate was a total stranger. I didn't hate the tradition; I just found it senseless. I've read so many books in my life, yet I've never encountered anything as bizarre as this. There are ancient texts about the Moon and how this all started, but I always asked the same questions: How did the Moon know who your soulmate was? Or was it all just random, a tradition so deeply rooted that people simply forced themselves to believe it? Honestly, I didn't understand it, and I preferred not to get involved.

From a distance, I could distinguish those chosen last year; they no longer wore masks. Legend says that if soulmates are chosen a second time, the Moon grants them something special—powers, wealth, health—no one knows for sure, but that's the rumor. BadBoyHalo and Skeppy looked good together, happy; I suppose, in the end, they were chosen for a reason.

But why must I look for someone to "complete" me instead of trying to be whole on my own? I don't believe I need someone else's happiness. I still have an entire life ahead of me to accomplish so many things without the Moon imposing a soulmate on me. I turned twenty a few months ago, and Wilbur insists I should meet people or find a formal partner. When he mentioned that, I only told him: "Maybe if I get a partner, everything will be rosy at first. But what if the day comes and the Moon only chooses one of us? What happens then?"

Regardless of his answer, I'm not looking for anyone. I'm only looking for myself when I get lost in my own feelings. I only seek to be the best; I seek victory. I need to be the best.

— "Techno." — "What is it, Tommy?" — "Wilbur is lost," Tommy expressed with anguish. — "Don't worry, that idiot Wilbur is probably dancing with some girl," I said, arms crossed, scanning the crowd. — "Could you go look for him? Please?" Tommy began tugging at my arm. — "I'll only go if you stop annoying me for the rest of the week and shut up. You're incredibly loud. Also, I want your book on war, and I want you to steal some potatoes from the villagers." I threw the conditions out, hoping they'd be enough for him to retract. — "Deal!" Tommy shouted before bolting off toward Philza.

I stood there, paralyzed. I never thought he'd accept; Tommy loved that war book, and he loved being insufferable even more... With no other choice, I began to walk through the crowd, hoping to recognize Wilbur's mask. He was a good dancer—he was the one who taught me—even if he's a disaster when it comes to love and an even worse flirt.

It was irritating to push through the crowd; people bumped into me, and I into them. After scouring every inch of the garden, I couldn't find him. I lost track of time until they announced that the Moon was almost at its zenith, ready to decide.

In my miserable attempt to escape the crowd, I spotted the boy I had been watching earlier with his partner. Now, he was alone. To me, he danced exceptionally well—maybe even better than me, though my ego would never let me admit it. I was determined to see if he was as good as he appeared.

"Almost there," I thought, eager to be done with the suffocating contact of strangers.

Just before I could exit the crowd, I was shoved by a couple dancing so joyfully they didn't even notice me. If it weren't for my reflexes, I would have hit the ground, but my crown wasn't so lucky; it rolled a few meters away from me. I walked toward it, and as I leaned down to pick it up, I felt a hand brush against mine.

I looked up quickly, startled. And there he was: a boy, judging by his build, wearing a white mask with a simple smile drawn on it. He was away from the crowd, sitting on a bench, admiring the Moon. He quickly pulled his hand away and regained his composure while I replaced the crown.

— "I apologize," the stranger said. — "No need. It was just an accident."

An awkward, suffocating silence followed until I decided to break it. — "I suppose I've found the one who will be chosen today." He looked incredulous. — "Chosen?" — "By the Moon," I clarified. — "Oh. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be, but why do you say that?" — "Let's just say you and your partner looked quite good. Better than all these other losers," I said, gesturing toward the couples behind me. He let out a small laugh; it was strange, like a wheezing gasp, but I brushed it off. — "Would you like to dance with me? You know, while my partner returns?" he asked, crossing his arms. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, but there I was, driven by the need to prove I was superior. — "Only if it's no trouble." — "None at all. Besides, I adore this melody."

He was referring to Fairytale. There were no lyrics, only the violins making the celebration bearable with a slow rhythm. I extended my hand, and he took it immediately. I placed a hand on his waist—the "boy with the smile"—without considering that if we knew each other's identities, the only thing we would extend would be the edge of our blades. But the atmosphere was peaceful; no crowd, no identities, letting our steps take us as far as we desired.

— "It seems you're not as good as I thought," I teased as we moved to the rhythm. — "Or perhaps you simply don't know how to appreciate a good dance," he shot back, his tone just as mocking as mine.

We were so immersed that we didn't notice the music had stopped; we didn't need a guide, we only needed each other. But our focus shattered at the sound of a glass hitting the ground and breaking into a thousand pieces. We both turned toward the noise.

There he was: a boy, thin with brown hair, wearing dark glasses so large they covered half his face. He was crying. The lights reflected off his cheeks, turning his tears into liquid gold. Everyone was staring. I was confused, looking for a reason, until I heard a broken whisper from the boy beside me.

— "This is all your fault."

My fault? I didn't understand anything until I looked up at the sky. The Moon was at its highest point, and its silver light was reflecting... directly on us.

I looked around in a daze, not yet letting go of his hand. Suddenly, he wrenched his grip away and ran toward the boy in the glasses, who was sobbing harder now. Not wanting to be the clown of this circus, I turned and ran toward the back of the garden—toward my safe place. I felt like they were all mocking me.

I ran until my legs nearly failed. As I arrived, I heard voices I ignored, but I noticed something on the ground: a white mask with a smile, abandoned. I went to my room and locked myself in. My breath was ragged, and my legs gave out; I collapsed, my back sliding against the cold wood of the door.

I felt a void, a pulse so fast I wondered if I'd survive the night. When I finally regained control, I grabbed my violin. I needed someone to tell me this was a dream. My hands trembled, but I summoned my courage and struck the first string. Unconsciously, I began to play a melody I already knew too well.

It was a melody so sad, melancholic, and perfect for that moment that I didn't want it to end. "Schindler's List Theme," I remembered. I had never felt anything while practicing it before, but now... now it felt like the entire world had turned against me.

Chapter Text

“We thought a forced future would never prosper; however, we didn't give it a chance at the time.”

I couldn't feel my fingers. I didn't know how much time had passed, but looking at my reflection in the mirror, I saw that my appearance was disheveled; all that running had taken its toll. Additionally, I didn't have my crown; it must have fallen somewhere, and at some point, I would have to go look for it. I took off the mask and only saw my reflection. I hadn't realized that the gloves were not an impediment to playing the violin; without thinking much about it, I took them off my hands and threw them into some corner of the room.

I was so consumed by my thoughts that I didn't even notice that someone had entered.

— “And so?” — “Hmm?” I replied. — “I need you to explain yourself, Technoblade. I need you to explain this to everyone. Simply, what just happened?” —Philza's words carried a clear annoyance.

— “I don't know. He just ran off and I didn't want to be in that stupid spectacle. It's not my fault he had a boyfriend or whatever, Phil. I'm not interested,” I answered crossly.

— “Well, you should be, son. You have no escape, not anymore,” —he let out a great sigh before continuing—. “I am doing everything possible so that this accident does not come to light tomorrow and get plastered in the newspapers, Techno. You should talk to the boy you were with.”

— “He has a partner,” I indicated, uninterested and without knowing the truth. “Besides, I don't care if it comes to light. They only knew we left, but they don't know the whole story. Just act like someone else was chosen.”

This last part came out of my mouth with anger, without thinking much about it. I felt disappointed in myself; I didn't know what to do and I didn't have the slightest interest in acting on it.

— “My son, where is that Technoblade who always faced the situation regardless of the circumstances? I know this is difficult, I know you are very young, but we can take it step by step. This doesn't mean everything is over; it simply means there will be some small changes for now.”

I listened to each of those words and I remained pensive. Did I care about the stares, or did I simply not want to look like a fool anymore? I didn't know the answer, but it wasn't the time to look for it. Someday I would find it; simply, this was not the right day.

— “There was a moment when I saw that boy's mask, I saw it in the back part of the garden,” I said calmly. “I was annoyed and confused, but maybe if I cooperated there would be an escape for me.”

— “Don't worry. Before anything else, your brothers were looking for the boy. I suppose they don't want you to stay as a bachelor forever,” —Phil tried to joke to lighten the mood.

— “At least I'll be a very handsome bachelor, Phil,” —I let out a small smile and Philza simply rolled his eyes upon hearing my comment.

— “Wilbur told me he thinks he knows who the young man you were with is,” —his tone of voice changed to a quite serious one.

— “And? Are you going to keep the secret or are you going to tell me?” —I took a seat on my bed and Phil joined me a few seconds later.

— “It's better if you find out for yourself, Techno. You should talk tomorrow. You should sleep; Wilbur will help you two coexist for a bit, but...” —Philza fell silent and looked me in the eyes—. “Promise me you won't fight. Don't be arrogant, Techno; set the egocentrism aside. I know you, son. Try to make this work. At least, try to be colleagues.”

I couldn't refuse a promise to Phil. I am a man of my word and I owe him my life.

— “I promise you,” I said with certainty. — “Good. Rest, son. You will need it.”

When he withdrew, I lay back on the bed. I simply wished to escape. I felt my cheeks wet; I was crying. I couldn't control those stupid tears that ran down my face. I was just staring at the ceiling, without a plan for the first time. The mental exhaustion finally defeated me.

Suddenly, I heard hurried footsteps. It was a person running. I kept my eyes closed, but the sobbing flooded my entire room. I opened my eyes and turned my head toward the window; it was still night. Without knowing how or at what moment, I was in front of a door. The door that led to the garden, the same door I took to run to my room, but this one was half-open.

I went out and started walking in a straight line in search of that person. I could go as far as to say that the silence of the environment made the crying emanate fear instead of sadness. I didn't walk too far, but the crying was closer; I stopped dead to look for where it was coming from, and there it was, a few meters away. I saw a young man on a bench with his hands over his face and I walked in his direction.

— “Are you okay?” I asked.

The boy only looked at me out of the corner of his eye while he started drying his tears. He sighed and his sad gaze rested on my eyes. Despite the circumstances, I seemed to know him, or at least I've seen him somewhere; his pretty brown eyes were trying to make me remember.

— “Not entirely,” he answered me, letting out a great sigh and passing a hand over his neck while averting his gaze. — “What is your name? And if it's okay to ask, what happened to you?” — “My name is George.” —For a moment he stayed silent, as if he were thinking whether or not to tell me the truth of what happened—. “You are Technoblade,” he affirmed.

No matter how much I tried to remember where I knew this boy from, my mind seemed blocked, as if I had no memories. I sat by his side in silence in an attempt to discover something more. An eternal silence.

— “We didn't manage to change our future,” he whispered with disappointment. “We wanted it to choose us. Maybe it did, but it only chose him.”

— “George!” —a desperate and tired voice was heard, and a few seconds later a tall boy appeared. His voice was too familiar, but due to the lack of light, I didn't manage to recognize who it was. George looked at me and said without a doubt: “You promised, Technoblade.”

Did I promise? The promise I made to Phil? I thought my own mind was torturing me. I felt dizzy, my head was spinning more and more. I brought my hands to my face and, when I looked out of the corner of my eye again, George was no longer there. In his place was a tall boy who looked at me in shock. However, I still hadn't managed to find out who it was, and I heard his voice one last time. A deep voice.

— “Technoblade!?”

Despair woke me in my room. The silence pierced my eardrums; a silence that drowned me. What was all that?

Chapter Text

"There was a moment where we couldn't evade destiny or, perhaps, we simply didn't want to."

I stood by the window. After that dream, questions dominated my thoughts. George and... I didn't know. I only knew that his voice was too familiar, as if I heard it daily, but my mind refused to give me an answer; it was as if it wanted me to find the truth on my own. If my mind wouldn't provide the answers, I would have to go in search of them myself, and that is exactly what I intended to do.

I needed a breath of fresh air. I swapped my formal attire for casual clothes, not forgetting my great cape. Looking at my reflection, I saw a man who—if I do say so myself—looked incredible, though the moonlight was the only witness to it. To avoid the guards, I chose the window. With a hunting knife on my belt and the freezing breeze hitting my face, I leaped to the ledge and scaled down the wall using the vines for support; for some reason, the cold air made me feel more alive than ever.

Once in the garden, I set out to find my crown. I retraced my steps to the place where I had danced with that boy, but there was nothing. Guided by a strange instinct, I walked toward the hallway from my dreams. There, on the same bench I remembered, I saw a glint: it was a crown—my crown? As I put it on, the atmosphere shifted from peaceful to sinister. Why was it there? What kind of connection did that dream hold?

I walked toward the village. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I found something that quickly caught my attention. I stopped in front of a pile of flowers, most of them withered. Watching them die always left a hole in my chest. Wilbur used to show up at the palace with a bouquet every now and then, until one day he simply stopped. From the pile, I picked up a white rose; it was wilted, but still beautiful. Its fallen petals and weak stem gave off an air of profound sadness.

I was mesmerized by its scent until a noise broke my peace. A silhouette flashed across the rooftops. I hid quickly, hoping to go unnoticed, though, to my misfortune, my presence had already been noted. After a few minutes of unsettling silence, I decided to step out and look for a better rose. There I found a yellow one that, unlike the others, looked brand new.

My peace was short-lived. As I started my way back, someone lunged at me, knocking me down. Before I could react, I felt the edge of a knife against my throat. A green hood hid the attacker's face.

"If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already," I spat out.

"I just wanted to give you a scare, little prince."

That deep voice was the one from my dream. It was unmistakable.

"Unfortunately, your flower didn't survive the impact," he said sarcastically as he stepped back. Looking out of the corner of my eye, I saw the yellow rose, now crushed. As I stood up, he examined my crown with evident distress. "Did you wear this crown at the ball?" he asked, almost praying the answer was "no."

"I won't answer until you tell me who you are."

The stranger pulled back his hood under the streetlamp. "Dream," I whispered. My body tensed. His voice sounded broken, filled with a mix of anger and fear.

"You're such an idiot that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time," he snapped. "You haven't just stolen my victories; you've snatched away my destiny."

He threw the crown to the ground and began to run as fast as he could, fleeing across the rooftops. I picked up the jewel and the damaged rose and started my way back home. Reaching the wall beneath my window, I remembered Wilbur once had a pot where everything withered. He taught me how to give flowers a second life; so, with my knife, I cut the stem into two cuttings. I planted them and watered them without much faith, but with the need to try.

I went into my room, tucked the crushed flower into my wardrobe, and changed. Before sleeping, I went to the window and looked at the sky one last time.

"George and..." I whispered, "Dream."

My mind tried to piece it together, though it remained blocked. I gave it my best effort, but exhaustion won. "Let's see what surprise I wake up to tomorrow," I sighed, before falling into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

"There were moments when I missed our rivalry; however, something better than that came into my life."

— "Wake up, lazybones!"

Suddenly, I felt someone shaking me violently. The more I tried to ignore them, the more persistent they became.

— "What do you want?" I growled. I assumed this person had no idea what it felt like to sneak out in the early morning for a walk, only to have someone pounce on you and tackle you to the ground later. But of course he didn't know, because it was the unbearable Tommy.

— "You missed breakfast. Besides, Phil wants to talk to you."

— "Hmmm..." I wanted to refuse. Only groans left my mouth; being woken up during restorative sleep is never pleasant, and having your brother's face be the first thing you see only makes it worse.

— "Phil didn't mention much, but he says it's about yesterday. Whatever, I did my part by telling you. I’ll have no problem telling Dad you're too lazy to wake up," Tommy said, running off to who knows where.

The best thing for me was to take a shower, get ready, and head over to Philza’s office. As I stood under the water, the steam seemed to blur the present, and a distant memory forced its way to the surface.

— "Listen to me, darling. You know you are the light of my eyes. The King will take very good care of you; he is a good man and offered to take charge of you, my love."

That woman held my hand gently, a sweet smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes.

— "But I want to stay with you, not with that old man," I pleaded, trying to pull her arm to stop us, but it was in vain.

— "Oh, darling, the King isn't that old. Your mother is almost as old as he is." That smile and sweet voice could deceive a thousand warriors, but they couldn't deceive me.

— "Do you love me so little that you're giving me away?" I tried to wriggle out of her grip, which tightened slightly.

Suddenly, she stopped dead. She brought her hands to her face as if wiping something away—drying the tears that had just escaped. She turned toward me and knelt so we were at eye level. Her face expressed a sadness so deep that, at that moment, I wasn't able to understand it.

— "I love you so much... I love you more than I love myself. You are my son, and I would give my life for you, my love, but I cannot give you the life you deserve. You are an exceptional child, and the King saw that in you. If you love Mommy as much as Mommy loves you, you will live the life I wish I could have lived for you."

After saying that, she kissed my forehead and hugged me. I heard her crying on my shoulder, and in that moment, I realized that making someone you love cry is one of the worst feelings in existence. Suddenly, I felt her placing something over my shoulders: it was a cape. A deep, red cape.

— "For my future prince. I hope you like it; don't forget that a prince like you can never be without a cape made to his measure," she managed a small smile as she stood up. "We have a long road to travel."

— "Darling, can you promise me something?"

— "Hmm?"

— "Promise me that you are going to miss me every day, as much as I am going to miss you."

— "I promise," I replied without hesitation.

She held out her hand, and I took it. We walked so far that I didn't realize it was getting dark. Mom held me in her arms; if I had known the tenderness with which she sang those lullabies would be the last I’d hear, I would have done everything possible to stay. She looked at me with so much love and so much sadness... every time she looked at my face, tears threatened to fall.

— "Wake up, darling. We've arrived."

The voice in the memory faded, replaced by the cold reality of the hallway.

— "Phil?"

I found myself standing before the door of Phil's office. It was already open, so I entered. The first person I encountered was Wilbur.

— "You certainly took your time," Wilbur said, leaning casually against the wall.

— "Where is Dad?"

— "Phil stepped out for a moment; he shouldn't be long. He went to receive the guests."

— "I wasn't aware there were guests."

— "Oh, little brother, you never find out about anything," Wilbur smirked, his eyes glinting with a secret. "And to think one of them is your guest

Chapter Text

"The first time I saw him dressed as he was supposed to be, I didn't know whether to laugh or mock him. I suppose a first time is always strange and embarrassing."

—Hmmm. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what he was referring to. If only I had a chance to escape...

—It's so unfair that they give food to those who aren't hungry —Wilbur said clearly with the intent to annoy me, crossing his arms and smirking.— Life is quite unfair, isn't it?

—Then I finally understand why you're so thin, Wil— Unfortunately for Wilbur, I couldn't help but let out a mocking laugh at the comment.

Suddenly, the door burst open. It was Tommy. —Dad says you should go to where they're having the talks or whatever— he said, looking at Wilbur, before turning to me and adding— And you... do whatever you want, but go to the garden.

Wilbur and I shared a look, and I turned my gaze back to Tommy. —Very well, messenger.

—Whatever, just stop being so lazy and do what you were told— Tommy left Wilbur and me behind.

—Hey, Techno. —Yes? —Did you know Phil is thinking about looking for a new couple to announce as the Chosen ones? You know, while you and yours learn how to behave with decency. —Decency? Who do you think I am? —An arrogant egocentric, perhaps, though I'm not sure— He let out a loud laugh at the remark.

—Don't you have even a little bit of faith in me, Wil? —Correction: I have no faith in either of you. And if you'll excuse me, I have to go fulfill my duties, and you're plenty old enough to fulfill yours— he said as he left the room.

—Whatever— I whispered before exiting through the same door toward the garden.

Why did he want me there? I didn't have anything better to do, I suppose, though I took a slight detour to my room. To avoid boredom, I grabbed the book Tommy had lent me a few days ago—which was mine now—that war book, along with my violin. Music always relaxes my mind. From there, I headed to the garden.

Upon opening the door, I came across a boy looking at the garden roses. His appearance was impeccable; he wore royal attire and an emerald green cape. —Hello?— When I spoke, the boy seemed to ignore me, keeping his eyes fixed on the flowers.

—Are these sticks from the rose you had yesterday?— he asked. —Dream?— —Ajam— he replied, disinterested.

—You look a bit...— I was searching for a word to mock him, as it was the first time I had seen him so dressed up, but Dream beat me to it. —Stunning. I look great, even though this isn't my thing. Now, if it's not too much trouble, leave me in peace; your presence overwhelms the flowers.

I looked at him with great confusion. He seemed quite calm; no one would think that just a few hours ago, this boy had threatened me with a knife to my throat.

—What are you doing here? I mean, I don't think this is a place for you. You don't fit in here— I managed to catch his attention. His face turned serious, and he took a deep breath.

—It seems the great and useless Technoblade is the only one who doesn't know what's happening here— he said, turning his gaze back to the roses, but this time he took one in his hands, almost as if he were caressing it.

—You're actually speaking to the great and incredible Technoblade, if you haven't realized it yet. You even dressed up just to see me— I crossed my arms, preparing to head to another part of the garden.

Ignoring my comment, Dream leaned down and began searching for something among the pots until he pulled something out. He stood up and threw the object at me; I caught it clumsily.

—Looks familiar, doesn't it?— His voice sounded somewhat annoyed, but his face remained neutral.

I analyzed the object... The mask. A smiling mask. And finally, everything connected. Everything made sense. It was him. He was the only reason he would know where that mask was; perhaps he hid it after I saw it, or something like that. That explained all those words. It wasn't that he was the worst person; it was simply that our relationship wasn't the best.

I felt nothing. my expression was stoic, as if I had already expected it. It was as if I only needed the physical confirmation; perhaps that's why my mind didn't want to give me the answer before. My mind was blank. I didn't know what to say to him. Probably the best thing was to go somewhere else; I didn't want to deal with this.

I let go of the mask, and it fell to the ground. I didn't say a word; I just looked him in the eye and headed to another part of the garden in search of some peace. —Are you going to run away, Technoblade? You have no escape, and neither do I— he shouted. I kept walking, ignoring his words until I reached the other end of the garden.

I placed the book and the violin case on a bench and sat down. —That's why they give food to those who aren't hungry, Wil... because it's the worst part of the dish— I whispered.

I didn't want to be offensive toward Dream. I know he's not a bad kid; I've heard the villagers say he helps people sometimes. We just had the bad luck of growing up as rivals, and that's how it should be. Every time I see his face, it reminds me of every single time I've lost to him. Even when we met in the village, I didn't even hear him behind me.

He's such an idiot. He's not good at what he does; he doesn't train, he doesn't practice... he's just there doing stupid things. I've trained my whole life; he shouldn't even be able to reach my heels. I've always been The Great Technoblade, and no one is going to take that away from me.

I let out a long sigh. I opened the violin case, took it out, and tuned it. Inspired by the garden, I remembered a very beautiful song: Song From a Secret Garden. Although the original song had a piano accompanying the violin, it would sound just as good alone.

I inhaled and exhaled. It had been a long time since I played this song, but I would give it my best effort anyway. And so I did. Every time the bow passed over the strings, a sound almost as beautiful as a bird's song emerged; the sound a violin produces is so relaxing and beautiful. My body began to sway from side to side, in harmony with the music.

Chapter Text

"Will you wait for me for a moment?" George’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, bringing me back to the reality of the ball.

"I would wait for you for a thousand and one years if life allowed me," I assured him, feeling the weight of every word as I looked at him.

"Don't be cheesy," he teased with a small smile. "I'll go get a glass of wine; do you want me to bring you one when I get back?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," I answered with a sigh. I let myself sink onto a nearby bench, watching as his figure began to pull away, blending into the crowd.

"It will only be one glass; I won't overdo it, knowing the moon is waiting for us," George insisted before leaving. He stepped closer for a second, took my hand, and planted a kiss on it. "This will be our year—the year you and I stop these nightly escapes and can finally show our love."

I watched him walk toward the drink tables, and I was left alone.

"Our year..." I whispered, admiring the moon despite my mask. "If we were made for each other, why haven't you chosen us yet?"

It was so stupid; desperation had made me talk to the moon. George and I had been dating for three years; in a few months, it would be four. Four beautiful years in which he had been the light of my eyes, the reason why sunrises were no longer overwhelming and nightfall became my favorite time of day. George still held onto the hope that we would be chosen at last. I had lost those hopes long ago; I cared for him deeply, he was an incredible person.

"I guess the moon doesn't want two incredible people together," I let out a heavy sigh.

No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I yearned for it, we were not meant for each other, and that saddened me deeply. For the past few years, I had been learning to deal with it.

"Why don't you stop the torture and tell me who I am destined to be with?" I said as I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. I looked at the moon with profound sadness, because sooner or later, it would force us apart. I had been learning to let go of George; bit by bit, the hope died, and that feeling was terrible. It was as if I were being tortured more and more every day, instead of having my life ended in one "painless" moment.

I was focused on the moon until I felt something fall near my foot. I looked down and saw a crown. I leaned down to pick it up, but someone else had already done so, causing our hands to touch.

Could it be him?

- . .- -- ---

"We already talked about this, George. We both knew we were asking for the impossible."

"I know, I know, but it still hurts, Dream." His voice was so broken that it was impossible for me to hold back my tears. "Honestly, I didn't even have hope; I just wanted to keep making beautiful memories with you," he said, covering his face with his hands.

I sat beside him and hugged him; he returned my embrace and then snuggled into my chest, seeking comfort.

"What are we going to do?" he asked. I looked at him, but his gaze was lost.

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I don't want to be here. I shouldn't even be here."

"Then let's go. There's nothing here for either of us."

...- .. ...- . ..-. . .-.. .. --.. ... .. -. -- ..

I was worried. I didn't want Dream to walk away, but I didn't want to ruin his future either; I wanted to keep seeing him every night as we had been doing all these years. I pulled away from him and, as we stood up, we heard a familiar voice.

"George? What are you doing here?" I turned my gaze toward that person: it was Wilbur.

"Wilbur?" I felt panic. I was only a count; tradition was strict for princes and princesses. Being there, trying for something impossible, could cost me everything; the royal family's trust in me was at stake.

"Yes, it's me. Well?" Wilbur asked, crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry." I didn't have the strength to look him in the eye; I just stared at the ground. "I know I shouldn't be here, but I can give you an explanation, it's just..."

"It's my fault," Dream interrupted me fearlessly, stepping in front of Wilbur. "I convinced him to come. We wanted the moon to choose us, but it didn't. If anyone here deserves punishment, it's me."

His face was serious. I could never have said that; only a prince can speak to another prince that way. Wilbur let out a sigh and brought his palm to his forehead, processing the situation.

"George, withdraw. We'll talk about this later."

"Of course. Until tomorrow." I gave a bow and left.

"And as for you, Dream, we need to talk... about Technoblade." That was the last thing I managed to hear before walking away.

As I walked back, I heard a violin. I didn't recognize the melody or where the sound was coming from, yet it sounded sad. I prepared to continue on my way; Dream and I were supposed to meet later in the village, I just had to wait for that moment.

.- - - . --. . --- .-. --. .

"It seems the great and fearsome Technoblade has hidden talents."

Startled, I turned around and there was Dream, leaning against the wall with a slight smile, though I couldn't tell if it was a mocking one.

"How long have you been there?" There was evident annoyance in my question. "It's bad manners to spy on people. I know I'm unmatched, but it's still wrong."

"Whatever. I just got here," he replied, evading eye contact. "I just wanted to know where you had run off to; I heard the violin and followed it."

Chapter Text

"Music was the only thing I had; the only thing that could ever truly understand me. At least... until you came into my life."

"Leaving aside the fact that you followed me and spied on me... what exactly are you doing here?" I asked, my voice laced with skepticism.

"In the garden?" Clay—or Dream, as I still called him then—shrugged nonchalantly. "The same as you. Nothing. I was told I should be here with you."

"I don’t like you," I stated flatly. I stopped playing, carefully put away my violin, and picked up the book resting beside me on the bench.

He let out a heavy sigh. It was obvious from a mile away that he didn't want to be here. As much as I shared that sentiment, we both knew we had no other choice but to endure each other.

"I know you can be arrogant, stubborn, and far too self-centered, but..."

"If you came here just to describe me, you can leave," I interrupted before he could finish. "I already know myself far too well."

I took a seat and opened the book, pretending that the words on the page were infinitely more interesting than his presence. Clay remained standing, watching me with a piercing seriousness. After a few seconds, he continued.

"As I was saying, you can be many things, and you might not like me... but I’ve never actually disliked you. We’re both just good at what we do. I simply don’t feel the need to show it off every second, unlike you."

His tone, though neutral, was becoming unbearably annoying. It felt like a persistent sting in my ears.

"Look, Dream..." I closed the book with a sharp thud and stood up until I was face to face with him.

We were nearly the same height, but in that moment, the space between us seemed to shrink dangerously. We locked eyes for what felt like an eternity—a silent duel that neither of us was willing to lose.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Clay blurted out without hesitation, a lopsided, daring smirk settling on his face.

My entire composure crumbled. I froze, stunned by the sheer audacity of the question. I felt a sudden heat crawl up my neck. Immediately, I pulled away, returning to the bench to take refuge in my book once more.

"I don't blame you; I know I'm a heartbreaker," he added, his smirk widening. "Even more so dressed like this."

I began to thumb through the pages quickly, trying to hide the discomfort coursing through my veins.

"I was going to tell you that I don't dislike you either; I just find you insufferable and far too lucky," I muttered without looking up, though I could feel his gaze fixed on me like a blade.

"Hmmm, progress, I suppose." He paused, and his tone shifted into something much more somber. "Are you seriously not aware of anything?" he asked, looking at me as if I were the last person in the kingdom to find out about a looming disaster.

"If I knew what they were planning for us, do you really think I'd be here talking to you?" I set the book aside again, giving him my full attention.

"I don't know, little prince... What would you do if you knew?"

"Like I told you: insufferable."

"I get that a lot. Thanks."

An awkward silence fell over us. The garden suddenly felt far too small for the two of us. It wasn't until Clay decided to break the tension that I understood the gravity of the situation.

"Supposedly, they want to announce other people as the 'Chosen Ones' because the commoners are starting to suspect things. They want to avoid trouble," he explained, stepping closer. "So they have options... Well, three. They find some accomplices, we try to at least like each other, or they force us to fake it and—blah, blah, blah."

As he finished, he leaned down and whispered something in my ear. It was a murmur so low and warm that the words blurred in my mind; I didn't manage to catch what he said, I only felt the ghost of his breath against my skin.

"Did you know we're alone in the garden and you don't actually need to whisper?" I said, pushing him away gently to reclaim my personal space.

He straightened up with enviable agility, scanning the area as if he had lost something among the bushes.

"Relax, I'm just playing," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I'd prefer the first option, if it’s no trouble, your majesty," he added in a ridiculous, mocking tone, giving me an exaggerated bow.

"Let's just say I'm not the one who decides," I replied, feeling the tension from a moment ago dissolve into something different. "But if it were up to me, I’d choose that option too."

Unconsciously, a small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. For the first time, we actually agreed on something.

"You know... Techno."

"Hmmm?"

"My parents are talking to the King about it right now; that’s why I’m here. I didn’t mean to disturb your peace, Prince Charming." The last part came out with a nervous, uncharacteristic laugh.

"I figured you didn't come alone," I replied disinterestedly.

"Yeah, it's just that my parents found out I was seeing George. Well, they know they saw me with him... they don't know everything else, or... maybe they do. They'll probably want to teach me a lesson and force us to present ourselves as the Chosen Ones, if my parents can convince yours."

"It's going to happen sooner or later, Dream."

The blonde sighed heavily upon hearing the name "Dream."

"Call me Clay. I'm tired of 'Dream'."

"Well... Clay. What happened to George? You two looked very happy together."

Chapter Text

“We began a routine—the routine of faking love; however, the faking turned into something more.”

After George left, the true hell began.

“Are you insane?” Wilbur said, his voice rising to a near shout.

He was livid. I had never seen him like this before; usually, he was the embodiment of calm and friendliness, but in that moment, his gaze was crushing.

“If being insane means loving someone, then yes, Wilbur, I am insane.”

“You can date anyone and keep your position, but George cannot,” Wilbur said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “If gossip spreads among the nobles, it will be his end. And I cannot allow that. I won't let you drag George into your game; I won't lose my right hand because of someone like you.”

I hated to admit it, but Wilbur was right. If anyone discovered our relationship, George would be the one to suffer the most because of his rank as a count. We were lucky he was Wilbur’s confidant; otherwise, based on the rage radiating from him, I had no doubt he would have turned us in right then and there.

“And what are you going to do about it?” I asked. I was risking everything by challenging him, but I had no choice if I wanted to find a way out of this.

“At this very moment, I could do anything, Dream. Let's just say I have you eating out of the palm of my hand.” The smile he gave me sent a chill down my spine; Wilbur could sink my reputation and destroy George’s legacy in a heartbeat. “You know? It would do you wonders to get along with Technoblade. Perhaps it's the best thing you could do.”

“Technoblade wouldn't save me from this even if he were paid to.”

“Let's just say my little brother was chosen by the moon tonight... just like you.”

“Stop joking, Wilbur.” My mind spiraled into panic. It couldn't be true. The person I danced with couldn't have been him. Wilbur was just playing with me so I’d leave George, right?

“Then seek the truth.”

A suffocating silence followed. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Take this as advice, Dream,” Wilbur said, taking a step back and regaining that elegant, untouchable composure. “Be very careful. If the moon didn't choose the one you wanted, it’s because fate has other plans—and those plans don't include you destroying George’s life. Walk away before I have to force you away.”

Wilbur turned and left, leaving me alone with the echo of his words and the biting cold of the night.

.. - .-- .- ... ..-. --- .-. - .... . -... . ... - 

We had agreed to meet in the village as usual, but I never thought that would be our greatest mistake. The early morning was freezing, but it was the only time we could find some peace.

“Dream, finally...” George whispered, approaching with a look full of a hope I no longer possessed. “Let’s go somewhere else, it’s too cold here.”

I looked at him, and for a second, I wanted to send everything to hell. I wanted to tell him to run away with me, that Wilbur didn't matter. But the image of George losing his title, his honor, and his life because of me was a weight I couldn't carry. We entered a narrow alley to shelter from the wind. The ground felt like a thick layer of ice, yet we sat there, huddling together to fight the weather with our own heat.

“It’s best if we don't risk it anymore, George.” I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. I knew that seeing his distressed face would make me fall into his arms again. I couldn't allow George to fall into ruin.

“At this point, I don't know what we should do, Dream. We tried everything, we gave it our best effort and got nothing... well, we simply managed to let Wilbur find out,” he said, his face reflecting deep anguish.

“We will do what we should have done from the beginning.” I tried to meet his gaze, but the emotion was too strong. Suddenly, I found myself crying inconsolably. I felt all hope die that night.

George just looked at me; no words came from his mouth, but tears streamed down his face. He didn't need to speak to know what I meant. There was no choice left. All that remained were the memories we built. Someday, perhaps, we would remember them as the foolishness of youth, but right now, it hurt too much.

I was consumed by my thoughts until I felt George’s breath grow closer. I didn't want to see him, because seeing him was remembering everything—it was remembering that our hope had turned into a simple routine. And today, I was going to end it. Love must not be selfish. I would give my life so that George could go on with his.

Without a second thought, I pressed a kiss to his lips. A kiss full of love, but heavy with sadness. As we pulled apart, we shared one last embrace, ready to depart.

We stood up, but then, I heard a noise. I turned and saw a shadow—a slender, tall figure that fled the moment they noticed my presence.

“Get out of here as fast as you can!” I told George nervously. He nodded and left immediately.

I set out to chase the shadow. They were too skilled to be a commoner. I raced across the rooftops, but I lost the trail. Then, I saw another person. For a moment, I thought it was the same one, but this figure was taller, wearing a cape that made him look imposing. What truly stopped my heart was his crown: it was identical to the one worn by the person I had danced with.

I hid until he stopped noticing my presence. When his footsteps faded, I stepped out. There he was, walking somewhere. My original plan was to interrogate him; I was desperate to know if Wilbur’s words were true.

But the plans changed. Let’s just say I tackled the little prince and crushed his poor flower.

The crown fell to the ground. Technoblade had been chosen, just like me. He was my soulmate. I asked if he had been wearing that same crown the day before, and when he said yes, panic flooded me. I didn't want to believe it. I felt a chill run through me and I fled. I wanted to reach my parents' palace, lock myself in my room, and wake up from this nightmare, but fate had other plans.

Upon arriving, I found my parents. They were awake, waiting for me with somber expressions. Someone had betrayed us. I had no idea who it had been, but now, I was in trouble.

Chapter Text

"So... I'm sorry, but not that much," Dream sighed. "For throwing you to the ground and, well, for everything that happened after." Clay didn't want to look me in the eye; the last thing he wanted was for the atmosphere to become awkward. Again.

"Pff, you didn't even leave a scratch on me, Clay," I tried to joke to cheer him up a bit while setting my book aside.

He began to pace around the bench as if he were planning something. It was annoying to watch him go in circles; could he not just stay in one place?

"Could you stop? You're making me dizzy."

"Stop? I'm not doing anything to you." He paused for a moment and leaned slightly toward me with a mocking smile. "Besides, if I remember correctly, you might not have suffered a single scratch, but that rose you had suffered more than just a scratch."

He moved away and leaned against the wall across from the bench, eventually sitting directly on the ground.

"I know," I replied, looking away from the blonde. "And answering your question from earlier... yes, those stems were from the rose. I guess I wanted to give it a chance."

"Awww, how sweet. Who knew Technoblade had a soft side?"

While I was thinking of a comeback to humiliate him, I didn't notice that Clay's parents, along with Philza, were already standing in front of us. Quickly, Clay regained his composure and stood up, moving closer to me; he seemed uncomfortable being so near them.

"It's good to see you're getting along," Philza said.

Neither of us answered. We just stared at each other for a few moments before trying to decipher what they were doing there.

"It seems as if you're upset because we interrupted something," Phil added with a serious expression. I knew that tone; it was the same one he used whenever he caught Tommy doing something stupid.

Clay remained silent, as if he wanted to do anything but talk to them.

"Don't worry, we were just talking. Right, Clay?" My gaze shifted to him. He hadn't expected me to take the initiative.

"Sure," he let out after a sigh. "We were just catching up."

He looked nervous, as if he had been caught in a lie, but I decided to ignore it.

"I had planned to announce another couple," Philza began, "however, I was told about the 'little incident' young Clay had, and we reached the conclusion that it would be best to avoid lying to the people to prevent future complications."

As he said that, Phil shot me a look I had never seen before—a look that felt as if he were apologizing to me.

"Furthermore," he paused, "we have decided that you will have a dinner after we announce that you were the chosen ones, and also..."

Philza was going to say something else, but Clay's mother gently tapped him with her foot. They were plotting something else, but we wouldn't know what until later. Shortly after, Clay left, escorted by his parents and Phil. I preferred to stay behind; I didn't want to leave my things and, frankly, I didn't want to walk with them after how awkward the encounter had been.

I gathered my belongings and began to walk back to the palace. Before entering, my eyes fixed on the cuttings I had planted: one of them was a bit withered, while the other remained intact.

I would have a short break before the palace doors opened for the townspeople. Another insufferable party. At least this one would be shorter; I wasn't required to stay for the whole event, but I had to be present for when Phil revealed that Clay and I were the chosen ones.

When I reached my room, I put my things away and lay down. Had I enjoyed the time with the blonde? I didn't know. I couldn't say I liked it, but I didn't dislike it either. Everything felt like chaos, even if to my father it was just another event on the calendar.

"Pfff..." Suddenly, I let out a small laugh. It was absurd. All of this was so foolish it made me laugh.

A few knocks on the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Techno? Are you there?"

It was Wilbur. I didn't feel like talking, so I didn't answer. If he decided to come in, I would pretend to be asleep, even though it was barely past noon. Suddenly, the door opened. I kept my eyes closed.

"I don't care if you're ignoring me," he said with a little chuckle. "I know you're not sleeping. Anyway, you need to get ready for when the doors open, but eat something first; you haven't had breakfast."

I heard him set a tray on the nightstand. His footsteps moved toward the doorframe but stopped. Wilbur let out a long sigh.

"You know that whatever you need, I'm here for you. I know I'm not the best counselor, but I'm your brother, and I couldn't stand it if Dream included someone else in his games."

Following his words, the door closed softly. I opened my eyes. He was gone. I looked at the plate; I hadn't realized I hadn't eaten, and although I wasn't hungry, I sat up and began to eat. I wasn't going to reject something Wilbur had brought me with such care.

Chapter Text

After finishing my meal, I set about preparing for what was to come. First, I needed to bathe. I have always preferred cold water; it sharpens my reflexes and clears my mind. My brothers called it strange, but they were prone to habits far more eccentric than mine.

Once finished, I reached for my usual attire but remembered the mandate: I was to wear the same outfit as last night, mask included. I donned the clothes, gloves, and boots, leaving the mask aside for the final moment.

I picked up a treatise on warfare—a simple title, yet a fascinating read. I sat on the edge of the bed, hoping the pages would make the time slip away, but the trick failed me. Restless, I set the book down and reached for my violin. I began to practice. To me, the violin is an instrument of unparalleled beauty—if played with precision, of course. If not, its screeching could make even the most ruthless enemy beg for mercy.

I lost myself in the music, wishing the moment would stretch into eternity, unaware of how few hours remained before the "grand" announcement. My peace, as usual, was short-lived.

The knocks at the door were light—deliberate and almost imperceptible. I continued to play, expecting a dry “I know you can hear me” from Wilbur or for Tommy to simply burst through the frame. When neither happened, doubt flared into curiosity. I set the violin aside and opened the door. Of all the people I expected to see on the other side, he was the very last.

"Dream?" I quickly corrected myself, remembering our conversation from hours ago. "Sorry... Clay. What are you doing here? I didn't expect to see you until the ceremony."

My surprise was written plainly across my face. Clay merely shrugged. He was dressed exactly as I remembered him, holding his mask in his hand, waiting for its time to be worn.

"May I come in?"

"Is it necessary?"

"I’m not going to bite, if that’s what you’re worried about. My parents arrived early and wished to speak." His expression was unreadable. Without much further thought, I stepped aside. I didn't care to imagine the diplomatic fallout of denying a prince entry to my chambers.

I closed the door behind him.

"You play well."

"Hmm?"

"The violin. I could hear a very graceful melody before you opened the door," he said, seating himself on my bed with infuriating confidence.

The nerve of this guy, I thought, to interrupt my peace and then make himself at home on my bed.

"I am aware it sounded good; I don't need the reminder. I was merely practicing."

"Aham." He glanced at the empty tray on my nightstand and smirked. "If I’d known they were serving food, I would have hurried."

"I wouldn't have given you a crumb even if you had been here," I retorted, retrieving my violin. "Now be quiet. Let me concentrate."

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

He watched me intently, waiting for my next move. Though I felt a prickle of discomfort under his gaze, I had little choice but to play. Gradually, I forgot him. I forgot the intruder, the impending gala, and the weight of my responsibilities. There was only the music.

As I grew more comfortable, I began to move, swaying slightly with the rhythm, fully aware of his eyes on me. I resisted the urge to truly dance, fearing his mockery, but I allowed the melody to carry me.

"I must say, little prince, you move as well as you play. But there is no need for such melancholy songs; being in my company is the best thing that could happen to you."

"Be quiet," I whispered, struggling to maintain the tempo.

"You're a lucky man, Techno," he added with a soft laugh.

I lowered the violin. I wasn't angry, precisely; I simply couldn't play in front of someone speaking such nonsense.

"Don't you dare say another word." I fixed him with a defiant stare. He remained calm, as if we were discussing the weather. I stepped toward him until the distance between us was dangerously short.

Clay sighed. "I didn't know you were so..."

I didn't let him finish. I lunged at him, intending only to silence his arrogance.

"I told you, Clay—you are incredibly annoying."

My tone was neutral. I wasn't looking for a fight; I just wanted him to stop. However, it was a disastrous time to be pinned over my rival, for at that exact moment, the door swung open.

A deafening "I'M SORRY!" echoed through the room before the door was slammed shut. Only one person entered without knocking: Tommy.

I scrambled off the blonde prince immediately. Clay, however, seemed entirely unfazed. On the contrary, he let out a boisterous laugh.

"You should have seen your face, Techno."

"That was Tommy... he’s definitely gone to tell Wilbur and Phil," I muttered, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

"Better for us," he responded, seemingly blind to the magnitude of what had just happened.

"Better? In what world is this better?" I couldn't wrap my head around the shame.

Suddenly, there was another knock—polite this time. No one entered without leave.

"My apologies for the interruption... the King says they are about to open the Great Doors."

"We're coming!" I called out nervously, frantically scanning the room for my mask.

"You're as tense as if we’d actually done something," Clay said. His laugh was simpler this time, almost gentle. "Just relax. They’re waiting for us."

He gave me a reassuring pat on the back and strolled out of the room. Bracing myself against the lingering embarrassment, I donned my mask and followed him.

Chapter Text

"That night, the mask became my best ally, hiding the absolute fear that was taking hold of me."

I walked down the hallway, struggling to catch my breath as I felt the cold surface of the mask against my skin. Clay walked a few paces ahead of me with a calmness I found irritating. How could he remain so composed after what had just happened?

Suddenly, Clay stopped in his tracks. I halted immediately, nearly crashing into his back.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

Clay turned around. The mask made it impossible to read his face, hiding any intent behind his sudden movement.

"You're a damn coward, Technoblade," he whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"We've been on top of each other dozens of times in front of hundreds of people," he said, stepping closer. "What's different about this? We didn't do anything wrong."

"Everything," I replied bitterly. "Nothing is the same as before, Clay. We are not the same. And yes, perhaps we did nothing wrong, but all that matters now is what others see and think."

"Idiot," he snapped before turning away and resuming his walk toward the hall.

I sighed in annoyance and followed him. After a moment, Clay slowed his pace to match mine until we were walking side by side.

"I liked you better as a rival," he commented with a short laugh. "Back then you weren't afraid of anything—not even your little brother catching you doing something 'weird' in your room."

"No one said I’m not still your rival," I replied with a smirk. Clay noticed it immediately, as my mask only covered the upper portion of my face.

"We'll see about that."

The blonde stepped ahead again, but this time I didn't mind.

As we reached the grand doors of the main hall, our families were already waiting. Philza stood at the front, maintaining the regal composure that defined him. Beside him, Clay's parents stood firm, their posture impeccable. We divided by instinct: Clay approached his family, and I returned to mine.

"You're just in time," Philza said without turning, though I caught a hint of curiosity and playfulness in his tone. I knew then that Tommy had already reached him with the gossip.

I felt a presence to my left. Wilbur leaned in, pretending to adjust a detail of my suit, but his eyes shone with a mischief I hadn't seen in years.

"Are you okay, Techno?" he whispered in a voice that feigned innocence.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" I replied curtly.

"I don't know... Tommy reached the throne room a moment ago screaming at the top of his lungs that 'Techno finally got a girlfriend and it's the blonde in the mask!'" Wilbur let out a stifled laugh behind his hand. "I didn't know you had it in you, brother. It seems you two don't get along as poorly as you led us to believe. Or is the blonde simply faster than he looks?"

I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. My cheeks were burning. If it weren't for the fact that Tommy doesn't know the meaning of a knock, I wouldn't be facing this humiliation.

"Tommy is an idiot who doesn't understand what he sees. Nothing happened."

"If you say so..." Wilbur replied, straightening his posture. "Just remember: the whole kingdom is on the other side of those doors. If you're going to 'play' with him, make sure it's part of the plan and not because you're letting yourself get carried away. You're only pretending; don't make a mistake."

His words resonated in my head, but before I could speak, the royal trumpets blared, silencing the murmurs in the hallway. The deafening sound announced the beginning of the farce. Philza turned toward us, his gaze shifting back to the doors. The look of apology he had given me hours ago had vanished; now, he was the King.

"Open the doors," he ordered.

The heavy oak doors slid open with a thud. The light from thousands of candles and the glow of the chandeliers blinded me for a second. Thousands of faces turned toward us. I could hear a sea of whispers flooding the hall: "It's them," "Look at them," "Who could be under those masks?"

Clay glanced at me as he approached. Under his mask, his eyes seemed to search for mine. He extended his hand to me—a ceremonial gesture that felt like torture.

"The torture won't last long, Techno," Clay whispered, his voice for my ears only. "Just give them what they want."

I swallowed hard and, with a movement that cost me more than any battle, I placed my hand in his. The contact was electric. Together, we took the first step toward the center of the hall as the crowd erupted in a joy that made me feel like a hypocrite. The farce hadn't just begun; the weight of the title felt more real than ever. We were no longer rivals; we were the kingdom's favorite spectacle.

Standing in the middle of the hall, the weight of a thousand eyes made my skin crawl. It wasn't like a duel, where I enjoyed the admiration of my movements; here, I felt exposed despite the mask.

When the music started, I felt paralyzed. My breathing quickened alarmingly.

"Relax," Clay whispered in my ear. Noticing my hesitation, he nervously placed a hand on my waist. The touch only made my heart race faster.

"Just breathe. Inhale, exhale. Remember when we danced in the garden... try to imagine no one is watching us."

His voice was soft, remarkably reassuring. I decided to trust him. I took a few deep breaths, and though I was still restless, I closed my eyes and let myself be carried away by his lead—remembering that dance in the garden, far away from the world's prying eyes.

Chapter Text

"I used to mostly ignore the things people told me; sometimes I answered with what they wanted to hear, other times I simply didn't. I didn't know back then that those words would carry so much weight in the future."

Before I knew it, the music had ended. The sudden silence of the instruments was instantly replaced by a roar of applause. It was time.

Clay, without letting go of my hand, led me to the front of the crowd. He looked calmer now; after all, we only had to endure one more moment before staying there was no longer mandatory.

"And now, it is time to meet this year's new soulmates," the King announced.

A chilling silence fell over the hall. Everyone was expectant, watching our every move. Philza looked at us and, with a small nod, signaled that the moment had arrived.

I let go of Clay's hand. We looked at each other one last time before leaving our anonymity behind. I didn't know what to expect once our identities were revealed. Mockery? Scorn? I didn't know, and I hoped I wouldn't have to find out.

Both of us had to remove our masks at the exact same time. Now, it was Clay who followed my lead. I took the mask with both hands, mirrored perfectly by him. I inhaled, then exhaled.

"Here we go," I whispered.

As we removed the masks, the hall filled with an even more intense wave of whispers. People's expressions were pure confusion. I couldn't blame them; I felt the same way, and honestly, I still do.

Dream approached me gently and whispered, "Can we leave yet?"

"Not yet," I thought, assessing the situation for a second. "As soon as the next dance starts, we can get out of here," I whispered back.

"Oh."

That was the last thing he said before returning to his position. Internally, I was grateful that dancing without masks wasn't mandatory. Usually, protocol requires dancing with the mask to represent the mystery of the Moon's choice, but once revealed, etiquette became more flexible.

"And now, let the celebration begin!" Phil exclaimed, raising his hands.

That was my signal. Now that we were no longer the center of attention, I could finally escape. I nimbly dodged the guests, ignoring questions and greetings alike, until I managed to slip out of the Great Hall. Honestly, I didn't know or care where Clay was; I just wanted silence. However, as I reached the hallway, I felt someone pull my arm firmly.

I turned to see who it was and was instantly taken aback. "George?" I exclaimed, stunned.

"Technoblade... do you know me?" he asked, letting go of my arm.

"Ehh... yes, Clay has mentioned you."

I wasn't about to tell him that the first time I saw him was actually in my dreams.

"Clay?" he asked, puzzled.

"Dream," I corrected quickly.

"Oh, yes... and well, what has he told you about me?" His voice was heavy with a sadness that made me uncomfortable.

"Not much, but enough to know who you are and what you are to him."

I had no intention of arguing over the blonde. If George's intention was to keep him, I didn't care; I would have given him away with a bow on top.

"Look, George," my voice grew serious; I just wanted to get to my room and he was delaying me. "I don't know what you want from me and I have zero interest in it. You want Dream? He's all yours. I don't want him, and I don't need him."

I resumed my way, but his words stopped me in my tracks.

"That's not why I'm here."

I stopped, though I didn't dare turn back toward him. "Then what do you want?"

"I want you to tell Dream to forgive me for..."

I didn't let him finish. "Why don't you tell him yourself? Stop haunting me."

When I finished speaking, I started walking again. This time, I wasn't going to stop.

"You don't understand!" George started following me.

"I don't care to understand! Leave me alone!" My tone was now one of clear annoyance.

"Tell Dream we're over. Tell him I needed more than those words we exchanged... I needed to say—or hear—these words. I don't want him to look for me; I want him to be with you, and for you to be with him. And I want you to promise that you'll tell him, and that you'll always be with him. If you don't promise, I'm going to keep bothering you, Technoblade."

This is stupid, I thought. I ignored George and kept walking until he pulled my arm again. I turned immediately, at the very limit of my patience.

"What do you want, George?!" I shouted at him.

"I want you to promise."

His tone was soft but firm. I felt that if I didn't do it, he really would haunt me for the rest of my life. What did it matter? They were just words.

"Aham, I promise," I said, crossing my arms.

"What do you promise?" A smile formed on his face that irritated me.

"Are you serious?" I made a face of disgust.

"Aham," he said, imitating my posture.

Was everyone Clay knew this annoying?

"Whatever," I took a breath to remember the script he was imposing on me. "I, Technoblade, promise... hmmm... that I'm going to tell him what you told me."

"Aren't you missing something?" He raised an eyebrow.

"And that I will always be with him," I sighed at the end. "Happy?"

"Thanks, I owe you one."

He gave me a hand gesture and went back the way he came. I continued on my way, wishing to erase that conversation from my mind forever.

Finally, I reached my room. But before I even entered, I heard a terrible sound. It was a noise so harrowing it hurt my ears. I entered without a second thought and, as if things couldn't get any worse, there he was.

Clay was sitting on my bed, playing my beautiful violin. Or rather, it sounded like he was summoning some evil entity with how poorly he was doing it.

Chapter Text

"Why are you touching my things?" I raised my voice, forcing it to carry over the agonizing screech of mistreated strings.

"Oh, Techno. I just borrowed your violin, but it’s a lot harder to handle than I thought." Clay set the instrument down on the bed with a carelessness that made my blood boil. He stood to face me, his posture radiating defiance.

"It’s Technoblade to you," I snapped, taking a sharp breath to steady my frustration. "Anyone can hold a violin, but very few can actually play it. Besides, I don't recall inviting you into my room."

Clay let out a dry, rasping chuckle—the kind of sound that made my fists clench instinctively. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, still messy from the mask he’d recently discarded, and took a step toward me, intentionally invading my personal space.

"The door was open. And after that... moving performance in front of your father, I thought we were past the formalities," Clay said, closing the distance between us. "Besides, I was bored. Dinner with the commoners felt like a nest of vipers waiting for the right moment to strike, and you vanished without a word. I needed to see if there was still a pulse beneath that thick layer of pride."

I brushed past him toward the bed, ignoring his bait. I picked up the violin with practiced care, checking the wood for any signs of damage. To me, this instrument was a key—the only way to escape the bars of this gilded cage. To him, it was just another toy to experiment with.

"If you’re looking for entertainment, go find Tommy. I’m not a circus act here for your amusement, Clay."

"No, you’re not," his voice dropped, suddenly devoid of its teasing edge. "But you’re the only person in this castle who doesn’t treat me like just another soldier or some unreachable superior. And that, believe it or not, is..." He paused, searching for the word before settling on, "I simply appreciate it."

I froze, the bow still in my hand. I could feel his gaze burning into the back of my neck. The air in the room grew heavy, a suffocating tension where every word felt like a potential blade. If I wanted to regain control—if I wanted to wipe that smug satisfaction off his face once and for all—now was the time. I carefully returned the violin to its case and turned slowly to meet his eyes.

"Do you know who doesn't appreciate it?" I asked, my voice dropping to a chill that seemed to frost the very air. "George and I had a little chat. It turns out the subject of our conversation is standing right in front of me."

I crossed my arms, a victor’s smile playing on my lips, though I knew it was laced with malice. Clay’s smirk vanished instantly. His body went rigid, and a sudden paleness washed over his features. He looked at me with a mix of confusion and a raw, burgeoning fear—fear of what I was about to say. Sensing my advantage, I stepped closer until I was inches from him.

"Let’s just say he came to tell you what your cowardice couldn't, but he couldn't find you." I leaned into his ear, my voice a lethal whisper. "George told me to tell you not to look for him. He said it’s over."

I pulled back, watching his eyes for the fallout.

"You’re a liar." The words had barely left his mouth before he shoved me with all his strength. I stumbled back, nearly falling, but managed to catch my footing. Rage consumed his face; his fists were clenched so tight his knuckles shone white. Seeing him break like that made me feel invincible.

"Well, Clay, I may not have proof, and George might still be in the palace somewhere. But regardless... game over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do than be your messenger."

I grabbed my violin case and brushed my shoulder against his as I moved past, leaving him alone with his fury. I walked down the hallway with a sense of triumph; it seemed George’s words were a far more powerful weapon than I’d realized. I intended to find peace in the garden, until a familiar voice cut through my thoughts.

"Techno? What are you doing out here?" It was Tommy, swinging a wooden sword around with Tubbo at his side.

"Heading to the garden, Tom," I said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Tubbo snickered at the gesture.

"Hey! Stop that, I’m not a kid anymore!"

"Then stop hanging out with kids." I gave Tubbo a playful smirk. He was a good friend to my brother, and I was glad for him; I wouldn't last a day with an idiot like Tommy without some sane company to balance him out.

Tubbo crossed his arms in mock indignation while Tommy descended into a fit of laughter. I continued on my way, but the sound of a door creaking open nearby disturbed my peace. I leaned in to take a look.

"Whoa!" I jumped back, nearly colliding with Wilbur. He immediately mocked my startle.

"I didn't know scaring you was so easy."

"I just didn't expect you to be lurking there, Wil," I muttered, adjusting my grip on the violin case and avoiding his eyes.

"Whatever..." Wilbur’s gaze drifted past me, clearly searching for someone. "Your little boyfriend isn't with you?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Incredible. If you hadn't told me, I never would have noticed, Wil. I have no idea where Dream is, if that’s who you’re looking for."

Anxious to avoid further interrogation, I turned to leave.

"I never mentioned Dream," Wilbur called out, his tone teasing. I ignored him and kept walking.

When I finally reached the garden, I sat on a stone bench and opened the case. I stared at the instrument. I realized then that perhaps it hadn't been the right moment to tell Clay the truth, despite how much I’d craved that victory. The satisfaction felt hollow. I didn't pity him—he deserved it for touching my things—but a nagging thought wouldn't leave me: walking away from someone you love is never easy, and I had just made his world significantly harder.

Chapter Text

In contrast to the Great Hall, the silence of the garden was overwhelming. For years, I had been content with only my violin and my thoughts to face the world. But for some reason, tonight felt different. It felt... lonely.

With no desire to practice, I snapped the case shut. My gaze drifted toward the cuttings I had planted. The soil looked parched, so I decided to water them. Rising from my seat, I grabbed a nearby bucket, filled it, and drizzled a little over the stems, splashing the rest onto the surrounding plants.

I didn't hold much hope they would grow; my gardening experience was nonexistent. Besides, it wasn't a promising sign that one of the cuttings was already withered. I suppose some things are just not meant to be, yet I chose to give that small stem a chance anyway. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke the quiet. I knew who it was: Philza wouldn't be far behind.

I returned to the bench and tried to look relaxed until, inevitably, Philza arrived. He looked livid.

"Techno," his voice was laced with irritation. My best move now was to play dumb regarding my recent "disagreement" with Dream.

"Phil, what a surprise. Do you need something?"

"Have you seen young Clay?"

"I haven't seen him since I left the ballroom. Is something wrong?"

"His parents were planning to depart since, as you know, we are having a private dinner, but their son is nowhere to be found," he replied, crossing his arms.

"Well, don't look at me. As you can see, I've been right here."

"Yes, I see that," he said, shooting me a skeptical look.

"It's not my fault if he had a change of heart about all this and decided to bolt."

"Help us look for him. His parents won't leave without him."

"As I said, Phil, I'm not the one at fault here."

"It wasn't a suggestion, Techno. It’s an order." Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed back the way he came.

"Pfft..." I scoffed. As if I cared. He had probably gone chasing after George, and that was his problem now.

Unfortunately, an order was an order. I grabbed my violin and prepared to take a walk through the garden paths.

But while I strolled along the torch-lit walkways, miles away, reality was much colder and harsher for Clay.

My lungs were burning. I had been tearing through the forest aimlessly until the rhythmic thud of hooves and the grinding of carriage wheels caught my attention. I dove behind the thick trunk of an oak tree.

There he was. Under the fading dusk light, I saw George's silhouette climbing into a carriage bound for the border. I stepped out from my hiding place, only a few meters away. I wanted to scream his name, to call him back, but Techno's voice echoed in my mind like a curse: "George told me to tell you not to look for him. It's over."

I desperately wanted to believe it was a lie—that Techno only wanted to tear us apart—but a knot tightened in my throat and my feet felt leaden, glued to the earth. Suddenly, George paused and looked back. His expression held an unfamiliar coldness that turned those few seconds into pure torture. Finally, he turned away and disappeared into the carriage.

That indifference screamed that Techno hadn't been lying. I had been the coward who didn't know how to protect the only thing that mattered. The knot in my throat curdled into pure hatred. Not toward George, but toward the man who had delivered the news with a mocking, victorious smile. George was gone; my life had been reduced to this forced charade. I had nothing left to lose, and I was going to prove it to him.

I wiped my face roughly, straightened my clothes, and began the walk back. If Techno wanted war, I would give him a victory that tasted like ash.

"Why the hell do I have to get dressed up?"

"Because you have a dinner to attend, Techno," Wilbur said, sitting on my bed and watching my every move.

"I didn't know they found him."

"They haven't, but they suspect he might have headed for his family's estate before coming here," Wilbur said softly.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Wilbur, Dad says we should choose our meal," it was Tommy. Apparently, he had finally learned how to knock.

"It’s too early for that," I muttered as I finished dressing.

"The thing is, that will be our dinner, little brother. Dad doesn't want Tommy and me interrupting the official banquet," Wilbur said with a dark smile.

"Whatever. Just get out. You’re needed elsewhere."

"Fine," he stood up, heading for the door. "I wish you luck; something tells me you're going to need it."

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the bed and closed my eyes. I had searched for Clay like a fool for hours. "Maybe I pushed too far," I whispered before drifting off. I didn't know how much time had passed until someone started yanking on my arm.

"Techno, Techno, Techno..."

I squirmed, trying to break free, but Tommy was persistent.

"Phil says you have to show up in the dining hall now."

"I know, just leave me be," I replied without opening my eyes. Tommy shook me again, and by reflex, I pulled him toward me and gave him a light swat on the head. He groaned and scrambled out, leaving a note on the desk: "Hurry up, Dad is waiting, and the blond's parents are already there."

I entered the Great Dining Hall, and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. My father and Clay's parents sat in a deathly silence. I took my seat under Philza’s glowering gaze, but before I could mutter an apology, the heavy doors swung open.

Clay walked in.

He didn't look like the broken man I had envisioned. He carried himself with a renewed, sharp confidence; his attire was impeccable, and his face bore no trace of resentment. He approached the table with an elegance that made him feel like a complete stranger. He stopped directly behind my chair, and I felt the heavy weight of his hand settle on my shoulder. His fingers were ice-cold.

"My apologies for the delay," he said, his voice so melodic it was disorienting. "I found myself lost in the grounds, admiring the peace of the kingdom. But, of course... I would never miss a dinner with my prince."

He squeezed my shoulder with a strength only I could feel. A silent warning. At that moment, I knew: the real game had just begun.

Chapter Text

Clay took his seat. The atmosphere was so suffocating that I simply focused on my food, refusing to utter a single word.

"It’s wonderful to see the two of you getting along better," the blonde’s mother said, her smile beaming with maternal pride.

"I must admit, Prince Technoblade is quite reserved, but he certainly has his charms," Clay replied. I caught his silhouette out of the corner of my eye; he wore a faint, practiced smile.

What on earth is wrong with him? I wondered.

"Is something the matter, Techno?" Clay asked. Before I could react, he placed his hand over mine. I froze, my heart skipping a beat in pure confusion, until the dining hall doors creaked open once more.

"My apologies for the intrusion," Wilbur announced. He wore an expression of gravity I rarely saw on him.

He approached Philza and leaned in to whisper something. Meanwhile, Clay’s grip on my hand tightened—hard. It wasn't a romantic gesture; it was a warning, a squeeze so forceful it bordered on painful. He was silently commanding me to maintain my composure in front of the others. Wilbur watched us over my father's shoulder, his eyes—those eyes that always seemed to know too much—lingering on our joined hands.

"It seems there is trouble at the border with the Northern Empire," Philza announced, standing up to address Clay's parents. "The messengers claim it’s urgent. I’m afraid we must review the treaties immediately."

Clay’s parents exchanged a worried glance and rose at once. Politics always took precedence over family, especially when the North was involved.

"Go ahead, we’ll finish here," Clay said, his voice soft and reassuring. He finally released my hand, offering his parents a flawless smile. "Don’t worry about us."

As soon as the heavy doors thudded shut behind them and the footsteps of Wilbur and the guards faded down the hall, the silence became razor-sharp. I felt as if Clay were about to stab me, but his approach was more calculated than usual. He took his wine glass, leaned back, and took a slow, deliberate sip while looking at me as if I were a blemish on his perfect world.

"Does your hand hurt, Techno?" he asked, his sarcasm making my blood boil. "Sorry. I suppose I got a bit carried away with the 'affection.' After all, I should be thanking you."

"Thanking me for what?" I growled, rubbing my fingers to bring the feeling back into them.

"Because of you, I’ve been rid of someone who didn't truly deserve my time. George was... a distraction. You helped me realize that in this place, there is no room for sentiment. Only contracts."

He leaned forward, and the smile that had seemed charming moments ago was now laced with pure malice.

"So, congratulations, Prince. You took away the only thing that made this godforsaken hell bearable. I hope you're happy," he said, returning to his meal with a chilling calmness, as if he hadn't just declared war.

"It seems George was more grateful for it than you are," I stood up with my plate, choosing a seat further down the table. I wasn't worried about appearances anymore; I knew the Northern Empire was a heavy hitter, and so was Clay. "Now I see why he didn't want to tell you to your face and preferred I do it instead."

"Lying shouldn't be in a prince's vocabulary," he replied, his voice eerily steady.

"I see you didn't manage to speak with him. Did you fail to find him? Or did he simply refuse to see you? I told you as much." I hesitated for a second, wondering if I should reveal the truth, but something pushed me to lean in. "Let's just say that when I left the ballroom, George found me. He wanted to talk."

"He was quite persistent," I continued, slicing a piece of meat with a serenity I knew would aggravate him. "I had no interest in him; I assumed he came to argue about you. But that wasn't the case."

I waited for a reaction. He only stared at me, his eyes looking like two shards of broken emerald. I took it as a cue to continue.

"He sought me out because he knew you wouldn't listen to him. He said he needed more than what had already been said. He asked me to be the one to say what neither of you dared to, because he knew a part of you would never stop holding on to him."

I kept the rest to myself. I guarded the memory of the look on George’s face when he made me promise I wouldn't let Clay follow him—that I would look out for him. Those words weren't for Clay's ears. Not yet.

Clay dropped his utensils; the clang of metal against porcelain echoed through the hollow room. He stood up slowly, and for a fleeting second, the "perfect knight" cracked. Beneath it was a man who had just lost his last shred of hope for an impossible future.

"I see," he whispered, his voice sounding like glass dragging over stone. "So now you are his protector and his executioner at the same time. How efficient of you, Techno."

He turned toward the exit, but stopped at the threshold without looking back.

"Enjoy your dinner. But prepare yourself for tomorrow. Because if George thinks you are the only man he can trust now... I’m going to make sure there is nothing left of you by the time he realizes his mistake."

He slammed the door shut, leaving me alone with the ringing echo of his threat.

"It seems George was only useful for turning the hero into a villain. I know you're better than that, Clay, but you're challenging me on my own turf. I wish you luck," I whispered to the empty room.

I returned to my meal, strangely more relaxed. I finished my food and headed to my room. I needed to sleep; apparently, my "prince" wants to step into the ring.

Chapter Text

"Wilbur will remain in charge of the crown," Philza announced, looking at his eldest son, who nodded with an uncharacteristic gravity. "Techno, you will oversee the guard; you shall be my eyes and my judgment. We cannot allow our absence to weaken the kingdom."

Wilbur shot me a fleeting look—one that clearly said he wasn't convinced by the arrangement. Phil knew Wilbur had Count George’s help, his right hand; however, he was blissfully unaware that George had been gone for quite some time.

"Techno, for the love of everything, do your job," Phil said, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking at me with genuine worry. "Don't do it for me; do it to take that weight off your brother's back."

"Don't worry," Clay interrupted, his tone sparking an immediate irritation in me. "Technoblade is a man of honor, always ready to help those he loves most. He'll do a stellar job; I trust him implicitly." He wore a smile and a tone of voice that made my skin crawl.

What are you up to, Dream? I thought, looking down as I felt my father's hands pull away.

"We should be back in a few days, darling," Clay’s mother whispered, pulling him into a hug. "I hope you enjoy your stay with the princes."

"Don't worry, Mom," he said, gently pulling away. "I'll be fine. I couldn't ask for better company than Technoblade."

Clay shot me a glance that, to any outsider, might have seemed sweet, but to me, it felt like a countdown to disaster. The carriages departed at dawn, yet the palace already felt hollow. Wilbur retreated to the royal office with a mountain of paperwork and a suspicious look that promised a relentless interrogation later.

I stood in the hallway, watching the silhouette of the kings disappear into the horizon, until I felt a presence behind me. I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

"Nice speech, don't you think?" Clay's voice no longer held a trace of warmth. "My mother almost cried. You're lucky they think you're a saint, Techno."

I turned to face him. He was leaning against a column, fidgeting with his fingers. Despite our rivalry, I knew him well enough to spot when he was nervous. You're playing the tough guy, aren't you, Clay?

"I don't know what you're trying to achieve with this," I replied coldly.

"I want you to understand the rules of my game," he said, taking a step toward me. This time, there was no table to separate us. "Wilbur thinks George left on a family matter. My parents think we're the couple of the year. And you... you think you won."

Clay let out a dry, hollow laugh and pointed at me.

"Tomorrow, first thing on the field. Don't wear the practice armor. I want to see if my prince is as good at protecting himself as he was at 'protecting' George."

He turned around without waiting for a response. Protecting George? I barely even knew the man, I thought, confused. I had only seen him a few times from a distance. Does Wilbur know about this game? I only knew that I didn't want to lose my way, wherever this path was leading. I'm sorry, brother, but I need to see how far Clay is willing to go. I need to find his breaking point.

That night, exhaustion overcame me, but rest remained elusive.

I was walking down a dark hallway that seemed to stretch into infinity. There was no sound except for the rhythmic clank of my armor. It felt unusually heavy on my back. I carried an axe—my axe, apparently. I kept walking until an ethereal, angelic voice echoed through the dark.

"Darling, where are you going so heavily armed? It is not befitting of a prince."

I looked in every direction, but the source of the voice was nowhere to be found. I unslung the axe and continued walking in silence.

"A prince must not be rude; he must always answer even the simplest question, and he must always answer with the absolute truth." The voice belonged to a woman, yet I couldn't recognize her.

"I am no simple prince," I replied curtly.

"Of course you aren't. You are a warrior. But you must learn to separate the actions of the fierce warrior you are from the sweet prince you could be. Princes do not break promises, and great warriors even less so. You have already broken one; I will make sure you don't repeat the mistake, darling."

"I haven't broken any promises. And I am not a 'sweet prince.' There is nothing to separate because I am not mixing them in the first place."

"Tell me my name." "I don't know who you are."

"It seems your roots have withered. You need to be someone they can be proud of, or am I wrong? If you had listened to me that day, what would have become of you, Technoblade? Would you be this same proud boy, fighting the very person you are meant to love?"

"Who are you?" "Who do you think I am?"

This presence was starting to grate on my nerves, but I simply kept walking down that endless corridor.

"You have a beautiful cape; it must have been expensive. But there is one thing that never changes, and that is the color. I like your eyes. They suit the ruthless warrior you pretend to be."

"What do you want?"

"Keep your promise. Does your brother know why George truly left?"

"What? Are you serious? Who the hell are you?" I stopped abruptly, shouting into the void.

"Clay has no more family; his sister left with his parents, Tommy left with your father. Wilbur, Clay, and you... a tragic trio, isn't it? George isn't there to help Wilbur; he only has his little brother. And Clay? Clay has no one. Don't break your promise. Will you miss me?"

Suddenly, I felt a violent tug. I was falling into a bottomless pit, but before I could hit the ground, I bolted upright. I was drenched in a cold sweat; it was the most disturbing dream I had ever endured.

The morning was the coldest in a long time; the chill bit into my very bones, but the dream remained, torturing my mind. I crossed the training yard, the sound of my boots against the stone echoing too loudly in a palace that felt like a graveyard. As I reached the field, the scent of damp earth and cold metal greeted me. Clay's game was about to become all too real.

George, Wilbur, Clay... why that dream? What promise? George’s promise? What promise did I break?

Steel clashed with a force that made my teeth ache. Clay was fighting with a feral rage, but I... I couldn't focus. The voice from the dream kept chanting in my head: "Clay has no one."

In a move I would have dodged with my eyes closed any other day, my foot slipped on the damp grass. My mind went blank. The weight of my own sword betrayed me. I fell hard on my back, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. My sword skidded a few meters away. I lay there, staring at the leaden sky, waiting for the final blow or a stinging insult.

But nothing came.

I looked up. Clay had his sword raised, but his face held no triumph. He looked... frightened. Confused. His green eyes searched mine, looking for the warrior who had humbled him so many times, but all he found was a boy who was physically and mentally shattered.

"Techno... what the hell is wrong with you?" he whispered, slowly lowering his weapon.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I hauled myself up, ignoring the sharp pain in my side, and without even retrieving my sword, I turned away. I walked toward the palace with slow, heavy steps, leaving Clay alone in the mist. I just wanted to reach my room and lock myself away until the world stopped spinning—until it finally gave me an answer.

Chapter Text

I closed the door to my room and sank into the chair at my desk. The silence was heavy, but it paled in comparison to the turmoil inside my head. It wasn't just what the voice had said about Clay’s isolation; it was the accusation of a broken promise—one I didn't even remember making.

"Princes do not break promises."

Frustration gnawed at me, accompanied by a hollow sadness. I felt lost in this elaborate game. Was I a prince? A warrior? A liar? Or was I truly the villain of this story?

The thunderous sound of the door bursting open made me flinch. Clay stormed in, the adrenaline of our combat still coursing through his veins.

— "Techno!" he shouted, standing in the center of the room like a storm cloud. — "What the hell was that? You left me out there like an amateur! If you're going to humiliate me, do it in the fight, not by turning your back on me!"

I turned slowly, but the usual spark of defiance was missing from my eyes. My gaze was distant, weary. I leaned my elbow on the desk, resting my head in my hand.

— "I wasn't humiliating you, Clay. I just... I couldn't stay there," I replied in a hollow whisper. — "I need to figure some things out."

Clay stopped. His aggressive stance faltered when he realized I wasn't striking back with my usual sarcasm. He took a few steps closer, his brow furrowed as he scrutinized me.

— "What are you talking about? You're acting so strange," he said, his fury replaced by a flick of genuine confusion. — "Is it because of what I said last night? Is it about George?"

— "It's not George, Clay. It's something else." I finally looked him in the eye, and for a fleeting second, the "Technoblade" mask vanished completely. — "In the dream... she said I already broke a promise. She spoke of my roots, and how everything I do is wrong. I don't understand."

Clay fell silent. He crossed his arms, but I noticed his fingers nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his tunic.

— "You had a dream, and that’s why you fell like a novice?" he asked, attempting to regain his mocking edge and failing. — "Techno, you're the most calculating person I know. You don't let a mere dream rattle you like this."

— "That's the problem. This wasn't just any dream."

Clay let out a long, weary sigh. For the first time since he arrived at the palace, I heard him pull out the chair across from me. The sound of wood scraping against the floor punctuated the tension.

— "Fine," he said, his voice no longer seeking a confrontation. — "If it wasn't just a dream, then what was it? Who was she?"

I stared at the wood grain of my desk, searching for the right words. The memory was blurred, like a painting left in the rain, but the answer was there.

— "It was my mother. But her voice... it felt like something I’ve spent years trying to ignore. She told me about a promise I broke. I promised her I would miss her."

I looked up at Clay. He was staring back at me, his face etched in total bewilderment.

— "The Queen?" Clay blurted out, frowning. — "Techno, she passed away only a few years ago. You should remember her perfectly; her face is in every corner of this palace."

I remained silent. He understood nothing. To him, "The Queen" was the only mother I could have possibly had. I didn't correct him; I lacked the strength to explain that I was mourning a different face—one that these palace walls had never seen.

— "You wouldn't understand," I replied, looking away.

— "Then make me understand." He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. Unlike the calculated grip at dinner, this touch was gentle. His fingers were still cold, but the gesture itself felt warm.

It seemed the boy who usually wanted to pin me to a wall with his gaze didn't hate me as much as I thought. Suddenly, the door flew open again. Wilbur entered without knocking, his cape disheveled and deep shadows under his eyes. Seeing us there, he let out a sharp, urgent sigh.

— "Techno, I need you in the council room immediately," Wilbur said, completely ignoring Clay’s presence. — "The Northern Empire has sent an ultimatum. There are terms in the treaty I can't decipher without George, and he... he still hasn't shown up."

I stood up slowly, my heart skipping a beat. George, where are you? He hadn't told Wilbur a thing about his departure.

— "Wil, I don't know the first thing about diplomatic law..."

— "I don't need you for the law. I need you because you're my brother, and I have no one else to lean on in this disaster," Wilbur said, a plea in his eyes that made me feel like the worst villain in existence. — "Please."

I glanced back at Clay. He sat there, watching Wilbur’s world crumble because of the secret we shared. The guilt from the dream returned with a vengeance: George wasn't there for Wilbur, and Wilbur only had me.

— "Alright," I replied, my throat dry. — "Let's go."

I followed Wilbur out of the room, feeling Clay’s gaze pinned to my back. This had become so much more than a game. It was a roller coaster, and we were all about to hit the drop.

Chapter Text

— "So? What do you need me for, Wil?" I asked, a knot of nerves tightening in my chest. The desk was so buried under a mountain of paperwork that the wood was no longer visible.

— "I’m looking for one of the old treaties," Wilbur replied frantically, his hands blurring as he shuffled through dozens of scrolls. "They want to cross-reference the original terms. It’s a minor detail, but you know the Emperor; he can be relentlessly insistent."

I walked over to the desk, slid on a pair of reading glasses I found lying there, and began to help. We worked in silence for several minutes until the door creaked open.

— "Do you guys need a hand?" Clay was peering into the room. He looked uncharacteristically hesitant, almost embarrassed to be there.

— "Don't worry..." I started to dismiss him, but Wilbur cut me off.

— "Yes, please. I have to admit, I’m at my wit's end. We’re looking for the treaty between the Northern Empire and the Allied Kingdoms."

Clay stepped into the office, scanning the chaos from a distance.

— "Not to be the bearer of bad news, but none of those papers are treaties. They’re usually kept as large, ceremonial scrolls," he noted, moving toward a different corner of the room. It didn't take him long to return with a handful of documents. — "There are several here with the Empire's seal. I’m not sure which one you need, Wilbur."

While my brother inspected the scrolls, I took a moment to look around. I hadn't spent much time in this office; it was like a miniature library, though instead of stories, it was overflowing with cold, hard records.

— "I see you're enjoying the view," Clay whispered in my ear.

I jumped, startled by his proximity. I stared at him, momentarily speechless. Was this the same man who, moments ago, had looked ready to fight me to the death? The confusion must have been written all over my face.

— "Hmm." The blonde noted my bewilderment. — "Sorry. Let's just call it a 'time-out'."

A ghost of a smile played on his lips before he turned back to Wilbur.

— "Did you find it?"

— "Yes, thank you so much, Dream." Wilbur stood up, clutching the scroll. — "I have to go. Keep me posted on... well, anything."

With that, he hurried out the door.

— "I’m leaving too." I decided to make a break for it. I had no desire to be alone with Clay, but he was faster. He stepped into my path and slammed the door shut with a resounding thud.

— "Can I leave?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady. I just wanted to be alone.

Clay didn't budge. He leaned against the heavy wood, effectively blocking my only exit. The office, which had felt spacious with Wilbur there, now seemed to shrink around us, thick with the scent of old parchment and unspoken words.

— "I asked if I could leave, Clay," I repeated.

— "Just one question, Techno," Clay said. He didn't look like he wanted a fight anymore; he just looked... exhausted. — "Do you think we’re ever going to stop pretending?"

I stopped in my tracks. I took off the reading glasses and set them on Wilbur’s desk, rubbing the bridge of my nose. My headache was becoming unbearable.

— "What are you talking about?"

— "This. The treaties, the dinners, the rehearsed smiles... King Philza and my parents are moving us around like pieces on a chessboard while we slit each other's throats behind their backs."

Clay took a step forward, closing the gap.

— "When you told me about George, I was hurt. I didn't want to believe it; I thought you were just trying to break me. But today, after practice and what happened in your room, I realized that you are just as broken as I am. Maybe more. You were just better at hiding the cracks. Until now."

I remained silent. Broken. Was this hollow feeling what it meant to be broken?

— "I don't know what you're talking about," I lied.

— "Liar. Your eyes give you away." Clay stepped even closer. — "You didn't do it for the contract or the strategy. You did it because, for one second, you stopped being the perfect heir and actually felt something for him. Or maybe..." his voice dropped to a low whisper, — "because of what his departure would do to me."

— "I promised George I would tell you exactly what he said," I replied with a cutting sincerity. — "And because... contrary to what you think, I don't enjoy seeing people trapped. Pretending is the burden of the nobility. You should know that by heart."

We locked eyes. Clay let out a dry, hollow laugh. It wasn't mocking; it was pure weariness.

— "Then we're both hypocrites. Because here we are, trapped with each other while your brother's world falls apart because of us."

I took a step forward, invading his personal space.

— "I didn't tell George to leave, and I suspect you wouldn't have either. I don't see why the guilt should fall on us, Clay."

— "You're wrong! George left because of your fault."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The "time-out" was officially over.

— "We'll settle this tomorrow," I said finally. — "Now, get away from the door."

— "No!"

I tried to push past him, but he pressed a hand against my chest, stopping me in my tracks.

— "You called me the coward... but look at you now, desperate to run away."

I wrapped my hand around his wrist and slowly, deliberately, moved his hand away from my chest.

— "What do you want?" I crossed my arms. Escaping would be easy, but it would only lead to more blood.

Our faces were inches apart. I could feel his breath—an annoying, warm intrusion—but I refused to back down. Clay finally looked away, his expression softening into a flicker of sadness.

— "Tell me the truth," he said at last. — "How much did George really tell you? That couldn't have been everything, Techno. Tell me the rest."

Chapter Text

There truly wasn't much more behind what I had already told him. However, there was something.

— "There’s not much more to say. The rest is irrelevant, don’t worry about it."

The blonde only sighed. — "It doesn’t matter. Tell me what happened. I want to know everything that occurred before George decided to fade away."

I decided to pull away; the distance between us had grown dangerously short.

— "Is it truly necessary for you to know it all?" — "No, but..." He held my gaze once more. — "I truly want to."

Everything felt so strange, as if we were drifting back to the beginning. It was as if the world had reset—as if the Clay who wanted to execute me at all costs had vanished into the shadows without warning. Was it because he believed I was "broken"?

— "Fine. But on one condition. This time, we play my game. Yours has grown weary."

The blonde simply nodded.

— "Hmmm..." I pondered my words. There really wasn't much more. Yes, I had omitted certain details, but I suppose it made no difference now.

— "Tell me what happened before that, too. You vanished instantly. I searched for you in the hall, but you were already gone. That’s why I came to your room."

Clay moved away from the door, a silent gesture of trust, as if he knew I wouldn't flee. He paced toward a window, where the pale light hit the desk.

— "That wasn't part of our deal," I said, crossing my arms as a small laugh—a mere huff of air—escaped my lips. — "It is now." He turned his face slightly toward me, but he hesitated, returning his gaze to the glass. — "We also agreed to play my game," I reminded him, leaning my weight against the door.

— "Fine," he let out a ghost of a laugh. — "If you don't wish to tell me, it's no matter."

I was struck by how well Clay was navigating the silence, so I finally chose to speak.

— "Let’s just say I was... unsettled," I said, pausing to find the right note. — "That’s no surprise. I assume you noticed, which is why you had to take the lead, isn't it?"

The blonde remained silent; he only gave a slow nod.

— "Well... that was the reason I fled. Then, when I reached the hall—"

Clay cut me off abruptly. — "Why were you so nervous? It's almost impressive you didn't stumble, considering how much you were trembling."

— "Let’s just say you’re talking to the best," I shrugged, and the blonde merely rolled his eyes at my shield of arrogance. — "You weren't nervous about being 'the best,' Techno." — "No... I wasn't."

I turned my eyes away from him. It was a fragile thing to admit—that I was shaken because of Tommy.

— "Then why?" I could feel his curiosity like a physical weight, and for some reason, it brought a faint smile to my mind. — "It was over something trivial..." I sighed, the sound heavy in the room. — "It was Tommy. But not just him; it was Wilbur. He questioned me, said things... Tommy had shouted the truth for the whole world to hear. Except your parents, of course."

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to maintain my composure despite the lingering shame of that moment. Clay watched me, and I braced myself for a barb, a joke, or a sting. But none came.

— "I was a little nervous too, in truth," Clay confessed. — "I know I said we’d done that a thousand times, but you were right: this felt... different."

I stayed silent, letting his confession hang in the air of Wilbur's office. For a heartbeat, this place felt like a sanctuary, a place where the masks we wore didn't fit. But then, the ghost of George in the hallway—the tears, the trembling voice—invaded the room. If this was my game, I had to be honest.

— "There’s something else, Clay," I blurted out. The blonde, who was just beginning to relax against the window frame, turned to stone.

— "I told you I wanted it all, Techno. No half-truths. Not now."

I walked toward the desk, my palms meeting the bite of the cold wood.

— "George didn't just ask me to tell you he was gone. He made me swear a vow. He asked me to be the one at your side—but not the way you imagine. He begged me not to let you follow him. He knew that if you did, you would only succeed in destroying one another."

Clay let out a dry, hollow laugh, a sound stripped of all grace. He pushed off the window, stalking toward me with slow, predatory steps.

— "Are you telling me that George—the man who loved me—asked you to be my jailer? To control me?" His voice rose, a sharp blade of disbelief. — "I don't believe a word. You're spinning lies to keep the reins, to gloat because you hold his final wish. George would never do this to me."

— "It is no lie, Clay. He asked me to stay. To remain with you despite the storm," I replied, my gaze unyielding even as the room turned to ice. — "He knew your heart was impulsive. He knew you’d trade your crown for him and be hunted like a beast. He chose me because he knew I am the only one cold enough to keep such a promise."

Clay stopped just inches from me. I could feel the ragged heat of his breath. The sanctuary was gone, replaced by a man bleeding from wounds he refused to see.

— "You’re a cynic," he spat, his eyes shifting into broken emeralds of rage. — "You weave this 'protector' myth just to justify the pleasure you'll take in seeing me trapped. There is no vow, Techno. Only an ambitious prince who saw an opening to bury his rival and took it."

— "Believe what you must, but George was never my rival," I said, my own patience finally snapping. — "But he left trusting I would be a man of my word. So prepare yourself. If you take a single step out of this kingdom to find him, you will find me in your way. And I promise you, I will not be as kind as I am when we play at swords."

Clay looked at me with a hatred that burned, yet beneath the fire, there was a flicker of doubt. The haunting realization that George was, indeed, capable of such a sacrifice. Without another word, he turned, the door swinging open as he stood framed in the exit.

— "Enjoy your victory for now, Techno," he said, his back to me. — "But never forget... we are both broken toys. Just a different kind."

He slammed the door with a violence that made the very walls tremble. I was left alone in the silence, with the echo of his words and the weight of a promise that was already starting to feel like a curse.

Chapter Text

"People will always prefer something new over something broken and dismantled... or so I thought. Until you arrived."

— "He’s an idiot," I thought as I walked toward the garden.

— "George, what have you done? Did you really do it?" I whispered to myself.

I was angry, sad, confused; and yet, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't simply walk away and never come back. I was trapped. My heart was hammering too hard against my ribs, and tears threatened to betray me. When I stood before the garden door, I felt I lacked the strength to open it; my body simply wouldn't respond.

— "Technoblade..." I whispered before letting out a sigh.

I stood there for a moment, replaying everything that had happened in the office until, with one sudden movement, I pushed the door open. The air was cold, but at least the mist had cleared. I took a seat on the bench, my gaze lost in my own hands—those hands that had touched George so many times. Now, they would have to forget him and grow accustomed to his skin.

Suddenly, I broke. I buried my face in my hands, and the sound of my own sobbing echoed in my ears. I felt like one of those porcelain pieces that falls: even if you glue them back together, the cracks are always there, reminding you that you are no longer the same.

Trying to catch my breath, I looked toward the corner of the cuttings and approached them with stumbling steps. My fingers brushed the one that had begun to wither; it was turning brown, losing the vitality it once possessed. It looked so lonely, so out of place... just like me. I sat before them and, in the silence of the garden, memories struck me. I remembered that night in the village, when I tackled Technoblade to the ground. I remembered the fury in his eyes and the clash of our blades at the start of all this. Back then, the only thing that mattered was winning so I could run back to George. Triumph meant nothing if I couldn't share it with him.

But now, looking at the withered stem, I thought that perhaps Technoblade wasn't the monster everyone painted him to be. Perhaps he, too, was fighting an internal battle I couldn't see; after all, that dream seemed to haunt him.

— "It’s complicated sometimes, isn't it?" I spoke to them in a broken whisper. — "Sometimes you have to move forward with someone who suffers as much as you do, or even more, but who prefers to treat others like trash rather than show their pain."

Tears blurred my vision again.

— "They tear you away from what you thought was your 'purpose' to force you to grow far from it. And that hurts. It always hurts. You don't know if you'll make it."

I caressed the dry cutting with bitterness, but my eyes drifted toward the healthy one—the one still struggling to take root despite the cold.

— "However..." a small spark of determination flickered in my chest, — "despite the odds, you might actually succeed."

While I was lost in thought, the sound of creaking wood jolted me back to reality. Someone was coming. Panic surged through me; I wiped my tears desperately, rubbing my cheeks until they burned, trying to reclaim an air of dignity I felt I had lost. I expected anyone: a guard, Wilbur, even Tommy... but my bad luck decided to play its best card.

There he was. The person with whom, no matter how hard we tried to let things flow, something always ended up breaking.

I know he tries. Techno can act like a jerk most of the time, but before all this, he was even worse. The fact that he had revealed his dream to me was an unthinkable step forward; the great Technoblade, the expressionless warrior, showing a crack in his armor. I suppose that, just like me, he was also seeking this place to escape the suffocation of the palace.

I tried to pretend the shimmer in my eyes was from exhaustion and not from weeping, but my swollen eyelids gave me away. He stood paralyzed in the doorway, like a marble statue. His expression was serious, almost severe, and we found ourselves trapped in a mutual gaze that felt eternal.

— "I suppose it went worse than I imagined," I thought before leaving the office.

I had no idea where the blonde had gone, but it was better if we didn't see each other for a while; I was already fed up with this emotional rollercoaster.

— "Who would have thought the only words we’d ever cross would be the ones leading to my ruin, George," I whispered.

I walked toward my room, a long path ahead.

— "George, George, George..." I sighed dejectedly. — "Agh." I brought my hand to my forehead to cover part of my face. — "Who would have thought my brother's count would leave him over something so foolish? Or that he could even cause so many problems."

I stopped suddenly near a door: the entrance to the garden. I thought about it for a moment and prepared to open it, but I didn't expect to find the brat there.

I didn't know what to do. I thought about turning back without a word, but something held me back. We simply looked into each other's eyes. It was all too easy to notice he had been crying; his nose was red—it could have been the cold—but the contours of his eyes were too, and his gaze reflected a profound sadness.

I hated to admit it, but seeing his pride shattered turned my stomach. It wasn't the victory I was looking for; there was no glory in watching him wither in such a beautiful garden.

Chapter Text

— "I’m sorry," I said, taking a brief pause. "I think I should go."

I was immediately interrupted by Clay. — "Don’t go." His expression remained grave. — "I don’t think it’s for the best," I replied, turning away. — "Please," the blonde exclaimed.

I stopped. I didn't know why he wanted me to stay; our relationship only seemed to grow stranger by the second. But I knew that if I didn't stay, no one else would. Besides, I would be breaking my promise. I let out a heavy sigh before answering.

— "Fine. But I don’t want to talk about George, or anyone else. I don’t want to argue again; it’s not worth it."

I turned back toward him, searching for an answer. He simply nodded and averted his gaze. Standing before the flowerpots, he sat down; I merely closed the door behind me and leaned my weight against it, crossing my arms.

— "Well?" I asked, feeling a mix of awkwardness and a strange, budding nervousness.

Again, there was no verbal response—only a confused look and a face full of naivety. I raised an eyebrow at his expression.

— "You asked me to stay," I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. "I assume you need something."

I tried to avoid eye contact. Long seconds of a torturous silence passed until, finally, the blonde spoke.

— "I don’t know. I just felt like I needed company." His eyes now betrayed a weariness, but it wasn't a physical one. — "If you want, you can leave," he added before looking away.

I watched him for a few moments. We were both exhausted. Time was moving too slowly; so many things had happened at once that it felt as if months had passed, even though it had only been a few days. I must admit, the absence of our elders lightened the atmosphere a bit. I didn't respond to his suggestion; instead, I walked toward him and took a seat by his side, keeping a respectful distance. Clay just looked at me and offered a small smile.

The air grew heavy with awkwardness. After that smile, there wasn't a single sound. He seemed calm, but he didn't look like he intended to speak. My curiosity pricked at me, urging me to say something—to ask if those tears he shed were because of me.

— "So," I broke the silence nervously, "what happened?"

Clay looked at me, startled; he hadn't expected that question.

— "I mean, if we’re going to be here, at least I don't want it to be uncomfortable," I said, crossing my arms. Because of my comment, the blonde smiled again.

— "Your condition was not to talk about George," he noted, taking a moment. — "Hypocrite."

A light laugh escaped his lips. For some reason, it didn't bother me that he called me that. Usually, I wouldn't say a word and would simply walk away, but this time, I felt a sharp pinch in my chest; I had never felt anything like it, and I didn't know what it meant.

— "I’d rather talk about George than sit here with you in silence. I know it’s not the best of conversations, so I can leave if you wish, Clay." A malicious smile played on my lips.

A groan came from the blonde—something akin to a tantrum.

— "I propose something better," Clay said with a playful grin. — "Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. — "Let’s say I’d like to..." He paused, looking nervous. — "...get to know you better."

I was stunned. The surprise was clear on my face; I didn't know how to respond. No one had ever asked to know me—not beyond the surface.

— "I know it might be a bit strange, but at some point, we should get to know each other for real, right?" He began to fidget with his fingers. — "However, you can leave if you don't feel comfortable with that, Techno."

I wanted to tell him that it didn't bother me—that my lack of an answer was only due to the shock.

— "What do you propose?" was all that left my mouth, my tone serious and authoritative. — "I propose anything... whatever we want to ask the other." — "I don’t want to ask you anything," I replied, disinterested. — "But I do," he exclaimed. — "Then fire away."

The blonde still looked nervous.

— "Come on, I’m not going to slit your throat for asking a question, kid," I let out a soft chuckle. — "Kid?" He let out a small laugh. — "Fine then, Techno... how old are you?" — "How old are you, little prince?" I was aware that he was no longer sixteen, but twenty years isn't exactly a lifetime either. I preferred to know his age before revealing mine. — "I asked first." — "Yes, but it's for... protection. Besides, in case you forgot, we’re no longer playing your game."

— "Twenty-four," he blurted out. For a moment, the weight of that number seemed to straighten his posture. He fixed his gaze on me, defiant. — "So stop calling me 'kid.' I highly doubt you have a decade on me."

I remained silent. I allowed myself to observe him, realizing the irony of the situation. He was older than me, yes, but in his eyes, there was still a shimmer of naivety—the kind that training and rivalries had stripped from me before I even turned fifteen.

— "Age is just a number, little prince," I finally replied, my tone a mixture of mockery and a hint of defeat.

There was no tantrum this time. Only a silence that melted into the morning cold. While I continued to feel that strange weight in my chest—the one I still didn't know how to name—I accepted that, for some reason, I was no longer in any hurry to leave.

— "If it’s just a number, then why won't you tell me yours? Or are you the real 'Little Prince Techno'?" — "Pffft." I huffed at that. — "Of course I'm not a 'little prince.' It’s just that you aren't worthy of knowing my age."

The blonde just scoffed at my comment. It annoyed me slightly, but I decided to let it go.

— "Next question. But make sure this one is at least somewhat interesting."

Chapter Text

Clay fell silent for a moment, as if he were weighing his words. He settled onto the wooden bench and looked at me directly, with a seriousness that made my shoulders tense.

— "Why are you still here, Techno?" his voice was soft, stripped of that irony we had been hurling at each other. "You don't have to be. You could have gone back long ago, or just left me alone with my silence the moment you saw I had no intention of escaping. Yet, you chose to sit down... you stayed here, with me."

I froze. I hadn't expected him to be so blunt. I opened my mouth to let out some excuse about duty, Phil’s orders, or even George's promise, but the words got stuck in my throat. Did he really want me to admit that George's absurd promise was the only thing keeping me here? His emerald gaze wasn't asking for a lie; it was demanding something I wasn't ready to give.

I was about to say something—anything to get my guard back up—when the sound of the wooden door, coupled with the metallic clink of armor, rang in our ears.

— "My lord, Prince Clay," the voice of a guard on duty broke the bubble instantly. "I was sent to find you; it’s getting late and you are requested in the East Wing for tomorrow's preparations."

The guard stopped a few meters away, staring straight ahead, completely ignoring the tension he had just murdered. Clay sighed; that spark of curiosity in his eyes went out, replaced by his usual mask of weariness. The truce was over.

— "Give us a moment, please," I said, a bit nervously.

— "As you wish, my lord. Also, I must inform you that the Prince of the Northern Empire, Sapnap, was looking for you, Prince Clay. He requested an audience with Prince Wilbur first."

After saying that, the guard retraced his steps, leaving us alone again, but the atmosphere had shifted entirely. Wilbur’s name floated between us like a warning. Had something else happened with the Northern Empire? The silence grew heavy. I glanced at Clay; he looked lost in his own thoughts, as if that name had summoned a ghost.

I didn't say it out loud, but seeing Sapnap head to Wilbur’s quarters sparked immediate distrust in me. It wasn't that I knew the prince intimately—we’d barely traded words at official receptions—but I knew he wasn't a man of unnecessary protocols. If he was seeking Wilbur before his own "best friend," logic suggested it was a state matter, something political that Wilbur had to filter first.

However, something didn't fit. I knew from court rumors that Sapnap was one of the few who held blind loyalty toward Clay and, by extension, George. Perhaps they weren't discussing war, but something more irritating: a search for answers about George’s departure. Sapnap seemed like the kind of noble who would move heaven and earth for his loved ones, even if it meant negotiating with someone as unpredictable as my brother.

Clay stood up, shaking out his clothes with an automatic gesture that betrayed his anxiety.

— "I have to go," he said, and this time his voice held no trace of the softness from before. "If Sapnap is talking to him... I need to know what cards are on the table."

— "Do you mean if those cards include you or the Northern Empire?" My tone was serious; the blonde's desperation to go where he wasn't invited irritated me.

— "It’s best to just go to breakfast. Let them finish their talk; after all, I don't think you want to interrupt, and I doubt it's just a casual chat." I stood up beside him and stared at him, waiting for an answer that never came.

— "I’ll wait for you in the dining hall," I said before entering the palace alone.

It was annoying to see how the mere mention of Sapnap made Clay want to run to his side. I know they’re best friends, or at least very close; everyone knows it. But if he’s with Wilbur, it’s for a reason; after all, Wilbur is the one taking the reins of this kingdom in Phil’s absence. I didn't want to meddle in affairs that didn't concern me, but in this place, even the silence of an empty hallway had political implications.

I walked through the marble corridors, hearing only the echo of my own boots. The palace was beginning to wake up; the smell of freshly baked bread and wood wax floated in the air, but it couldn't wash the bitter taste from my mouth. I wondered how much the prince knew that I didn't, and what the reason was for his audience with my brother. I reached the Great Hall. I sat in my usual spot, staring at the empty chair across from me. If Clay decided to defy me and go after Sapnap, I’d just have to accept it and swallow my pride.

I crossed my arms and fixed my eyes on the double doors. Every second that passed without the blonde appearing was a small defeat that stung my pride. I was about to give up, but to my surprise, the large doors swung open to reveal a defeated-looking Clay. He caught my eye and gave me a look that said, "you won." I just smiled at the gesture, and the blonde took his seat.

— "I thought you weren't coming," I said as I waited for breakfast to be served.

— "Let's just say it wasn't my first choice, but after thinking about it... you were right. I wanted to know if that talk had anything to do with me... or George," he finally admitted.

The dining hall fell silent until breakfast was brought to the table. Clay toyed with the edge of his napkin, not really touching the food.

— "You still haven't answered me," Clay blurted out suddenly. His voice no longer sounded defeated, but inquisitive. "And don't try to blame the guard; you're not getting out of this one, Techno."

I felt a slight heat at the back of my neck. Clay was smarter than I gave him credit for.

— "I was waiting for you to calm down," I replied, looking for the most logical excuse. "I couldn't leave you alone in that state; it would have been irresponsible."

— "You could have watched me from the door," he countered, leaning over the table a bit. "But you chose the bench. You chose to be by my side. Is it so hard to admit that you wanted to stay, or that you wanted to spend time with this 'lonely little prince'?"

I remained silent, searching for a reply that wouldn't leave me exposed, when the thunder of the double doors interrupted us.

— "Seems we're late for breakfast," it was Wilbur. Beside him stood Sapnap, who was looking at Clay with a certain joy.

— "It seems your chat was more interesting than breakfast. I just hope Phil and Clay's parents are settling everything over there," I looked at Sapnap coldly.

— "Don't worry, Prince Technoblade. For now, most of the matter is under control, though the Kings will delay their return a bit," Sapnap held a smile with a hint of malice.

— "So..." Clay paused. "May we know what you were talking about?"

Wilbur exchanged a quick look with Sapnap before sitting down with an irritating elegance. He poured himself some tea, enjoying the control he had over the silence.

— "We talked about many things, Clay," Wilbur replied in a dangerously calm and playful tone. "About the border, about the patience your parents seem to be losing with the Emperor... and about how this palace feels a bit empty without the presence of certain people."

Sapnap took a step forward, resting a hand on the back of the chair next to Clay.

— "Let's just say Wilbur and I reached an agreement," Sapnap intervened, his gaze shifting toward me. "Since the Kings will be late in returning, we've decided my favorite prince needs... a change of scenery. We can't let him wither away in this miserable dining hall every day, can we, Technoblade?"

The pinch in my chest returned. Sapnap wasn't just plotting something to cheer Clay up; they were dragging me along with him. I’d be a fool not to know what they were up to.

— "A change of scenery?" I repeated icily. "My orders are to guard the prince, not take him on a stroll while the kingdom is in an unstable situation."

— "Oh, it won't be a stroll, little brother," Wilbur smirked, and I liked that smile even less than Sapnap's. "It will be an expedition. And you, as the kingdom's best warrior and the one in charge, will, of course, lead the way."

Chapter Text

— "What do you mean, an expedition?" I blurted out, feeling distrust crawl up my spine. My voice came out harsher than I intended. "This is no time for excursions, Wilbur."

Wilbur remained unfazed. He simply glanced at Sapnap, who maintained that smug expression that irritated me so much.

— "It’s not an excursion, Techno. It’s a routine inspection of the outposts in the Northern Forest," Wilbur explained, though his eyes held that conspiratorial spark. "Sapnap insists that Clay needs to see that the world keeps turning outside these walls, and I agree. A couple of days away will do you both some good."

I stared at Sapnap. There was something in his posture—a certainty that told me this wasn't just about "fresh air." Then I understood: Sapnap was using Wilbur. He had shared privileged information—details only he knew—to convince my brother this trip was necessary. But Sapnap’s plan was twofold. He knew that as long as we were locked in here, Clay would remain a soul in pain and I, his jailer. By orchestrating this exit, he was forcing us to coexist in a place where the labels of "prince" and "guard" become blurred. He wanted us to stop being strangers by force.

Sapnap leaned toward Clay, lowering his voice with a confidence that made my companion’s heart skip a beat.

— "Trust me, Clay," Sapnap said. "If Wilbur agrees to this trip, it’s because he knows it’s the first step toward understanding what happened to George. You won’t get answers sitting in this dining hall."

Clay drew a sharp breath. His eyes widened. He didn't need more. The mere indirect mention that this trip brought him closer to the truth about his friend was enough to ignite a spark of will I hadn't seen in him for days.

— "I’ll go," Clay declared firmly. He stood up, looking at Wilbur and then at me. "Get ready, Techno. Because if Sapnap says this is necessary, I don’t plan on wasting another second locked up in here."

I sat there for a moment longer, watching Sapnap and Wilbur exchange a knowing look. I felt like a puppet that others moved at their whim. I knew Sapnap was plotting something to "unite" us—a forced truce in the middle of the woods—and though it annoyed me to be part of his social experiment, I couldn't deny that the thought of leaving the palace was the only thing that could calm the restlessness I’d felt since Clay asked me why I had stayed with him on that bench.

— "You don't need to pack everything, Clay. We’re only going to keep watch for a few days," I exclaimed, annoyed because the blonde wanted to pack every last change of clothes he owned. "Don't make the poor horse's trip any heavier."

— "I just wanted to be prepared," Clay replied while trying to choose the only garments he would take.

— "If you want to be prepared, get your sword ready; that’s the first thing that should be set," I said, crossing my arms as I watched an indecisive Clay.

— "Why are you even here annoying me? Don't tell me you have everything ready already?" the blonde stammered.

— "I am always ready. Someone like you wouldn't understand," I said with my usual air of superiority.

— "Seems like you’re always ready for a war or something. Someday you’ll have to relax and lower your guard, Techno." There was a hint of mockery in his words that irritated me slightly.

— "It’s not that. It’s just habit, Clay. Years ago, I used to go to the forest with Wilbur. We’d go whenever he had nothing to do, so I always kept my bag ready just in case. A few months ago, I started going on my own. It wasn't planned; it just depended on my mood."

— "So, the boy is still waiting for one more day where his brother tells him they’re going on an expedition to the forest, isn’t that right, Techno?" The blonde looked away from his things and stared at me. It was a gaze that made me uncomfortable, making me want to leave that very instant.

— "Let’s just say you’re lucky I’m forced to return with you, little prince. If I didn't have that obligation, make no mistake, I’d leave you in the woods to your own luck."

— "How romantic. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time," he let out a small laugh, stood up, and grabbed his bag.

— "Whatever. Let’s go," I replied grumpily.

— "Wait, I still need to get my sword and my bow!" The blonde seemed frantic, though it was normal—he was forgetting the most important things.

— "Fine. I’ll wait for you in the stables then. Don’t be late. The later we leave, the longer it’ll take us. And let your friend know you’ll be riding with him."

I walked toward the stables with a firm step, leaving the chaos of Clay's room behind. As I entered, the familiar scent of hay and leather gave me a silent welcome. I approached the last stall, where a robust horse with an impeccable coat whinnied softly at my presence.

— "Easy, Carl," I whispered, running my hand down his neck. "We’re going on a trip. And yes, the little prince is coming with us, so have some patience."

Carl snorted, as if he understood my annoyance perfectly. I began securing the saddle straps with mechanical, precise movements. As I tightened the cinches, Clay’s words returned to my mind: "Is the boy still waiting for one more day where his brother tells him they’re going out?"

I clenched my teeth. It was absurd. I wasn't waiting for Wilbur; I was no longer that child seeking approval. Yet, as I looked at the empty saddle my brother used to occupy on our past expeditions, I felt a strange void. Wilbur was too busy conspiring with Sapnap to notice that his "best warrior" was heading into the lion's den alone.

For a moment, I felt my eyes fill with tears until a rebellious one fell down my cheek. I quickly wiped them away so no one could notice; pride was the only thing I had left standing in this palace of intrigue.

— "Oh, Carl..." I hugged my faithful companion’s neck, burying my face in his mane for a second. "We have to be strong. We have to prove we can handle everything and that we don't need anyone else."

I stayed like that, listening to the animal’s steady breathing. Clay’s words had hit me right where it hurt most, opening a crack I tried to ignore.

— "I hate missing the good times," I confessed in a whisper only Carl could hear. "Because when my world crumbles, it crumbles even more remembering there were moments when I was happy."

Happiness was a double-edged sword: it made you remember what you had lost. Wilbur was no longer the brother who took me to the forest for fun; now he was a stranger who used me as a chess piece—and only sometimes was he my brother.

I heard footsteps approaching through the stone corridor and immediately pulled away from Carl, regaining my rigid posture. I tightened the last strap of my bag with unnecessary force, trying to hide my moment of weakness just before Clay’s silhouette appeared at the stable entrance carrying his bow.

— "Seems there’s bad news," the blonde confessed. I just looked at Carl, having not the slightest intention of looking at him. "What happened? Where is the Imperial Prince?"

— "That’s the problem. He said he wasn't coming with us. He excused himself, saying Wilbur needed help with some things."

Sapnap’s absence was expected, since in the end, what they wanted was for us to get along a little better. Begging or arguing would be useless, and I’d be lying if I said I didn't want to head out like the old times—the only difference being that instead of Wilbur, Clay would be my companion.

— "Then there’s no point in begging him," I exclaimed before leading Carl out of the stall.

— "Are we still going with the plan?" the blonde asked naively.

— "I don't have a plan. If you want to come, fine. If not, even better; that way Carl won't get as tired." I started walking out of the stable with the horse, leaving the blonde behind.

— "Hey!" Clay shouted, quickening his pace to get ahead of me and block my path. "Do you think I'm that heavy?" A clear annoyance could be heard in his tone.

I scanned the blonde from head to toe. — "Let’s just say you aren't as light as you think. Now move."

Clay just sighed and begrudgingly stepped out of the way. — "I didn't know the horse had a name." He tried to find a way to mock me, though he wouldn't find one, at least for now.

— "If your horse doesn't have a name, it’s because you don't respect him for what he is. They are very useful animals that make our work easier. Besides, Carl grew up with me; since he arrived, he’s been my companion." I stopped suddenly, knowing it was time to depart.

— "And since he’s my horse and I don't trust you to handle Carl, I’ll mount first." After saying that, I got on the horse, expecting some complaint from the blonde, but it never came.

— "I just hope you don't throw me to the ground, Techno," he teased lightly and subsequently mounted behind me.

— "You’ll only fall if you don't hold on tight, and if you do fall, consider that I won’t let you forget that moment." After that, I gave Carl the signal to move. I only felt Clay’s body wobble slightly before he placed his grip on me.

We reached the main entrance where the afternoon sun beat down hard against the white stones of the path. Wilbur and Sapnap were there, standing and enjoying this torture. Carl stopped with an impatient whinny, shaking his head.

— "Well, look at that," Sapnap blurted out as soon as he saw us. He approached us with that relaxed walk that always made me want to kick him. "Carl finally accepted an extra passenger. I thought that horse was as surly and stubborn as his owner." Sapnap joked, approaching us with a leather bag. "Here, Clay, so you don't starve on Techno's military rations."

Clay took it with a grateful smile. I limited myself to giving him a cold look, but Sapnap wasn't intimidated. He came to my side and, with irritating confidence, gave my boot a friendly tap.

— "If you guys are back before three days are up, Techno, I’ll assume you couldn't take it and threw him off a cliff," he joked with a laugh, though his eyes shone with the spark of someone who knows their plan is working.

— "Don't give me ideas, Sapnap," I growled, adjusting the reins. "There’s still time for that cliff to be your destination if you keep talking."

— "Whoa, relax, Prince!" Sapnap held up his hands, feigning fear, before looking at Clay, who was still clinging to my waist. "Take care, Clay. And remember, if this grouch won't talk to you, you can always use his cape to tie a knot around his neck."

Clay let out a little laugh behind me. I could feel the vibration of his chest against my back and how his fingers tightened a bit more on my clothes from the movement of the laugh. I grew more rigid, if that was even possible.

— "Enough games," Wilbur intervened. He took a step forward, and his joker mask vanished to reveal the Crown Prince. "Techno, you have a clear task. Keep your eyes open. The forest is not the palace, and the dangers there don't always warn before they strike."

I looked my brother in the eyes. There was something in his warning that wasn't just protocol; it was a silent order to take care of what really mattered on this trip. I gave a slight nod.

— "Return whole," Wilbur finished, stepping back to leave the path clear.

— "Expect nothing less," I replied.

I gave Carl a silent command, and the horse began to trot toward the large exit arch. The sound of hooves on stone echoed with a force that seemed to mark the rhythm of my heart. For a moment, as we crossed the threshold, the world felt immense, and the two of us, on the back of a single horse, felt dangerously small.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes the worst ideas turn into some of the best experiences you could ever have.”

The sound of Carl’s hooves changed as we left the stone path behind. The sharp, dry tapping was replaced by a dull crunch over damp earth and withered leaves. As we delved deeper into the Northern Forest, the sunlight began to filter capriciously through the canopy of ancient pines, creating a play of light and shadow that forced me to strain my eyes.

The silence was almost absolute, interrupted only by Carl’s occasional snort and the brush of branches against our cloaks. But what dazed me most wasn't the surroundings; it was the constant pressure of Clay’s arms around my waist. I could feel his breath near the nape of my neck—a rhythmic reminder that I was no longer alone on my expeditions.

— "Is it always this quiet?" Clay asked. His voice, though low, shattered the forest’s calm like a clap of thunder.

— "Only when there’s no one complaining," I replied without looking back, keeping my eyes fixed ahead. "The forest has its own rules, Clay. If you learn to be still, you might hear that it’s not as empty as it seems."

I felt Clay tense slightly behind me. I knew that for someone who had spent his life surrounded by servants, music, and the bustle of the court, this solitude was intimidating. For me, however, it was the only place where I felt I could breathe—though today, with him pressed against my back, the air felt strangely dense.

— "I didn't mean it like that," he stammered, shifting in the saddle. "It’s just... in the palace, everything feels so small now. Here, it feels like the trees are watching us."

— "That’s because they are," I stated with a slight smirk he couldn't see. "And if you don't want to give them a reason to attack, you’d better save that energy for when we have to set up camp. We still have several hours to go before the first stop."

— "I hope you can keep your promise to Wilbur about us arriving in one piece." Clay’s grip tightened.

His hold wasn't just for safety; it was the grip of someone clinging to the only constant in a world that had suddenly become too vast and wild. It annoyed me—or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself every time the heat of his chest seeped through my cloak—but the forest was too treacherous to waste time on complaints that wouldn't change the fact that we were now two on Carl’s back.

— "I’m surprised you’re questioning that, knowing who is leading this 'mission.' Besides, if you’re always going to be fearful and dependent on me, you’re only going to make my job harder," I said, trying to shrug off his hold. It was in vain; he loosened his grip slightly, but it remained odd and uncomfortable.

— "Let’s just say the outskirts of the kingdom are practically unknown to me. I didn't have a brother to guide me like you did, Techno."

— "Regardless, you’re either born with the talent or you aren't. You can be good at something without practice, or you can be terrible despite trying. I’ve always enjoyed the lands outside the castle, despite how dangerous they can be for nobility." I glanced back at Clay for a moment before returning my gaze to the trail.

Most of the path was silent. We encountered no trouble other than the awkwardness reigning between us. Occasionally, Clay would make a comment and I would limit myself to a curt response, until we reached our first stop: an abandoned watchtower. Wilbur and I used to spend nights here before pushing further. Beside it ran a beautiful river of crystal-clear water.

— "This will be our first stop. Usually, we’d just eat something and move on, but since we left late, the night would catch us in the woods. That’s not a great idea; the terrain has changed a lot since the last time I was here." The blonde simply nodded.

I dismounted nimbly and led Carl to the river. — "Clay, you have to let go of Carl," I called out.

— "What if something happens and he runs off?" Clay’s tone sounded worried.

A groan escaped my lips. — "Carl isn't going anywhere. He knows what he’s doing. Now go on, leave him be. You’re too heavy."

The blonde grumbled and clumsily tried to dismount, but he hadn't accounted for his foot getting snagged. He was about to fall into the river. Instinctively, I yanked his arm toward me, but I didn't realize I had pulled with such force that he fell right onto me, knocking me to the ground with him on top.

— "I told you you were heavy," I sighed. "Now get off me."

The blonde’s face was a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. His cheeks turned a light crimson, and he seemed paralyzed. I sat up, bringing us face to face.

— "Clay? Are you alright?" I asked, more out of duty than actual concern.

We were so close I could count the freckles the sun was beginning to dot across his nose. Clay didn't move; he stayed there, caught between panic and something I couldn't quite decipher, while the sound of the river hitting the stones was the only thing filling the space between us. His eyes searched mine for something—an answer, or perhaps an apology—but I only wanted the weight of his body to stop reminding me that, after all, I wasn't as indifferent to his presence as I pretended to be in front of Wilbur.

Suddenly, he snapped out of it and panicked. — "Uh, yeah, yeah. Sorry," he said, scrambling off me as I stood up.

— "I thought riding a horse was basic knowledge." I approached Carl to remove the saddle so he could rest.

— "Yeah, I know. I just never thought I’d actually need it." He stood up and grabbed his bag.

— "You should be careful with rivers. This time of year, if you fall in and don't have what you need to get warm, you could easily get hypothermia. The sun might be burning, but the water is always like a block of ice."

After the incident, we gathered our things. I decided not to tie Carl up; he is an impressively intelligent horse and always returns when needed. We went up into the tower to eat and pass the time, as it was equipped with the essentials.

— "I see a glint in your eyes," Clay teased.

— "Throwing you off a cliff is still an option," I shot back curtly, and Clay just huffed.

The place was covered in dust; no one had been here in a long time, but in a way, that relieved me. Clay sat on the bed.

— "Do you want to eat now? Or would you rather wait?"

— "Hmm..." Clay thought for a moment. "I don't know. I’m not really hungry right now."

— "You’re lucky we’re spending the night here," I said, my tone mocking.

— "Then I’m a lucky prince," Clay retorted, letting out a small laugh as he leaned back on the wooden cot.

— "Don't get used to it," I replied, starting to check the supplies left on the tower shelves. Fortunately, Wilbur and I always left dry blankets and some firewood in a corner. "Luck is the first thing that runs out in the forest when you don't know what you're doing."

I set to work in silence. There was something comforting about the routine of preparing a shelter: shaking out the dust, checking the corners for spiders, and getting the fireplace ready. Clay watched me with a curiosity that was starting to feel heavy. It wasn't the look of a prisoner, but of someone trying to solve a riddle.

— "Why is this place so important to you?" he asked suddenly, interrupting my focus. "You’ve been quieter since we crossed the river, but your eyes... they look different."

I stopped with a blanket in my hands. I didn't want to admit that being here made me feel more like "me" than being under the marble ceilings of my father's palace.

— "It’s just a place where the noise of the world doesn't reach, Clay. Here, there are no courtiers, no conspiracies, no people waiting for you to make a mistake just to use it against you. Here, it’s just you and me, and what we can do with our own hands."

— "And Carl," he added with a faint smile.

— "And Carl," I conceded, sitting on the floor across from him. "Now, if you really are a 'lucky prince,' I hope Sapnap’s bag has something useful to start a fire, because I don't plan on doing everything myself while you sit there admiring the view."

Clay jumped up, accepting the challenge with a defiant glint in his eyes. — "You’d be surprised what a 'little prince' can do when he doesn't have ten servants watching him."

— "So far, all you've done is get scared and knock me down. Believe me, I’m excited to see what other tricks you have up your sleeve," I teased him.

Clay began rummaging through the bag Sapnap had given him, but judging by his face, there was nothing useful inside.

— "I guess your friend didn't pack even the bare minimum for survival," I let out a dry laugh while reaching into my own gear. I pulled out a flint and a knife and, without warning, tossed them to the blonde.

Clay caught them mid-air with the reflexes of someone who has spent years training with a sword, but he looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

— "Since you’re so eager to show what you can do without servants, go ahead." I gestured toward the fireplace with my chin. "Show me you can start that fire before the tower freezes over."

I sat in the shadows, watching as his fingers—used to holding crystal glasses and silk pens—fought against stone and steel. The clinking of the flint was the only rhythm in the room. It was fun, in a twisted way, to see the 'lucky prince' reduced to a man desperate for a spark. — "It's not so easy when the world doesn't obey just because you ask, is it?" I said, enjoying the small grunt of frustration that escaped his lips.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the dusty wall to enjoy the show. Clay pressed his lips together, accepting the challenge in silence, and knelt before the dry wood.

Chapter Text

The metallic ring of steel against flint echoed through the tower several times until, finally, a brave spark found its way to the tinder. I watched Clay’s shoulders relax at the first flicker of fire catching the wood. I said nothing, but inwardly, I had to admit he hadn't done too badly for his first time without a swarm of servants at his beck and call.

The crackle of logs was the only sound filling the room. Clay sat on the edge of the bed, watching the flames slowly devour the dry wood. The orange light danced in his eyes, making him look less like a warrior prince and more like someone lost in his own thoughts.

I sat on the floor, back pressed against the old wood, as far as possible from the cot where the blond sat, yet close enough to feel the heat. I opened my violin case. The scent of resin and maple wood flooded my senses, soothing the irritation the journey had stirred in me.

“I didn't know that was necessary,” Clay whispered, as if fearing he might break the balance of the moment.

“It’s necessary if I’m to resist the urge to leave you stranded,” I replied mockingly.

I rested the violin on my shoulder and closed my eyes. I began to play a slow melody, one of those Wilbur used to ask me to repeat until sleep finally claimed us. The fingers of my left hand moved with millimetric precision, ghosting over the strings, while the bow glided to create a lament that seemed to seep through the very cracks of the tower.

Minutes passed this way. My gaze was lost in the strings, though I could feel his eyes on me. Clay watched expectantly; he didn't say a word, didn't offer a single complaint—he just sat there, admiring and enjoying the music. Without breaking the melody or looking away from the violin, I noticed the blond stand up. He paced the room in search of something, rummaging through drawers until he apparently found something to entertain himself. I ignored him for a moment, until Clay finally spoke.

“Is this yours?” he asked curiously, fiddling with a knife.

I paused the music, the bow suspended just inches above the strings. My gaze sharpened the moment I saw what he was holding.

“Where did you find that?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave.

Clay turned the knife over, pointing to the base of the bone handle where two letters were engraved—crude, but deep: W.S.

“At the back of the drawer, under some old parchments,” Clay replied, his curiosity piqued. “I assumed it was yours, but those aren't your initials, are they, Technoblade?”

I stared at the knife for a long beat. I had my own tucked into my belt, but that one... that one belonged to Wilbur.

“It’s my brother’s,” I admitted finally, tightening my grip on the violin. “We carved them years ago. He gave me his knife during an expedition; I already had mine, but he insisted one can never have too many weapons. I suppose I forgot it, or perhaps I just wanted to leave it behind.”

Clay traced the ‘W’ with his thumb, a pensive expression softening his face. “And he didn't mind that you never gave it back?”

“A lot happened that day. He probably doesn't even remember the knife,” I murmured, returning my gaze to the violin to avoid his eyes. “It’s a reminder that I have a home to go back to. Now, put it away. It’s not a toy for you to idle with.”

Clay didn't mock me this time. He set the knife back in its place; his face seemed almost sad, as if he had finally realized that beneath the crown and the sword, there was a man who actually cared for someone.

“I guess it’ll stay there for eternity, then,” Clay said, slowly stepping toward me.

“It’s for the best,” I whispered, beginning to play once more.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was heavy, as if Wilbur’s ghost had sat down between us, claiming his place in the tower. Clay stared into the flames, and for a moment, the gleam of his armor seemed to dim in the humility of the room. I wondered if he also had forgotten knives or hidden guitars tucked away in some corner of the world, or if his life had always been a straight line of duty with no room for memories.

We spent part of the afternoon like that. We spoke occasionally; Clay would say something stupid every now and then, but overall, it wasn't as bad as I had expected.

“Do you know how to play guitar?” I stopped the melody to hear his answer and looked directly at him.

“Not really. I only learned the piano,” the blond shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing, forget it,” I replied almost instantly. I sighed and rested the violin against my shoulder again.

As the strings vibrated, I couldn't help but glance toward the cot. I knew that, hidden by dust and years, Wilbur’s wooden guitar was still there, exactly where he had left it that last time. Was I really going to let Clay touch it? Was I really going to hand Wilbur’s memory over to a stranger? The thought sent a strange knot to my throat. Perhaps the isolation and the memories were affecting me more than I cared to admit.

As night fell, hunger began to set in. I pulled some jerky and dried roots from my bag. “You have to learn to ration this,” I told him, tossing him a piece of dried meat. Clay caught it mid-air but looked at it with a doubtful grimace. “It’s no royal feast, but it’ll keep you alive.”

I moved closer to the fire and, using my knife, began to peel one of the roots with a precision that was almost artistic. Clay watched me intently, trying to mimic my movements. “It’s easier for me to just eat the food Sapnap gave me,” he complained.

“Hold it firmly, but not with force,” I corrected him without looking up.

My hands guided his almost instinctively. It was a brief contact—the brush of weathered skin against his, still soft from palace life—but it was enough to change the air in the tower. Clay wasn't a warrior in 그 moment; he was just an apprentice trying not to fail before a master who didn't usually give second chances. “If you try to cut too bluntly, the knife will slip. You have to let the edge do the work.”

I took a moment to weigh my response. It wasn't actually hard to get a banquet when you were a prince, yet I always preferred going into the woods and trying to survive my own way. “It’s not about the food, Clay. It’s about the knowledge. You never know when you might need it,” I replied calmly.

Clay adjusted his grip and managed to peel a clean strip from the root. A small smile of satisfaction crossed his face. “Not bad for a prince who’s never had to peel his own food,” I remarked, my tone sarcastic but not cruel.

“What other tricks do you have up your sleeve, Techno?”

Suddenly, the clinking of the knife against the root became a distant echo, and the image of Clay was replaced by a warmer one—one my mind refused to let go of.

“Hey Techno, I know we’re having a good time and all, but we have to go back. Phil will worry.” Wilbur was looking at me with angelic eyes—eyes that held a happiness and a brotherly love I couldn't begin to measure.

“Do we have to go back? We used to stay here, but now you never have time for me,” I said, setting my violin aside and hugging my knees.

Wilbur put down his guitar and stood up. “Don't be like that. These days I don't even have time for myself. Give George some credit; he’s the one helping me sneak away for these escapes with you.” He walked over and knelt to be at my level. “We’ll come back another day. For now, we must leave.”

“Nothing guarantees we’ll come back.” I was annoyed and brushed Wil’s hand off my shoulder.

“Of course it does.” Wilbur took a moment to think, looking around. “Look.” He stood up and grabbed his guitar. “You know I can't be without my guitar for long. Everyone knows how much I adore this thing.”

Wilbur looked at the guitar with genuine affection before crouching down and tucking it under the cot. “We’ll come back for it as soon as possible.”

“Then leave my violin there too,” I said, picking up the instrument and approaching him.

“Oh, no, Techno. Phil would kill me if he found out you didn't have your instrument for music class.” He let out a light chuckle and took my hand. “Come on, Techno. With luck, we’ll be back before dark.”

The memory dissipated as the wind whistled harder against the walls. I looked at the empty space under the cot, and then at Clay.

“You should sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day,” I insisted to the blond, who looked visibly tired.

“And you?” Clay curled up on the edge of the bed.

“I don't need sleep,” I said, grasping for any excuse not to get close to him.

“Well... goodnight, then.” Those were his last words before he turned his back to me.

I watched his silhouette relax under the dying light of the embers. Clay slept with the confidence of someone who knows they are protected—a confidence I couldn't afford myself. I stayed there, the violin close but silent, listening to the North wind batter the stone walls. Wilbur’s guitar remained under the bed, gathering a dust I didn't have the courage to wipe away, reminding me that some promises weigh more than crowns.

Chapter Text

I couldn't take my eyes off the edge of the cot all night. I knew the guitar was there, gathering years of dust, screaming in a silence that only I could hear. Wilbur used to say that instruments have souls, and his must have been furious at the abandonment. I got up before the sun had fully risen, with the echo of his laughter still bouncing in my ears.

I prepared to head out; Clay was sleeping peacefully, so I would have time for a walk before he woke up.

— "I didn't know you were here, Carl," I said as I approached the animal to stroke him. "I won't be long, I’m just going for a walk. If the little prince wakes up upset because he can't find me, ignore him; he’s just an idiot."

That was the last thing I said before venturing into the thick forest. If the morning was already cold, the woods made it feel like the North Pole. It had been years since I’d walked those trails; every gust of wind that hit my face made me feel alive. I never thought I’d walk here again; too many memories lay buried in this place, and it was best they stayed that way. I walked for a while longer until I found a spot to my liking; I leaned against the thick trunk of a tree and allowed myself a final few moments of peace.

The morning light began to show, but the lack of sleep made my eyelids heavy. My eyes started to close until, suddenly, the crunch of leaves around me broke the stillness. I snapped into alertness, gripping the hilt of my sword, ready to strike if necessary. Nothing happened, but I took advantage of that silence to head back to the tower quickly. I had no idea if it was a person or an animal, but when in doubt, I chose a different path, trying to let the brush and trees conceal my figure.

I ran until I reached the tower. I looked behind me; there was no sign of anyone, so I prepared to wake the blonde to announce our departure. To my surprise, the door was already open. Without sheathing my sword, I entered slowly; there wasn't a sound. With a swift movement, I burst into the room... There was no one.

— "Clay? Are you here?" My voice was ragged, my heart beating too fast. I imagined a thousand scenarios of what could have happened. The emptiness of the room hit me harder than any ambush. It wasn't just that the prince was gone; it was the realization that, in just a few hours, the tower had stopped being my refuge and had become the place where I’d lost him.

— "Agh..." I threw my sword to the floor in an act of desperation. "I'm an idiot. I had one job and I couldn't even do that right."

I looked in every direction for any sign of his whereabouts, but everything remained the same, except for his sword—it was nowhere to be found. My panic surged when I felt the cold edge of a blade brushing against my nape. I was done for.

— "Shit," I stammered. — "That’s not the vocabulary of a prince," Clay’s voice rang out.

I spun around instantly. — "You think this is funny?" I snapped, trying to hide that my heart was still trying to leap out of my chest. "I could have slit your throat before you even finished that sentence."

Clay lowered his sword with a smug smile. — "You were so lost in the clouds that I think even Carl would have beaten you in a duel today, Techno." — "You’re an asshole," I said as I gathered my things, until I noticed something I hadn't seen before: Wilbur’s guitar was resting on the cot.

I stared at it for a few moments. I picked it up and lightly strummed the strings, but they produced no sound, out of tune after years of neglect.

— "You didn’t sleep last night. You spent the whole time looking under the bed; I figured there was something there bothering you," the blonde paused. "Then the noise you made when you left woke me up. Before following you, I decided to find out what you were hiding, and I found that."

I didn't feel capable of looking Clay in the eye. A mixture of feelings churned in my gut, and my head began to ache. A knot formed in my throat.

— "I followed you because I wanted to see where you were going, it just didn't turn out how I expected," Clay sighed. "Because all of this is too strange. The relationship... or whatever we have, it’s too weird. One moment we’re talking and laughing, the next we’re arguing, then we sink into silence. It’s a vicious cycle."

His words hung in the freezing air of the tower, heavy and true. For the first time, the great Technoblade didn't have a sarcasm or a comeback ready. I felt exposed, as if Clay had used his sword not to graze my neck, but to open a chink in the armor I had worked so hard to forge.

— "Just pack your things," I said finally, my voice sounding more tired than I intended. "We have a long road ahead."

He didn't push. I stayed leaning against the fireplace, thinking about what to do with the guitar. I knew it would be a difficult physical weight to carry, but I didn't feel capable of leaving it behind again. Clay noticed my hesitation. He took Wilbur’s knife from the drawer and then gripped the guitar with his free hand.

— "I’m ready," he looked at me as he headed for the door. I stood frozen. — "Are you coming, Techno?" His face radiated peace and a slight joy. — "Right behind you," I whispered.

I walked toward the doorway and took one last look at that place. I slammed the door shut, leaving behind the dust and the echoes of a childhood that no longer belonged to me. Below, I saw Clay waiting by Carl, carrying my brother’s memories as if they were his own. I didn't know what to call what was happening between us, but for the first time in years, the road to the North didn't feel like a march into exile.

Chapter Text

The path was peaceful. I walked alongside Carl while Clay, mounted upon him, tried to tune Wilbur’s guitar. It bothered me to see the blonde touching my brother’s belongings, yet at the same time, the weight I had feared to carry felt strangely lighter when he was the one holding it.

The sound of a sharp, out-of-tune string shattered the forest’s silence for the tenth time. I grunted, quickening my pace.

— "You’re going to snap the string if you keep tightening it like that," I said without looking at him. "Wilbur cared for that thing more than his own life."

Clay stopped, his fingers still on the tuning pegs. — "I know what I’m doing, Techno. It’s just that the wood is old. Besides, the piano is much simpler; the notes are already there, you don't have to fight them to make them sound right." — "Tuning a guitar is easier than tuning a piano. And yes, pianos get tuned too, little prince." — "If you know so much, why don't you do it?" Clay challenged, holding the guitar out to me from atop Carl. "Show me you’re better at tuning strings than cutting heads."

I just let out a laugh at his tantrum. — "Get that out of my face, Clay," I dismissed the instrument with a wave. "You were the one who wanted to bring it; you deal with it."

I heard a defeated groan from the blonde and couldn't help but crack a small smile. — "You have a lot to learn from me, don't you, little prince?" — "As much as you have to learn from me about combat?" he shot back.

I decided to ignore the comment, but it was obvious from a mile away that Clay was wearing a winning smirk at my silence.

— "Just don't force the strings," I added, almost like a plea. "I could tell you the ideal pitch just by listening, if you’d only stop torturing the wood." — "Deal," he replied cheerfully.

We spent part of the journey that way. Clay kept trying to adjust the strings, but he always overshot or fell short. My desperation grew until I finally snatched the guitar from him and tuned it myself with a few precise movements, just so he could try to play his first chords.

— "Do fingers always hurt like this?" Clay asked, looking at his reddened fingertips. — "Only at first. Over time, you’ll grow calluses; the skin hardens to resist the pressure of the strings," I replied with feigned indifference. — "Do you have calluses on your fingers?" Clay’s curiosity was almost childlike.

I didn't answer with words; I simply moved one of my hands toward him so he could see for himself. — "So that’s a yes..." The blonde began to touch my fingers curiously. It felt like a strange gesture, too close, but for some reason, I didn't pull away.

Clay kept his hand over mine a second too long. That contact was the final straw for my patience; I pulled my hand back quickly and returned it to Carl’s reins, reclaiming the distance.

After that, the path fell back into silence, interrupted only by Clay’s attempts to strum the guitar. To my surprise, his efforts bore fruit: they were simple chords, but they formed a sweet melody that lightened the mood. As we pressed on, the cold became a physical presence that threatened to chill us to the bone. In the distance, plumes of smoke from campfires indicated our destination was near.

— "It’s starting to snow," the blonde remarked. — "Bundle up. I don't plan on being held responsible if you get sick," I said, buttoning my cloak to cover myself better. "We still have a difficult stretch ahead."

Finally, after a long day’s journey, we arrived. The warriors and scouts at the outpost were waiting expectantly. The weather was hostile, and apparently, not everyone was built for it. I heard a sneeze coming from my companion; I ignored it, though I knew the cold was going to start being an issue.

— "Welcome, Your Majesty," a chorus of voices rang out as they bowed. I stopped and addressed one of the soldiers. "I’d like to know where we are staying tonight." — "As you command, Your Majesty. It’s this way; it’s a bit of a trek."

As we walked, I felt hands invading my personal space again. But this time was different; those hands were desperately seeking the warmth my body radiated. I allowed the blonde to tuck his hands under my cloak; after all, my goal wasn't for him to suffer from hypothermia. Despite my heavy layers of clothing, I could feel that his fingers were ice-cold. Noticing my lack of resistance, he drew his body even closer to mine. I simply let out a sigh, letting our shared warmth guide us.

The soldier stopped in front of a rustic cabin with a stable off to the side. — "It’s here, Your Majesty. You can spend the night here, and your horse will be safe in the stable." — "Thank you. You may return to your post," I said, slipping out of Clay’s grasp to dismount Carl.

— "Go on, get inside the cabin," I ordered the blonde. — "Aren't you coming?" he asked as he dismounted clumsily. — "I need to settle Carl in first," I began walking toward the stable. "Don't get too comfortable, Clay. We didn't come here as tourists."

Chapter Text

"The cold that threatened us could never compete with the warmth you radiated."

I walked back to the cabin; snow was beginning to pile up on the trail, and the howling wind had become a looming threat. I shoved the door open and slammed it shut behind me, letting the roar of the North turn into a distant echo. The interior smelled of dry pine and ancient dust. Clay had already left the guitar on the table and was trying to light the fireplace with clumsy movements.

The atmosphere felt heavy. For some reason, my mind refused to forget that sensation of closeness on the road... and with every passing second, I regretted more and more having allowed the blonde to invade my space like that.

— "We have to leave," I said curtly, looking in his direction. It was painfully obvious that the cold was getting the better of him. — "Do we really have to go now?" he asked, still struggling with the firewood.

I took a moment to observe him. Am I really doing this? I thought. Then, on an impulse I didn't fully understand, I unbuckled my cloak. I shrugged it off my shoulders and tossed it toward him. Clay caught it mid-air with ease.

— "Bundle up and stay here," I told him before heading out. "It only takes one person to watch the guard."

That was the last thing I said before closing the door. — "Idiot," I whispered to myself as I headed toward the watch posts.

The cold seeped into my body, a sensation I dismissed; I was used to punishing myself. This cruel weather wasn't made for everyone, but I believed myself to be made of stone. Before venturing into the blackness of the forest, I detoured to the stables. Carl whinnied as he sensed my arrival. I saddled him with mechanical movements, feeling the icy air begin to bite at my fingers without the protection of the red wool.

The guards greeted me with a rigidity that bordered on fear. Seeing me arrive mounted and without my cloak, they exchanged quick glances, but no one dared to question my sanity.

— "Report," I ordered, my voice cutting through the freezing air. — "Little activity, Your Majesty. There’s an expedition scheduled for dawn," the captain replied. "However, we detected suspicious movement beyond the perimeter. Lights that vanish quickly and broken branches at a height that doesn't belong to any animal. Likely lost scouts; we’ll investigate tomorrow with the sun." — "Tomorrow will be too late," I shot back immediately.

I didn't wait for a reply. I rode into the forest, leaving the warmth of the torches behind. As the trees grew denser, the cold stopped being a nuisance and became a physical enemy. Without the cloak, my muscles began to stiffen, but my instincts were sharper than ever.

That was when Carl’s instinct proved faster than mine. Something in the shadows spooked him so badly that, after a sudden lurch, I ended up on the ground. The horse, seized by panic, galloped back toward the camp, leaving me alone and on foot in the middle of the blizzard.

Walking back was an ordeal of pride. I wandered for what felt like hours, the snow lashing at my face and the cold numbing my senses until I lost all sense of direction. Every step was a reminder of my recklessness; the forest I once knew so well had turned into a white, hostile labyrinth. I knew that wandering aimlessly in a storm was a death sentence, so I sought shelter with the last of my strength.

I found a cave and ducked inside; the wind stopped lashing at me, but the cold remained, seeping into my bones. My legs gave out, and I sat on the rock, holding myself tight. Only white vapor escaped my mouth, seemingly mocking my situation. I stayed there, lost in a deathly silence, waiting for either the storm to break or the ice to finally claim me.

Suddenly, a rhythmic sound broke the wind’s monotony: the trot of a horse. What emerged from the mist wasn't a guard, but Clay on Carl. He had rushed to the stables the moment he saw the animal return alone. He clung to the mane with trembling hands, and the red of my own cloak billowed behind him like a warning flag. His eyes searched desperately through the trunks until they locked onto mine.

— "Idiot!" he screamed upon seeing me, his voice cracking in the wind. "Your horse came back alone! What the hell were you thinking?"

I tried to stand up, but failed. Clay leaped off Carl and ran toward me. Without asking permission, he threw the cloak open and wrapped it around me, forcing me to share the warmth the red wool still held from his body. I tried to mount the horse to regain a shred of dignity, but my fingers were so numb that I slipped before managing to settle into the saddle with heavy movements. Clay pressed against my back, enveloping us both with the cloak.

The ride back was a torment of wounded pride. His hands gripped my waist with a firmness I hated—because it was the same firmness that kept me from falling. When we reached the cabin, I dismounted, making a superhuman effort to keep my legs from shaking in front of the soldiers.

We stepped inside, and the stagnant heat felt like a blessing. I sat heavily on a bench, staring fixedly at my reddened hands. I expected a sarcastic remark, a mockery of the great Technoblade turned into an ice statue, but the silence persisted.

Clay slowly shed the cloak. He stepped closer and let it fall over my shoulders, making sure its warmth covered me once more. It was a solemn gesture, a truce I accepted as I inhaled the trace of his scent in the fabric. I wrapped myself in it, feeling my muscles thaw, though my pride remained petrified.

He let out a dry sigh, one that sounded more like disappointment than exhaustion.

— "I’m getting more firewood," he said curtly, without an ounce of kindness. — "Clay..." I tried to speak. — "We need to talk, Techno," he cut me off, hand on the latch. "But not now. Maybe we can talk when you stop being a block of ice and I stop being fed up with this game. I told you at the tower: this is a roller coaster. And right now, I’m getting motion sick just looking at you."

He stepped out of the cabin, slamming the door with a firm thud that made the walls vibrate. I was left alone, sitting in a chair near the fire he had lit, my heart thumping against my ribs and my mother’s cloak weighing heavier than ever. He had saved me, and I, in my stupid need for control, had treated him like a stranger. The North was merciless, but my silence was far worse.

Chapter Text

I made an attempt to stand up and head for the bed, but it was in vain. This time, the Northern cold had managed to defeat even the strongest knight—or in this case, the most stubborn one. Defeated by exhaustion and the constant ache of my muscles thawing out, I crossed my arms over the table and rested my head. What I thought would be a simple breath of air suddenly turned into a deep, heavy sleep.

— "You're an idiot," I whispered under my breath as I walked toward the stable.

Once there, as I gathered the driest logs for the fireplace, I glanced at Carl. The animal was huffing, still restless from the storm.

— "As smart as you seem, you're still just a skittish horse," I sighed. I stepped closer and gently stroked his neck. "Don't worry... it’s not your fault. It was your owner's stubbornness and impulsive decisions."

I stood in silence for a moment. What would have become of him if I hadn't found him in time? I hated to admit that the answer chilled my blood more than the wind outside. The sound of approaching armor snapped me out of my thoughts.

— "Prince Dream," the captain said. I turned slowly, maintaining a serious expression that seemed to intimidate him. "I've been informed of part of what occurred. I would like to know how Prince Technoblade is doing. We can send guards to escort him back to the kingdom if necessary."

Those words echoed in my ears with a bitter note. I refused to leave him in the custody of strangers, and I certainly didn't want to undertake the journey back alone, leading Carl without his true rider.

— "Don't worry, I already have an eye on him," I replied curtly. "Though I could use a coffee pot, if possible." — "As you command, Your Majesty," he replied before hurrying away.

I let out a sigh of relief. I felt furious, yes, but above all, relieved. He was okay, but I knew it had only been luck. And luck, sooner or later, runs out.

When I entered the cabin, I found a Techno defeated by the weakness of his own body. I had no intention of waking him; the talk would have to wait. As I fed the fire, the memory of George crossed my mind. Back at the castle, his shadow was inevitable; however, here, among the pine and the snow, his memory seemed to pass us by.

I looked at Techno from the bed. In the kingdom, he always reminded me of George, but here—weakened and with a bruised ego—that shadow no longer haunted him. What I saw now was more than a prince; I saw a young man who had fought against what the world expected of him and who, in failing, had become the cold armor everyone else described.

If he was making an effort to tolerate this situation in his own way, I would do the same.

A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. It was a soldier with a basket. — "This is for you, Your Majesty. The captain sent the coffee pot, and we added some vegetables and fruits from our greenhouses as a thank you. Would you like me to come in and set it up?" he asked enthusiastically. — "Thank you very much, but I’ll handle it," I replied, taking the basket to prevent him from entering and disturbing Techno’s rest.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee soon flooded the room, mingling with the scent of burning wood. I watched Techno from the bed; his imposing figure looked strangely small hunched over the table. Suddenly, a yawn broke the silence. Techno began to stir, letting out soft groans as he stretched. He looked... peaceful. Without his mask of ice. For a second, I forgot our rivalry.

— "Clay?" His voice came out huskier than usual as he rubbed an eye, still half-asleep. — "The very one," I replied, trying to keep my voice from sounding as soft as I felt inside. "You woke up just in time. They sent provisions, and the coffee is ready."

Techno blinked several times to focus his vision. His eyes dropped to the steaming mug and then to the basket.

— "The captain wanted to send you back with an escort," I said, breaking the ice as I slid a mug toward him. "He thought you needed a guide." — "I can guide myself," he murmured, though his voice wavered before he took a sip. — "You couldn't even walk, Techno. I wasn't going to let them carry you off like a casualty of war... and I wasn't going to go back alone leading Carl. It seems to me he also prefers it to be you holding the reins."

Techno fell silent, watching the steam rise from his mug. For a moment, the tension vanished. There was no George, no Philza, no Wilbur. Only the crackling of the wood.

— "Don't worry, I'll keep the secret," I added, picking up an apple from the basket. "The guards only think you were feeling a bit 'weak.'"

I tossed him the apple, and Techno caught it mid-air almost by instinct, though his fingers trembled slightly. He looked at me, searching for a taunt, a trace of sarcasm, but he found nothing.

— "No more guard duty for today," I declared before he could try to stand. "The storm isn't letting up, and you can barely hold that apple. You're resting until tomorrow."

Techno made a move to protest, but looking at the blizzard outside the window, he finally nodded. He moved closer to the fire and sat on the floor, accepting his defeat against the weather. We spent the afternoon in a strange but not uncomfortable silence. We were learning to know each other without the shadows of the past; we were discovering who we really were when no one was watching.

— "Are you hungry?" I finally asked. He kept his gaze lost out the window. — "I'm not a child you have to look after, Clay," he replied in a muted voice, staring at the floor. — "Children do impulsive things, and what you did was foolish," I said, crouching down to his level. "But even the strongest men need to eat so they don't collapse in the snow."

The glow of the flames danced in his eyes. I no longer saw the fearsome warrior, but someone exhausted by the weight of expectations.

— "I’m not looking after you out of obligation, Techno," I added in a whisper. "I’m doing it because... because I want us to make it back in one piece. Both of us. After all, you promised Wilbur."

Techno squeezed the mug in his hands but didn't answer. It was a silence of acceptance. He knew I was right, and I knew that behind his silence, there was a gratitude he didn't yet know how to put into words.