TW: Violence and a lot of blood, implied minor character death
To make a promise and break it was the greatest sin. More so than killing. More so than theft and deceit and pride. Yes, there was no greater shame in the country of Masoth.
And that was why two promises echoed in Virgil Solomith’s head as he fled down the stairs of one of the servants’ corridors. Every few steps, his vision flickered and dimmed when pain exploded across his abdomen. One hand was already slick with blood, the other feeling around feebly in the dark. He stumbled along, his breaths short and wet.
He suspected he wouldn't make it through the night.
It didn’t make any sense. He should’ve been able to see through the darkness. The wound in his side should’ve already been healing from years of practice and study. His magic should be powerful enough for that, at least, but the pain was still there and Virgil knew that he was bleeding out. What did Ophiuchus do to him?
Virgil shook his head, glancing back briefly. The hall was too dark to see anything, too much chaos above and around to hear anything. He had never felt more useless. He continued down the well-worn path, boots slipping on tiles smoothed from years of use. It was becoming harder to see, harder to breathe, but he forced himself forward.
Down. Down. Down. He focused solely on the motion of going downwards, on following the winding stairs, on the promises rattling around in his head.
The first was a promise he made, not so long ago, in a dark room where the curtains were drawn and the air smelled of potion.
And the second had been made only minutes before, in a destroyed throne room, by his only brother.
Virgil knew that only one of the two promises could be fulfilled.
He paused, coughing violently until his clean hand was coated with sticky blood, dark almost black in the dim light. He shuffled forward a little faster.
It wasn’t long until he caught sight of the moonlight through one of the doors, but he could already feel his body giving up on him. He ran the last couple of steps, nearly tripping over himself, and emerged into the stable. One of the older guards was already there with a saddled horse and reins in her hands. A hunting dog sat next to her, ears at the ready, head swiveling around.
The guard’s eyes widened when she saw Virgil.
“My lord!” Faustine exclaimed as she rushed towards him.
She looked just as terrified as Virgil felt, though years of practice had limited the fear to just her eyes. Faustine had been a guard as long as Virgil had been alive. She’d been a friend to Virgil’s father and to Virgil himself. And Virgil knew she was going to die tonight.
Virgil just shook his head, pressing forward. “I need to leave,” he managed to bite out through heaving breaths.
“Your brother?” Faustine uttered, her eyes widening. Her gaze shifted to the wound on Virgil’s side, but she didn’t say anything.
“ Lives ,” Virgil choked out. Father, I have failed you .
Faustine wrapped her cloak around the wound, ignoring Virgil’s protests. “You’re no use to anyone if you bleed out,” she said as she cinched the makeshift tourniquet.
With the help of Faustine, Virgil climbed up onto the horse. The jostling only served to make him bleed faster, but the cloth seemed to be holding for now. The gelding was not his own black mare, of course, that would be too obvious. Faustine handed Virgil a black cloak and he draped it over himself wearily.
“Will you make it, my lord?” she asked.
He nodded despite feeling his body bob with fatigue and pain and something much worse. He tugged the hood over his head. “I just need-” he broke off with a cough, blood exploding out onto the horse’s mane. The blood was no longer red, but a dark ruddy brown. Not normal. Not good. “ Fortune. ”
A sleek black cat emerged from the shadows. She wound through the stable, her steps slower and more lethargic than they should’ve been, and jumped up onto the horse. The horse didn’t react, just trotted in place a couple of times. “Fortune,” Virgil breathed out in relief with the barest smile.
Fortune crawled onto Virgil’s lap, careful of his wound, and blinked up at him with eyes too intelligent for a normal animal. He scratched behind her ear, leaving a trail of blood. She didn't say anything and the implication tore through Virgil. He reached for the bond between them; fraying, but still as strong as steel cable. Fortune flattened her ears against her head with a hiss.
Shouts and the sound of horns caught Virgil’s attention. He turned with great difficulty to see the doors to the main chamber cracking open. Soon, the stables would be flooded with guardsmen and the calvary. And Virgil would be killed on sight.
“Go,” Faustine said. Beside her, her familiar bristled, growling at the approaching troops.
“What about you?” Virgil asked quickly, though he already knew the answer. Faustine had also made a vow to Virgil’s father.
Fasutine just shook her head. “Go, Virgil!”
The doors swung open and, with one more glance back, Virgil spurred the horse into action. He was a fast one, one of the fastest ones in the stable. But he would never be able to outrun the calvary. Not without help.
Virgil dipped into the reserves of his magic. It was draining out of his body with his blood and he knew that he only had enough for a couple of spells, but he managed to catch a tiny dot of it.
“Ride,” he whispered to the horse, his eyelids drooping. “ Ride with the wind. ”
The magic exploded out violently. Wind howled in Virgil's ears, whipping his cloak around his body. Fortune hissed as the horse neighed loudly, but it worked. With those words, the horse sped up, faster than he had been before, faster than any steed naturally was.
Behind him,Virgil heard the calls of the guards. The cowards . And ahead of him, he could see the drawbridge being raised. But the horse didn't stop. Virgil tightened his grip, leaning in with the horse as he jumped the distance between the bridge. The jolt wracked Virgil’s body and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Still the horse didn’t stop.
They stampeded out onto the streets, startling the late night townspeople. Citizens shouted at him, called after him, cursed him out. They were completely unaware that their dying prince lurked underneath the hood. Good , he thought, they won't witness my failure.
The gates of the city loomed in front of him and he raised a wary gaze to them. But they didn’t close, even as he rushed through them, startling the half-asleep guards on duty. It was a good sign; it meant he outran the messengers and the bellringers. When he glanced back, he saw no other horses, just the confused foot soldiers.
Cobblestone turned to dirt, the bells tolled, and lights popped to life in the gatekeepers’ windows. Cries rose up through the night, the sounds of charging steeds filling the previously still air. The city exploded into chaos. Virgil urged the horse more. The chaos, he hoped, would slow the soldiers.
Trees began to rise around him and he veered into the forest, off the trail. The steed didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause for the briefest moment as he leaped over a collection of bushes. Whoever he belonged to, he’d been trained well.
Branches caught at Virgil’s skin and clothing, but he hardly noticed the scratches blossoming across his body. At some point, his hood fell from his head. Fortune let out a yowl and Virgil looked back, spotting the lights bouncing on the trail. The shouts travelled through the silent forest, growing darker around Virgil by the second.
Faster . He needed to go faster.
But he could already feel his grip on the reins loosening, his body swaying atop the saddle, his soul giving up. He was going to die. Fuck . He was really going to die tonight.
Virgil let out a sharp gasp as the ache spread from his abdomen to his chest. Unconsciously, both of his hands flew up to cover the wound. He slid. With a small yelp, he caught the reins and righted himself.
He glanced back. The lights and shouts had faded into the distance without him realizing. But he didn’t stop. He couldn't . Not until he was safe. Safe. Would he ever be safe again?
Virgil's thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the pain spread down his legs. He cried out softly and slumped forward. Fortune pawed at his chest. Had Ophiuchus poisoned him somehow?
Blue flames filled Virgil's vision, flames his brother created. He didn't know any magic that created blue flames; fire magic was rare in and of itself. Blue fire? Was it some kind of magic Virgil hadn’t been taught? Or, was it a forbidden magic?
Virgil shook the thoughts from his head. If he survived the night, he could worry about it then. But for now, he needed to survive. Virgil whispered, the last dregs of his own magic slipping from between his lips. "Balance," he muttered, voice on the edge of a sob. His body continued to sway and tilt and he clenched his teeth against the new pain blossoming along his spine. " Balance ."
He needed to stay awake. Virgil blinked rapidly. Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awa-
One last thought echoed through Virgil’s head as he was lost to the world. One promise. One vow. I swear, Ophiuchus had hissed, eyes glowing yellow in the firelight of the throne room, I swear I will kill you, little brother.
_____________________
Logan awoke with a start, a shout caught in his throat. Around him, his chambers were still, save for the soft breathing and half-squeaks of his familiar at the edge of his bed. He heaved in a couple of sharp breaths and pressed a hand to his chest. This was not a normal dream.
He lurched out of bed, throwing his sheets aside as he reached for his glasses and shoved them onto his face. Crofter startled awake with a snort, but Logan barely spared the red-brown marmot a glance. What are you doing, Logan? Crofter asked as he hopped down from the bed.
Logan didn’t respond. He crossed the room and threw the window open, breaking the silencing spell on the glass. Immediately, sound filled the room. The tolling of bells, the blare of horns, and the shouts and calls of soldiers down below. Because Logan’s room was on one of the highest floors in the Mage Tower, the disarray looked miniscule to him. And, he knew, it was miniscule.
He could see his nightmare still, vivid in his eyes. The capital burning, buildings collapsed, the castle and Mage Tower nothing more than rubble. Masoth fallen. And at the center of where the castle once stood, a blue-eyed man with golden white hair. And, Logan realized as he conjured the image again. Prince Virgil with his dark violet eyes and signature black clothing, kneeling behind the other man.
Logan? Crofter’s squeaky voice pulled Logan from his mind.
“I had a vision,” Logan said as he reached for his robes. “I must tell the Grand Master.”
Logan glanced down at his familiar as he passed him. The marmot peered up at him in confusion. Can’t it wait until morning? he asked. I think something is happening in the city. We should help.
“That doesn’t matter,” Logan snapped. He yanked on his robes, running his fingers through his dark brown hair in place of a comb. “Nothing else matters right now.”
Crofter scurried in front of Logan, coming to stop in front of the door. The racket outside had not stopped and Logan considered closing the window. He shook his head. He needed to wake his Master first and then worry about the nonsense down below. “I need you to move, Crofter,” he told his familiar.
The marmot didn’t budge. Master will be upset if you wake him .
Logan rolled his eyes and picked Crofter up despite his squeak of protest. “With everything going on outside,” Logan said. “I guarantee he is already awake.”
He knew his words to be true when he opened the door. At least half of the mages in the tower were already awake, some stumbling out of their rooms, others hurrying past without hesitation. All of them were headed for the Grand Master’s chambers, where they would receive instruction. Either they would be sent down to help organize the chaos or they would return to their rooms to let the soldiers deal with it.
Logan held Crofter close to him as he shoved his way through the halls. Most people moved out of the way when they saw his face. He outranked nearly all of them and their respect for him showed. He pushed forward a little quicker.
When the white door of the Master’s room came into view, Logan slipped out of the crowd and up the steps. No one else dared to attempt such a thing. After all, they were just mages under the Grand Master but Logan Blackless was the Grand Master’s protege. Logan dropped Crofter onto the floor as he opened the door and ducked into the room. He felt the slight pull of protection spells around him, but they didn’t react at all.
Magnus Grimrance was still in his sleeping robes, bent over a tome, his lips pursed into a thin line. Logan knew that the Grand Master was well over two hundred years old, but the old man hardly showed it.
Along his hairline was a mere peppering of white, the rest of his head a dark chestnut brown. His beard was small and neatly trimmed and his skin betrayed only a few wrinkles, worry lines etched into his forehead and crow’s feet around his eyes. Magnus’s eyes were the only thing that showed his age. They were a stormy gray, nearly white, and coated in a glassy sheen. His body had won the fight against time, but his eyes had lost.
Magnus’s familiar, a large black raven called Nero, sat on the mage’s shoulder. Nero swivelled his head around to look at Logan and Crofter. Magnus turned a fraction of a second later, not quite focused on where Logan was. He was blind and Nero was his eyes.
“Prince Virgil has fled,” Magnus said. Logan liked Magnus’s voice. It sounded like the crisp of old parchment, sharp and clear, but also worn and familiar. “He attempted to kill the new King.”
Logan did not care much for the politics of the ruling families. He was a mage. He had always been a mage and he always would be. Magnus himself had seen rulers come and go, keeping close bonds with them as was his duty as Grand Master, but his own world, the world of magic study, was unaffected by the change in rulers.
“That explains the noise,” Logan said.
Magnus laughed, though Logan didn’t know what was funny. Nero turned his head back to the book, but Magnus’s unseeing gaze remained on Logan. “Do you think they need our help?” Magnus asked with a slow blink.
Logan didn’t understand why Magnus was asking him. The Grand Master acted as he wished. Aside from the occasional discussion with a small council, he didn’t consult anyone but his own wisdom. Nero looked back at Logan and Logan adjusted his glasses. “I am not sure, Master,” Logan answered honestly. “The guards will likely catch him.”
The Grand Master nodded before he turned and said something to Nero in a low voice. The raven cawed in response before flying off. Like with all familiars, Nero was only able to speak to Magnus. But unlike other familiars, the appearance of only Nero outside of the chambers meant that the mages would not act.
Magnus turned a page on the book he couldn’t read without Nero. “You didn’t come here to ask about the commotion outside,” the Grand Master said. Logan stiffened; his Master was right, as always. “What troubles you, my child?”
Logan tried not to bristle at being called a “child”. He understood that Magnus meant it affectionately, but Logan was a grown man and he did not like the term when applied to himself. Still, he didn’t say anything. Magnus had given Logan the world— more than the world—and the least he could do was accept whatever endearment the ancient mage gave him. At his feet, Crofter huffed out a laugh and Logan toed him with his foot in irritation.
“I had a vision,” Logan said. No need to beat around the bush.
The Grand Master blinked slowly before he shuffled out from behind the desk. He used his hands to guide him and Logan dashed forward. He caught the Grand Master's arm, helping him sit in one of the many plush chairs spread throughout the room. Magnus shook him off. Logan stepped back.
"Are you certain it was a vision?" Magnus questioned.
Logan understood his Master's reluctance in accepting Logan's words. Logan excelled in every field of magical study. From flame magic to practical applications, he was one of the most capable mages in the Order despite being quite young by mage standards. But he tended to stumble on one field: the art of precognition.
Logan didn't like to be reminded of his failings. He crossed his arms over his chest as if that would bar any criticism from Magnus. "I am sure," he said.
Magnus gestured for Logan to continue and Logan told him the dream, down to the smallest detail. When he was done, Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. Nero swooped in through the open window, settling on the back of the seat.
"I must consult Cassandra about this," Magnus said after a moment. He raised his hand and a book zipped off of one of the shelves, skirting inches from Logan's face. "And you're sure it was Prince Virgil?"
Logan paused. He'd only met the younger prince a handful of times. He was very handsome, much more attractive than his brother. Just a fraction taller than Logan with eerie violet eyes, the eyes of the late Queen. Prince Virgil was shadows, dark attire and dark hair with a quiet, contemplative nature about him. Logan did not know him well, but he was fairly unforgettable.
"Yes," Logan responded. "And I did not recognize the man with him."
"Okay," Magnus said, thumbing open the book in his lap. "Thank you, Logan. You may return to your chambers now. I will call on you tomorrow after I speak with Cassandra."
Logan blinked, not moving from his spot. That was it? That was all the Grand Master had to say about this disastrous future? No, there had to be more to this. Perhaps Logan should join the chase? Find the prince with tracking magic? A dozen scenarios ran through Logan's head of everything he could do to stop this from happening.
Nero looked up from the book, tilting his head. Crofter pawed at Logan's leg, but he shook his familiar off. "You may leave, Logan," the Grand Master said again.
"But-" Logan hissed out in a whisper. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from saying something he would regret. He gave a small, short nod. "Yes, Grand Master Magnus. I will speak with you tomorrow."
"Good night."
Logan turned back to the door woodenly, stooping for only a second to pick Crofter up again. The Grand Master knows what he's doing, Logan , Crofter said.
Logan knew that. He trusted his Master's judgement. Of course he did. But he couldn't stop the unease that settled over his bones.
Patton Summerford had long since grown used to strange occurrences in his life. He seemed to be a magnet for trouble, usually in the form of criminals that seemed to think his inn was the best place to have a pint before going on their merry dangerous way. Though, to be honest, the criminals tended to be his best customers.
He supposed the odd patrons made sense, in a way. His inn was, after all, on a less busy road, several miles out from the nearest town. It was secluded, in a way that it was still visible, but not likely to attract a lot of attention.
So, yeah, Patton was used to weird people and weird things coming through his inn.
He still wasn’t prepared to stumble upon a half-dead man in his stable.
The man was tall, dressed in a black cloak and cradling a cat to his chest. The stable floor was coated in a startling amount of thick, blackish blood and the man heaved in shaky, unstable breaths. It was a horrific sight. Patton took a moment to thank all the gods that Thomas always slept in on restday and hadn’t done his chores today.
Patton worried, for the briefest moment, that the man was one of his patrons (perhaps the kind highway robber that helped him wash the dishes the night before) until he noticed a new horse munching away at the hay, its mane and fur tangled with the blood.
A newcomer then, a straggler from the road.
Don’t even think about it , Pip hissed as he buzzed around Patton’s ear. He could be dangerous .
Patton hesitated at his familiar’s bequest. The hummingbird zipped in front of Patton’s face and then back next to his ear. He was dispelling a lot of nervous energy. The man let out a labored wheeze and Patton’s heart clenched. “He’s hurt, Pip,” Patton whispered, looking to his familiar desperately. “I can’t leave him here.”
You can, Pat. You most definitely can .
No. Patton couldn’t.
Pip continued to protest as Patton inched closer until he could see the man’s face. He was definitely unconscious and his breathing was even more labored than Patton thought. On his chest, the cat picked up their head, giving Patton a low, warning hiss. Pip retreated behind Patton’s head with a squeak.
“It’s okay,” Patton said softly, holding his hands in front of him. The cat familiar glared at him with iridescent green eyes. “I won’t hurt him. I promise.”
No one was able to communicate with someone else’s familiar, but the cat seemed to understand his words. They gave him a contemplative look before slowly shifting off of their human. Patton hurried closer.
The process of getting the man off the ground and into the inn proved to be difficult and tedious. Patton was by no means weak, having spent most of his life lifting hay bales and doing renovations on the inn, but the man’s lanky form made it hard to move him. Eventually, Patton gave up on trying to pick him up and dragged him to the entrance of his house.
The Summerford house was small compared to the inn, connected to the lodging bar by a single wooden door. But it was a space that belonged to only the family, separated from the patrons and their peculiarities. Patton pulled the man through his own personal door, in the back with a path hidden by blackberry bushes, unwilling to draw attention to them. The cat followed loyally.
Patton let out a gasp of surprise when he bumped into a chair, nearly stumbling and dropping the man. Not a second later, a familiar childish voice called out: "Everything okay, Papa?"
"Y-yeah," Patton looked back at the dying man. "Just go back to sleep, kiddo!"
He knew that Thomas would need no more convincing. Footsteps creaked across the loft before falling silent. Patton moved a bit more carefully this time.
And then he realized he had nowhere to put an injured man.
He's dying , Pip said, fluttering back away from Patton. I can feel it.
Patton bit his lip, arms shaking from holding the man up. Eventually, he just slowly let him drop to the ground. The cat lingered by the door, watching them warily. Patton just stared at the soaked cloak. He needed to cut it off to get to the wound.
What exactly are you going to do? You don't know anything more than basic healing spells.
"I know, Pip," Patton said as he gave his familiar a small smile. "We just need to staunch the bleeding until we can get Emile here."
Pip huffed and fluttered over to the bucket of water that Thomas filled the night before, along with the towels. There was a collection of bandages kept close to the stove, for the small emergencies that arose in a kitchen.
When he had everything, he hopped up and hurried back over to the man. He didn't have time to disinfect anything, so he just started cutting the cloak and the shirt away. The man released a low moan. A sharp hiss escaped between his lips. The man’s skin was blackened, as if burned, and there was no cut, no discernable wound. The blood oozed from the man’s pores, dark as ink and just as thick.
What was Patton supposed to do if there was no injury to stitch up? Patton’s hand fluttered over the man’s chest, where his heart still faintly beat. He reached for the towels, dunking them in the water. Perhaps, if he staunched the bleeding... “Please live,” he whispered as he watched the ebony blood stain his white towels. “Please.”
Pat .
Pip’s voice was a warning Patton didn’t hear. “Please live,” Patton repeated, feeling his eyes fill with tears. “Please, please, please.”
“ Live .”
The last word slipped out in a monotone, flat and commanding. Magic cackled in the air around them. Pip fluttered about, spouting nonsense. The cat yowled. Somewhere upstairs, there was a scuffle, a small whine. All throughout the inn, a cacophony of sound erupted. Patton’s palms itched, his arms screamed, his head spun. Steam rose from the towels and pressure crushed down on top of Patton’s hands, his fingers cracking under the weight.
And then it was gone. The magic in the room flashing out of existence. The familiars fell silent. Patton slumped forward, wheezing out a single long breath. Beneath him, the man groaned.
Patton jumped, scrambling back away from the stranger. His back slammed against the cupboards, pain rising up through his shoulders. He ignored the way his fingers refused to obey his command, ignored the white hot pain that flashed up them every time he tried. All of his focus was zoned in on the burned skin of the man laying on his kitchen floor. The bleeding had stopped, but he was still clearly injured.
The man didn’t stir, likely still unconscious. It was a long time before Patton dragged him into the bedroom and onto the bed. And even longer still before he managed to find wake up Thomas to deliver a message to Emile in town.
__________________
Virgil woke up slowly. So slowly. First his mind, then his eyes, and slowly, so slowly, his body. He could feel the familiar weight of Fortune pressed to his side, her breathing slow and even. His own breathing came out harsh and ragged. Events came back, slowly, so slowly.
He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain raced through his abdomen and he laid back with a low groan. Gods, that fucking hurt. His fingers slowly trailed down the clearly borrowed shirt he was wearing to the bandages wrapped professionally around where the wound had been. He was surprised that it no longer felt like a stinging, all consuming flame, but just a small twinge of discomfort if he didn’t move.
Virgil?
Virgil’s eyes snapped down to Fortune, who watched him curiously. “Fortune,” he croaked, his voice scratching out of his throat.
Oh thank the gods you’re alive, Fortune exclaimed as she moved closer to Virgil’s shoulders. That innkeeper was convinced you were going to die.
Innkeeper? Virgil couldn’t find his voice again, but he did manage to raise an eyebrow. Fortune laughed. Oh yeah! The horse brought you to some inn in the middle of nowhere and the owner found you. He did… Something to your wound. I didn’t like it, but it worked apparently. And then a doctor came and some guy with dark glasses that won’t stop glaring at me. At least, I think he’s glaring at me.
Virgil raised his hand, pressing it to the cat's ears. She dropped off and stared up at him. He raised an eyebrow at her. Right! she said. You're at some inn.
Okay, that wasn't too bad. Something clattered on the other side of the door and Virgil tensed. "Thomas," a voice said. "Don't go near it."
Virgil dipped down into his pools of magic for defense.
And stopped.
Virgil's magic had always been a vast sea, bottomless and ever changing and oh so beautiful in the chill it brought across his skin whenever he used it. He thought his magic near infinite in its supply.
But now it dripped like water from a spigot into a small puddle, warm and shallow. Fortune stared up at Virgil. I feel it too. I think it's something that the innkeeper did.
The door swung open and Virgil jerked in surprise. Normally, his magic was cast out to make his hearing more attuned. But Virgil couldn't even be sure he had enough for that, so he refrained. It was best to save it for defense. He reached for the dagger he always kept at his belt, but again found nothing. For the first time in his life, Virgil was completely defenseless.
His gaze snapped up to the figure standing in the door. He would fight with his bare hands if he had to. Ignoring the pain, he forced himself to sit up.
The man stood completely still, wide eyes staring at Virgil. The innkeeper , Fortune informed Virgil.
He wasn’t what Virgil expected to see. Virgil hadn’t met many innkeepers in his life, but the ones that he had met tended to either overweight drunkards, beautiful women, or kindly old couples.
This man was none of those things. He was shorter (much, much shorter than Virgil) with a mop of golden curls atop his head and a smattering of freckles across his light brown skin. He wore an apron that was surprisingly white with a cream tunic and dark brown trousers. He wore no shoes.
He was ridiculously handsome, Virgil’s brain decided before anything else. And honestly, the most stunning thing about the man was his eyes. Even hidden behind the round spectacles balanced on his nose, they were clearly the most vibrant blue Virgil had ever seen on a person before. Not blue like the ocean or blue like the sky. No, they were a flat baby blue, devoid of any other shades or pigments.
The man smiled nervously. “You’re awake.”
Virgil remembered the situation he was in and he tensed. The man’s smile dipped, but didn’t drop. He stepped into the room and Virgil’s eyes were drawn to the tray in his hands. A pitcher and a cup. The man took a careful step forward and when Virgil didn’t react, he crossed the room quickly and set the tray down on the bedside table.
The innkeeper turned his head, jumping a bit when he found his face inches from Virgil’s. Up close, his eyes appeared even more intensely blue and still Virgil could see no deviation from the pale color. His cheeks flushed, a lovely pale pink color and- Fuck. Virgil shook the thoughts from his head. “I’ll just…” the innkeeper laughed, an uncomfortable sound, and stepped away. “I’ll grab Emile.”
Virgil didn’t get a chance to ask who Emile was before the innkeeper darted back out of the room. For the most part, Virgil was used to flustered people even if he didn’t necessarily like being treated like that. He was a prince after all. But this was different. Unless the innkeeper had seen Virgil before, he had no way of knowing that Virgil was a prince.
Outside of the room, he could hear faint whispering. Slowly, carefully, ignoring the ache in his side, he reached for the pitcher and poured himself some water. He had just finished drinking it when the door opened again.
This time, it revealed two people. Virgil’s stomach twisted. Now, he was outnumbered.
One of the men was just a tad bit taller than the innkeeper had been. He was dressed in a white tunic with the symbol of a medic pinned to it. A doctor then. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting about the doctor except for the shock of bubblegum pink hair atop his head. Virgil wondered if it was natural. He knew, at least, that he could trust the doctor. In order to wear that pin, they had to swear to never harm another being.
The other man was much more a threat Virgil knew. He was probably the same height as Virgil and dressed in a black tunic and equally black pants. His hair was dark brown, just a shade darker than the hue of his skin, and combed back away from his face. A pair of darkened spectacles rested on his face, hiding most of his expression. His lips, however, were turned downward into a scowl. A dark brown civet swayed next to his legs, eyeing Fortune disdainfully.
To Virgil’s surprise, they were both, like the innkeeper, barefoot; though the doctor wore mismatched blue and pink socks.
“Good morning,” the doctor said, sounding extraordinarily cheerful given the current circumstances.
Was it morning? Virgil didn’t know. He didn’t even know how long he’d been out. How long he’d been in this room that looked much too personable to be an inn room. Where he even was.
The doctor strode across the room and before Virgil could react, he placed a hand against his forehead. The frowning man frowned more and Virgil found his eyes consistently bouncing over to him. “Well,” the doctor said. “Your fever has gone down at least.”
Fever? Had Virgil developed a fever? A side effect of the poison? Virgil hazarded a question, “What about the poison?”
The doctor paused in removing Virgil’s bandages and peered up at him through pale pink lashes. “Poison?” he questioned before undid the last bit of the bandages.
Virgil’s eyes widened as he stared down at the wound. It just looked like an ordinary burn wound, sticky and gross, but definitely not poisoned. His blood also appeared to a normal, simple red, now dried brownish by the scabbing.
“You got burned pretty badly,” the doctor said as he turned to the bag he’d set down next to the pitcher.
“Yeah,” the other man said and Virgil’s eyes snapped over to him. “I wonder how.”
Virgil had no idea what he was trying to imply. And honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Remy, please,” the doctor said as he dripped some potion onto a rag. “It isn’t as if this is the first time we’ve come here to take care of some injured criminal.”
Criminal? Virgil jerked back, both from the pain of the potion as it touched his injury and from the doctor’s words. “ Relax ,” the doctor said softly, magic curling into the air as Virgil felt his muscles ease. A mage doctor then. Even so, his words did nothing to soothe Virgil’s racing mind.
The other man- Remy?- huffed and crossed his arms. He dropped his gaze to the civet at his feet. “Why are you taking his side, Cafferty?” he asked the animal.
The civet wound between his legs, still peering at Fortune every few seconds. Fortune glared back at it and backed up closer to Virgil. The doctor sighed and turned to face Remy, “Dearest, if you’re not going to help then please send Patton in here.”
Remy’s frown dropped in an instant. “Darling,” he said.
The doctor just gave him an unimpressed look. Remy threw up his hands with a sigh before leaving. He left the door open behind him and Virgil doubted he really intended on going far. The doctor sighed and turned back to cleaning Virgil’s burn. “I apologize for my husband,” he said. “He just worries, is all.”
Don’t we all , Virgil thought, but didn’t say. Instead, he just leisurely dragged his hands through Fortune’s fur. It usually helped to calm him, but his nerves were much too on edge right now.
A moment later, the innkeeper returned, this time with a hummingbird zipping around his head. Innkeeper! Fortune said again and Virgil glanced down at her in surprise. Whereas she’d been strictly informative the first time, now she appeared a little happy to see him. Again, Virgil wondered how long he’d been out.
He asked the question a second later.
“Well, you’ve been here for about four days,” the innkeeper said.
“You were unconscious when Patton found you,” the doctor said.
Virgil looked over at the handsome innkeeper. Patton. Patton was his name. “He actually did a very good job of patching you up,” the doctor went on. “You probably would’ve bled out. He saved your life.”
“Emile,” Patton squeaked, pressing his hands to his reddening cheeks.
“In that case,” Virgil turned to Patton. “I am entirely indebted to you, Sir Patton.”
“Oh please don’t call me that,” Patton said, hands still on his cheeks. “Makes me feel so old.”
Emile rolled his eyes, though it was clearly very good natured. Whatever their relationship was with one another, it definitely went beyond just an innkeeper and the doctor he occasionally called. “Regardless,” Virgil said, catching Patton’s attention again. “Thank you. Is there anything I can give you in return?”
Patton looked away, his cheeks still flushed pink. He smiled softly and something in Virgil’s chest tightened pleasantly. “Your name?” Patton asked. His gaze darted to his hummingbird familiar, likely exasperated with something he’d said.
Shit. The one thing Virgil couldn’t tell him. Virgil looked down at Fortune, who likely would’ve shrugged if cats could shrug. When he looked back, both Patton and Emile were looking at him curiously. Virgil cleared his throat, turning his gaze to his hands. “You can call me Virge.”
__________________
“Can I ask where I am?”
Patton looked up from where he’d been cleaning Virge’s wound. It was a lot easier to do now that he was awake. In the days that he’d been unconscious, Emile and Remy had both stayed over to make sure it got cleaned twice a day. The three of them had maneuvered his body this way and that. It was honestly a miracle that alone hadn’t woken up the handsome stranger.
Now, Remy and Emile had returned home, leaving Patton to clean the man’s wounds himself. Patton had asked if Virge wanted to do it himself, but the man admitted that he didn’t know anything about medical care. That piece of information was surprising to Patton. Criminals almost always had a basic understanding of first aid.
“My bedroom,” Patton replied without thinking. The moment the words came out of his mouth, he let out a mortified squeak.
Virge was looking at him with a similar expression. “I apologize for using your sleeping quarters,” he said, sounding completely ashamed.
Patton waved him off, a small smile tilting at his lips. “It’s fine. I usually sleep in the loft with Thomas anyways.”
“Thomas?”
Oh dear. Patton clamped his mouth shut. Maybe he trusted Virge more than he should considering the fact they knew absolutely nothing about each other, but that didn’t mean Patton was naive enough to let this man know that his son lived there. He’d even been ridiculously careful not to let Virge’s cat familiar see Thomas.
Virge seemed to notice Patton’s change in demeanor because he looked away. He buried his hands into his cat’s fur. “I apologize. I don’t mean to pry.”
“You talk real formal,” Patton said suddenly, looking up at Virge. Virge’s hands froze. “Not from around here?”
“No,” Virge replied, his voice still that light, practiced tone. He sounded like Remy had when he first came to Dimn. “I am not.”
He sounded sad and a little angry. Patton dropped his gaze back to the burn wound. The wound that had once been black sludge. Emile had asked about a poison that Virge mentioned. Patton had shrugged it off as “just a burn, Emile”.
“That’s okay,” Patton said after a minute. “Most of us aren’t. And to answer your question, you’re at the Misty Moon Inn just outside of Dimn.”
“Dimn?” Virge muttered the name under his breath before muttering it again. His eyes widened suddenly as his head swivelled around to look at Patton. Patton jumped, again caught off guard by the purple-black color of Virge’s eyes. “Dimn on the border of Masoth and Arcenciel?”
Patton blinked rapidly at Virge. “Well, tech- Well, technically we are about a two days ride from Arcenciel, but yes?”
Virge looked down at his cat, who stared back up at him with a seemingly bewildered expression. “That’s impossible, Fortune,” Virge said.
Fortune blinked slowly. Virge sighed, dragging a hand through his black hair. “Great, just wonderful .”
Patton looked between the two of them. “Am I… Missing something?”
Virge jumped as if he’d just realized Patton was still in the room with them. He frowned then shook his head. “No, nothing. I apologize, Patton.”
Patton’s eyebrows furrowed, but he just nodded and turned to grab the bandages. Virge had been lying from the moment he woke up. Patton knew that much. He always knew when someone was lying. Remy thought it was a magical gift, but Patton’s mother had always just tapped a finger to his nose and said with a smile, “Intuition, my love. A Summerford family secret.”
Patton knew Virge was lying, but he also knew that he wasn’t doing it out of malice. Still, it made him curious and maybe just the tiniest bit wary.
He finished redressing Virge’s wound in silence. When he stood to go, fingers curled loosely around his wrist. Patton froze.
“I am not a criminal,” Virge said.
Patton’s eyes dipped to his wound, skeptical, but Virge just gripped his hand a bit tighter. “I need you to trust me,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I know you have no reason to, but please, please just trust me.”
Patton looked back, startled to find Virge’s eyes wide with thinly veiled panic. After a long moment, Patton sighed, giving Virge a soft smile and a nod. Virge released him, relief flooded in his expression. He offered Patton a smile, a small one that looked like it didn’t often make an appearance on his face. But an absolutely endearing one.
“I’ll wake you up when it’s time to change them again,” Patton said.
“Thank you again,” Virge said. “Truly.”
__________________
Virgil was starting to feel like a cat in a cage. He never much cared for the interactions that came with being a prince, but he had very much enjoyed the fact that he could walk around in the sunlight, walk through his gardens. Be at ease.
It’d been a week and he had yet to leave Patton’s bedroom. There was an adjoining restroom, a small blessing, but there wasn’t much else. With the help of Emile and Patton, Virgil was up and walking within three days, but that only served to make him more restless. Because now he could look out Patton’s window and see the world.
During the days, he watched Patton tend to the horses in the stable and the flowers in his garden. At night, he watched drunkards and vagabonds and travellers enter and leave. He always made sure to move away from the window when Patton appeared to dress his wounds or give him food.
Patton rarely showed up otherwise and every time he turned to leave, Virgil found himself reaching for his wrist or sleeve, calling out, asking for more conversation in the only convoluted way he knew. Virgil didn’t think it stemmed from loneliness. He was never truly alone; he always had Fortune after all. And Emile came at least every other day to see him and talk to him and it wasn’t quite the same.
He just wanted to talk with Patton. Patton, who smiled like the sun, and laughed like bells. Patton, who managed to bring a smile to Virgil’s lips and chase away the troubling thoughts stirring in Virgil’s mind for even a moment.
But being stuck in the room was still driving him insane. So he made a rash decision and decided to leave the room, knowing that Patton would be at the inn getting dinner ready. He just intended to explore, but he did not expect to see a small child sitting at the table.
The kid stared at Virgil and Virgil stared back.
He couldn’t have been more than ten with a head of light brown hair and big, equally brown eyes. He was dressed in a one piece shirt and pants combo, a common outfit for children in Masoth.
Had the kid broken in? He looked clean and healthy, nothing like the homeless children Virgil had occasionally seen in the capital, but maybe children were just dirtier in the city? Fortune darted past Virgil’s legs and the kid’s attention was drawn to her instead. It snapped Virgil out of his shock. He stepped out of the room, a greeting forming on his lips.
“Oh no,” the boy said.
He didn’t seem all that surprised by Virgil’s presence at all. Instead, he just hopped down from his chair and bent down. When he straightened up, Virgil saw a rabbit familiar cradled in his arms. “Hello,” Virgil tried again. “Are you supposed to be in here?”
The boy looked between Fortune and Virgil before he turned on his heel and ran . He turned a corner and disappeared, leaving Virgil caught completely off guard. He knew that he wasn’t the best with children, but the boy’s reaction seemed a bit over the top. Although the boy’s presence was a little bizarre.
It didn’t click in Virgil’s mind until he heard Patton’s voice. “Ow, ow,” he said, laughing as he spoke. “Don’t tug so hard, kiddo.”
The boy and Patton rounded the corner, the boy’s hand firmly inserted into Patton’s. The boy raised a hand and pointed at Virgil like he was accusing Virgil of some crime. And if Virgil was honest, he kind of felt like he was committing one. He had intended to snoop around Patton’s house like a creep.
Patton’s eyes widened as he stared at Virgil. He coughed before pressing the boy a bit behind him. His gaze turned to his hummingbird for the barest second, “Yes, thank you, Pip.”
“You…” Virgil’s gaze dropped back to the kid, who pressed himself closer to Patton. “You know this kid?”
Patton cleared his throat again, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “He’s my son.”
“I’m Thomas Summerford!” the boy declared before he held out his rabbit. “This is my rabbit friend, Dow Summerford.”
The name snapped into place. Patton had mentioned sleeping in the loft with a Thomas. At the time, Virgil had assumed that it was Patton’s partner.
He was never so happy to be wrong.
The fond expression that crossed Patton’s face was unmistakable and it brought a tightness to Virgil’s chest. The King had a similar look that had seemed to only be reserved for Virgil. He missed his father.
Virgil looked down at Thomas again. The two looked absolutely nothing alike and Virgil wondered if the boy had gotten all of his traits from his mother. And where was the mother? Gods, Virgil was thinking of too many questions. Getting to know Patton anymore was probably not a very good idea.
Even so, Virgil knelt down to Thomas’s level and scooped up Fortune. “My name is Virge and this is my cat friend, Fortune.”
“What’s your family name?” Thomas asked slowly, his words jumping around the sentence uncertainly.
Virgil froze. Again, he knew that giving his name was too much. “I do not have one,” he said after a moment. “My family is gone.”
Patton’s eyebrows furrowed a bit, just like they always did when Virgil told a lie. Virgil didn’t know if he knew he was lying or just suspected it, but the look always made him nervous regardless. Patton opened his mouth, likely to say something, but Thomas jumped out from behind him with a wide smile and an eager glint to his eyes. “We can be your family!”
Once again, Virgil found himself caught off guard and a little choked up. It seemed to be an effect all of the Summerfords had on him.
“Thomas,” Patton said softly and Thomas whirled around.
“What?” he said, clearly without a care in the world. “I had no family and you became my papa!”
Patton smiled, that fond look back on his face. “That’s different, Tommyboy. You were a little boy. Virge is a big, grown man.”
Thomas pouted before dramatically setting Dow down and crossing his arms. “This is not fair,” he said. “What if I want a brother, Papa? What then?”
Virgil couldn’t help it. He snorted. Both Patton and Thomas looked at him in surprise. Thomas grinned. “You told me he didn’t laugh!” Thomas exclaimed, pointing the same accusatory finger at Patton that he’d been pointing at Virgil only moments before.
“I thought he didn’t,” Patton said, sounding genuinely dumbfounded. His eyes widened as if his thoughts had caught up to his mouth. “Oh gosh, I didn’t mean that, Virge.”
“I don’t think you have tried to make me laugh, Patton,” Virgil said.
“Well, that’s patton-ly absurd,” Patton said, his face splitting into a wide grin.
Virgil covered his mouth to stop the laugh that threatened to spill out. Next to him, Fortune burst out into laughter. He managed to smooth out his features at the last moment. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”
What?! That was a great joke, Virgil .
Patton stepped closer, one of his hands automatically going to settle into Thomas’s hair. “Well, you know how birds fly in a v formation and one side is longer than the other? Why do you think that is?”
Virgil blinked, surprised by the sudden facts that Patton seemed to be giving out. “Um, I don’t know?”
“Because there’s more birds on that side,” he said with the straightest face Virgil had ever seen on him.
Virgil couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, hiding his face in his hands. He laughed so hard that his injury started to twinge in pain. He laughed so hard that he needed the table for support. He laughed and laughed and laughed and it honestly felt so, so good. He hadn’t laughed this hard since he was a teenager. Fortune borderline cackled beside him and even Thomas giggled at his father’s joke. Patton just beamed at them.
It took Virgil a moment to calm himself, but when he did, Patton was still grinning. And he looked beautiful. Virgil tramped the thought down. “I apologize for leaving the room,” he said. “I know that you probably did not want me to.”
Patton’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s fine,” he said. “I can’t keep you locked up like an animal.”
He probably honestly wanted Virgil out of his house completely. And though Virgil had nowhere to go until the hunt for his head cooled down, he offered anyway. “Would you like me to leave?”
Thomas made a small sound that might have been a whine as he turned his gaze to Patton. Patton glanced down at his son briefly before looking back at Virgil. His smile softened around the edges and Virgil found himself a little weak in the knees. “You can stay as long as you want, Virge.”
As long as we want? Fortune said and if cats could grin, she definitely would’ve been grinning. I want to stay as long as he’s got that yummy fish stuff!
Virgil tried not to roll his eyes. Instead, he gave Patton a warm smile in return. “Thank you. I believe I might find my entire life indebted to your kindness.”
Patton’s cheeks flushed into that lovely pink that Virgil liked so much. He turned, turning Thomas around with him. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s bake tonight’s bread.”
“But I wanna play with Virge ,” Thomas whined.
Patton looked over his shoulder at Virgil. “I’m sure Virgil has things he wants to do,” he said.
Virgil looked down at Thomas, who stared up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. After a moment, he sighed. “It’s alright, Patton,” he said and Thomas started jumping up and down in time with Dow. “I fear I do not know any games though.”
“I’ll teach them to you,” Thomas exclaimed as he caught Virgil’s hand. “C’mon, Papa just showed me how to play tic-tac-toe yesterday! It’s so much fun!”
Well, Virgil knew that game. Even so, he nodded along with Thomas’s words. “It sounds fun.”
When he looked back up, Patton was still there, watching them both with a curious expression. He caught Virgil looking at him and smiled. “Well, if you insist. I’ll just be on the other side of the door if you need me.”
__________________
Patton worked late. It was a fact he couldn’t avoid. When Thomas had been really little, Emile or Remy would come over to put him to bed for Patton. Over the years though, Thomas had learned to tuck himself in. Patton would usually come back to the house side of the inn and climb the stairs to the loft before collapsing into bed next to his son. Thomas always latched onto him immediately like a leech. Patton hadn’t slept in his own bed in years .
Even with the arrival of Virge, the two of them hadn’t deviated from that routine. Even after Virge and Thomas had met, nothing had changed.
So Patton was more than a little bit surprised when he returned to the house and found Virge and Thomas on the couch. Thomas was out cold, Dow pressed to his chest, his entire body curled into Virge’s side. Virge, for his part, was reading with Fortune curled on his lap and a hand lazily carding through the cat familiar’s fur. It should’ve startled Patton. Virge had been watching Thomas almost every day since they’d met about a week ago, but he’d never come home to something like this.
Virge looked up suddenly, eyes wide. Patton hadn’t realized he’d made any noise. Pip zipped next to his ear. I’m too tired for this , he said before he zoomed up the stairs to the loft. Patton didn’t move. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.
Virge turned his gaze to Thomas’s sleeping form, his face smoothed out and gentle. Patton’s heart skipped more than a couple of beats. He stepped closer as quietly as he could, kneeling down in front of his son. Patton slowly carded a hand through Thomas’s hair. The boy didn’t respond besides briefly scooting closer to Virge.
“He had a nightmare,” Virge said. The tips of his ears pinkened a bit. “He was shouting. I think he thought I was you.”
Patton looked up at Virge, who was frowning down at Thomas. “Fire?” Patton asked. It was a common dream for Thomas. He’d been too young to remember how his parents died, if they died, but he dreamt of fire enough that Patton and Emile both imagined it had something to do with how he ended up wandering the woods.
Virge nodded. “I…” he sighed and put the book down. Patton distantly recognized it as one that Emile had brought over for him to read. Virgil stared down at Fortune, who continued to snooze along. There was something about the distant look in his eyes that made Patton’s chest feel warm. “Whenever I had nightmares, my mother would take me somewhere else and read to me. She would read anything. Physics, fairytales. Sometimes she would read magical theory to me.”
“She sounds like a wonderful person,” Patton said.
Virge looked down at Patton, a faint smile twinging at his lips. “She was. My father was as well.”
“Do you miss them?” Patton asked.
“Everyday.”
Patton nodded before he turned his gaze to Thomas. He had always been such a heavy sleeper. “I miss my ma,” he said. “It was always just me and her. She was… Incredible . Caring and hardworking and so, so kind.”
“What happened to her?”
Virge looked as though he was startled by his own words. “I apologize, I didn’t-”
Patton smiled sadly at him and shook his head. “Plague,” he said simply. “I was sixteen.”
“I’m sorry,” Virge said and Patton startled a bit when a sudden pressure pushed against his free hand. Virge’s hand on top of his.
Patton stared up at Virge and Virge stared back down at him. A million years could’ve passed and it wouldn’t have made a difference to Patton. He knew then, what he’d only suspected a week ago when he heard Virge’s laughter.
“I should,” Patton cleared his throat, still holding Virge’s gaze. “I should get Thomas into bed.”
“Yes,” Virge said, but he didn’t pull his hand away and Patton wasn’t sure he wanted him to.
“I don’t want to wake him up,” Patton said.
“Then don’t.”
Needless to say, Patton woke up the next morning on the couch with Thomas, Virge, Fortune, Dow, and even Pip all piled up around him.
__________________
Virgil knew that he was entering dangerous territory when Patton’s knuckles accidentally brushed his ribs while redoing his bandages. In that moment, all Virgil heard was the pounding of his heart and all he felt was that familiar pleasant tightness in his chest. He grabbed Patton’s hand before he could stop himself.
Patton didn’t pull away, not immediately. His eyes widened a bit, but he held Virgil’s gaze, steady and clear and so, so soft. “Sorry,” he said, his voice so quiet Virgil almost strained to hear him. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” Virgil managed to gasp out even though it felt like there was a vice grip on his lungs.
Patton smiled as his fingers tangled into Virgil’s. “Good.”
Virgil wanted nothing more than to kiss him. His fingers twitched and after a moment, he pulled away. He tried to ignore the way that Patton’s face fell. They continued the process in silence and Patton left with only a small goodbye. And oh gods, it hurt so much.
Virgil knew he needed to leave before he became any more attached. He had been there an entire month, more than long enough for a headhunt to calm. Ophiuchus likely assumed that Virgil died in the forest that night. Virgil had only two reasons to stay and they’d be in danger if he stayed too long.
So, after Patton had returned from the inn and gone to bed, Virgil reattached his belt and pulled on his boots. His abdomen still ached, but the pain was bearable now. Bearable enough that he’d be able to ride, at least.
Why are we leaving? Fortune whined as she threaded around Virgil’s legs.
“You know why,” Virgil hissed under his breath. He didn’t want to wake Patton up.
We’re safe here, Virgil , she argued as she hopped up onto the chair that Virgil’s belongings had been sitting on. No one is going to look for you in Dimn. We’re thousands of miles away from home.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
It shouldn’t have been possible. Virgil doubted that he’d been riding for more than a night on the back of the gelding. That length of time did not equate to the weeks it should’ve taken him to get to Dimn by horseback. As a child, Virgil and Ophiuchus had listened to the stories, stories about misplaced space. Stories of how people used magic to jump from one side of the world to the other.
The brothers had always dismissed it as fiction, but-
If something like that truly existed, especially if it existed just outside of the capital, then Virgil needed to find it. He needed to find it, amass an army to fight against his brother, and use it to get his crown back.
Virgil winced as he pulled on his cloak. He was surprised to find it completely devoid of blood and thought back to Patton’s always pristine apron. Which made him think of Patton’s smile and his eyes and- Virgil groaned and shoved his hands into his hair.
Fortune mewed softly, the closest her cat form could come to a sound of sympathy. With a small sigh, Virgil turned the doorknob and opened the door.
He promptly stopped.
Patton was standing in front of the door, hand raised as if to knock. His eyes went wide, surprised. Slowly, his gaze travelled over Virgil’s attire. “You’re leaving,” he said and Virgil’s heart panged at the forlornness of his tone.
“I have to,” Virgil said.
Patton shuffled in place. "I'm not asking you to go, so why do you have to?"
Was now really the time he was going to start asking questions? He knew that Patton could tell when he was lying. There was no purpose in doing it now. Virgil knew that he should leave now, without saying a word.
When Patton looked up, Virgil was startled to see tears in his eyes. Patton moved closer, catching Virgil's fingers between his own. Their hands tangled together without prompting, palms pressed flush against each other. Virgil knew that his hand belonged in Patton’s the same way he knew that the sun rose and set everyday.
"You could stay," Patton said as he took another step closer. His voice was barely a whisper. "Please stay."
Virgil didn't really process what happened next. He surged forward, his free hand cupping the soft skin of Patton’s cheek. Patton squeaked.
The kiss was short, but it made warmth blossom in Virgil's chest. It was the closest he'd felt to having his magic back since he woke up. Like fire in his fingertips and lightning in his veins. He felt as though he could fight his brother at this moment and win, if only it meant he could spend another moment with the beautiful man in front of him.
Virgil pulled his hand free from Patton’s grasp, his arms winding around the shorter man’s waist. He thought that maybe, if he grasped onto him tight enough, the life he had before would become the dream. Maybe, if he held Patton against him long enough, Virgil could wake up in a world where he was not a prince on the run, but a humble innkeeper’s husband with a son that loved tic-tac-toe.
Patton sniffled against Virgil’s chest, his shoulders rising and falling with silent sobs.
"That's why I have to go," Virgil said as he pressed his face into Patton curls. He smelled like freshly baked bread and the lemons he grew outside the inn.
Virgil heard the crack in his voice, felt the stinging behind his eyes. He hadn’t cried since his father passed. After all, Kings are not supposed to cry, but maybe, just maybe the gods would spare him a tear. Patton shifted and brought his arms up to hold Virgil back. His fingers curled into the fabric tightly. "Maybe," Patton said, his voice muffled by Virgil's shirt. "That's why you need to stay."
Virgil knew that if he held on any longer, he would lose all resolve. That he would never leave and, in doing so, put Patton and Thomas and Remy and Emile in danger. And, given the current state of his magic and body, he doubted he'd be able to protect them. Virgil would never be able to forgive himself if he let someone hurt him.
So he pulled away.
Patton, surprisingly, gave up no fight. He slowly released Virgil and stood to the side, his hands clamped over his mouth. Virgil , Fortune said, sounding absolutely miserable. Let’s stay.
Virgil didn’t respond. He pulled his hood over his head and made his way to the door. Fortune followed, still pleading with him. Virgil opened the door, letting the warm summer air wash over him. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Virgil heard a thud as Patton’s knees hit the ground, heard Patton’s quiet sobs. Virgil heard his own breath hitch, felt his resolve begin to crumble. “I love you,” Patton said, his voice raspy and half a sob, but Virgil still heard it. "I'll wait for you."
I love you too , Virgil thought, but didn’t say. He bent down, picked up Fortune, and left.
As a forewarning, Of the Sun and Moon will have violence, mild gore, mentions of bullying, abuse, self-harm, mental health issues and other fantasy-typical action and themes. Each chapter will be tagged properly for triggers.
Ophiuchus is this au's favorite snake boi, Deceit! He only goes by Ophiuchus and will probably kill you if you call him Ophi.
As much as I love sympathetic!Deceit, he is very unsympathetic in this au.
Trash boi, aka Remus, is a mage! He is actually a super good mage despite not really trying. He's Logan's biggest rival and they hate reach other.
There will be Dukeceit in this story.
Roman is magic-less, which is really rare in this world. But he is v skilled and can kick any mage's butt.
Most people in this world can perform basic magic. Mages have more magic than a typical person, though there are a lot of people with a lot of magic that don't join the Order of Mages.
Everyone has a familiar! Virge has a black cat named Fortune. Lo has a marmot named Crofter. Ro has a wolf named Aura. And Pat has a hummingbird named Pip (short for Pippinelle).
If you have to know, Ophiuchus has a snake named Tulio and Remus has a toad named Splash.
Expect to see a lot of Cartoon Therapy characters and Thomas and Friends in this au. Also Remy, because of course.
And yes, there will be Remile in this story.
Thomas is also going to show up eventually, though his role might surprise ya! (Not a villain though. Nopety.)
Moxiety and Logince will be the focus for the first portion of the book, but it will eventually become LAMP.
That's all I got for now. I am working on the outline and first chapter as of right now! Stay tuned for more content!
