take a look around, any thought that brain of yours can think of can be found. 😬 guardian of secrets 💅🏻 the gayest frog ✅ blogging from the edge of the universe 💲i'll do your boyfriend🥰
— SUMMARY: It's the night of (Y/N)'s royal birthday ball, and while she had hoped to spend this whole night dancing with Wilbur, her mother had different plans for the soon-to-be-betrothed princess. Plans that both she and Wilbur don't have the intention to follow. Meanwhile, Tommy is curious about where Wilbur is always running off to, and finds himself on his own adventure.
— AUTHOR’S NOTE: oh my god. finally, finally. I know. I hope people are still interested in this fic. Anyway. This is a huge huge chapter, not only in length but in like... turning points. it's a big thing. You'll see. I also have so many little easter eggs and reoccurring themes... Disclaimer that any names, places, and titles used in this series are made up/fictionalized. And listen to this like I did while writing most of this! (while the final scene it was on the very last song and wow...)
— TAGLIST/MOOTS: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @meep-frog-mari, @shironoya , @mrs-soot , @imabouttobeesnuts , @thegryffindoraxolotl , @cant-see-sam , @sardonic-the-writer , @nightmarefox15 , @fayeisuppose , @luna-tides, @yoitsalexxxxx , @zooone , @hiddenshyy , @loversj0y , @serendipityryn , @the-radio-system-writes , @miss-sarcasms , @jovielove , @h-e-l-l-o-h-i, @grey-rambles , @awkwxrdapple , @stangelvve, @lvjymcyt, @wilburslooth, @notpom, @franaby, @wilburofthedumbasses , @hop-scotchh (dm to be added or taken off the taglist!)
—WORD COUNT: 14.6k
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS-> chapter one, chapter two, 2.5 the drawing room, chapter three, 3.5 - the brothers, 3.5 - the friends, YOU'RE HERE
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There was hardly an event in all of the four seasons that drew the same anticipation as a royal ball thrown in the princess’s honor.
Through the crisp winter air, the whole of the city’s upper-class citizens were alive, and rushed, and busy with the preparations set in place- buying their best fabrics and having new dresses and suits tailored, pulling out their family’s best jewels, princes and marquis and dukes from neighboring kingdoms preparing their best lines and lists of accomplishments to woo the Princess and impress the King and Queen. The finest musicians the city had to offer gathered to rehearse music for the grand ball, tailors and modistes worked like never before, their shops swarmed with pretentious nobles from out of town looking to make the Princess their wife.
The castle was nearly rattling, buzzing with excitement in the last few hours before guests would be let in the front gates- the chefs preparing food and the maids and house servants preparing the ballroom with the finest decor and entertainment, with grandeurs only the King and Queen could have.
All of this preparation for her, and yet, the princess was hiding away in her drawing room, stitching away at the embroidering in a silky, white cloth, the only thing buzzing around her mind being the thought of seeing her Wilbur once again.
She had barely stopped smiling since the night he danced in the rain with her, kissed the back of her hand with his hair dripping rainwater into his eyes, and left that lovely letter on her bed for her to find. The words he wrote rattled around her brain constantly, a continuous mantra that had her growing even more excited for the next time she saw him. My Dearest (Y/N)... the words echoed over and over. Dearest. She was his Dearest. My heart aches for you… she laid in bed that night, her heart pounding and her cheeks hot at the thought of him alone, in his bed across the town, thinking of her. She couldn’t describe the feeling that snaked through her body from deep in her gut, somewhere far inside of her that she’d never felt before, but she had hoped he was feeling the same as she did. Aching, she supposed. This is what aching feels like. And the letter was confirmation enough that he ached as well. The fantasies came stronger than ever that night, and as her eyes slipped shut, she imagined herself in his long arms, in his warm embrace, gazing up into his honey-hued eyes that seemed to glitter like gold in the early evening sunlight. His smile and the glint in his eyes sparkled just as much as the peak of his high cheekbones, and his hair felt like cotton as her fingers dug through it. She imagined how his skin would feel against her mouth- the beauty marks on his face and his neck and places she would rather not name- imagined his lips against her, loving her and pressing kisses across her skin as they did in the scandalous stories she read. And her mind was fuzzy as she imagined him doing things to her that would make a gentler woman gasp.
“I think it’s done!” She finally exclaimed, brushing the heated thoughts from her head, finishing up her final stitch, and holding the delicate fabric up in her fingers.
Rose glanced up from across the room. “What have you been working on?”
“Look!” The Princess bounced to her slippered feet and over towards her mother figure, proudly holding out the silk square with the words ‘My Dearest Wil’ stitched in. Then, lowering her voice in case somebody walked in, she continued. “It’s for Wil, do you think he will like it?”
With a wise smile, Rose answered: “A man of any worth will cherish every little thing you give him, no matter how insignificant. He had better protect it with his life.”
(Y/N) clutched the handkerchief to her chest and sunk back to her seat, smiling at the thought and hoping he would like it. She couldn’t wait to see him tonight, for once not hidden away from everyone, but dancing freely in the ballroom, unafraid of prying eyes. For the first time in years, she was filled with excitement rather than dread at the thought of attending a ball. For the first time in years, she had something to look forward to beyond drawn-out dances with men who didn’t care about her in any way other than for political ties.
As she was mid-daydream, the queen, her dreaded mother, waltzed into the room in a flourish of maids carrying lavish gowns.
“(Y/N), you need to be preparing for the ball. What have you been doing in here?" The princess stuffed the handkerchief embroidered with her secret sweetheart's name into her pocket and grabbed the novel at her side- Romeo and Juliet, with its broken spine and dog-eared pages from so many years of reading- praying her mother hadn’t seen. Instead, the elder woman scoffed at the novel. “Oh, you mustn’t spend your days confusing your thoughts with those books of yours, lest you lose track of what should truly be on your mind.” She waved her hand and motioned the maids to continue to the rooms. “Come, or have you forgotten your routine?”
“Of course not, Mama.” For a Princess, preparations for any royal ball- let alone one in honor of herself and her coming-of-age, were incredibly meticulous and well planned out. There were baths to be had, makeovers to be done, rouge to be dusted on cheeks and dresses to be fitted into. It was incredibly long and tiring and (Y/N) usually dreaded it almost as much as she dreaded the dance itself- having men many years her senior holding her waist and her hand and giving her looks that made her skin crawl. Tonight, though, a different thought was taking residence in her head. The thought of Wilbur, his hands on her waist, smiling at her, dancing with him in front of all of their eyes, for the first time not hiding away from the prying eyes of the upper class. And that thought- his hands, his eyes, his smile- outweighed the looming anxiety. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Make haste, then!”
(Y/N) sighed as her mother left the room, and Rose smirked at the girl’s subtle eye roll behind her mother’s back. Ah, the rebellion of young hearts.
“Rose.” She started in a low whisper, looking at her maid with pleading eyes. “Please, do you remember our plan?”
“Of course, my dear.” She smiled at the princess, endeared by the desperation of young love and the urgency at which they seemed to need each other. She thought back to the morning she found him in her room, how flustered and embarrassed he’d seemed, how genuinely he seemed to care for her. It made the elder woman smile, made her think of fonder times. “He shall be one of the first guests to arrive. You have my promise.”
She seemed to ease, a weight lifted from her shoulders. “And you have my thanks. I truly cannot wait for tonight!”
“Your mother is right, though. You must go prepare now, get ready to see your sweetheart, yes?” A flustered look covered the princess’s face, a shy smile, and a timid demeanor coming over her that her maid had never seen on her before. She truly cared for this boy, it was clear to see.
And with that, the princess turned towards the halls with a giddy smile.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
There was a time, many years ago, when Wilbur and Tommy hadn’t had to fight to stay alive.
When they were first taken into that home- that school, that church, whatever it was, Wilbur still didn’t know what it was called- only nights after their parents’ deaths, it felt like a miracle to them. Finally, they were fed, finally, they were clothed, and finally, there was a roof over their heads again and a bed to sleep in. It had seemed like heaven to them compared to the previous nights in the cold. Little did they know, it would turn out to be hell.
They slept each night in an overcrowded room of maybe a hundred boys, some without a bed and curled up on the floor, often resorting to fighting over the bare necessities. A bed had been assigned to Wilbur on their first night, but the other boys had fought him for it, so he was content with sleeping on the cold floor, holding tiny baby Tommy against his chest as he laid awake each night, praying that things would be okay in the morning, that he’d wake up and realize it had been a dream, a nightmare. The other boys were different. They hadn’t come from as loving a home as Wilbur had. Most had been born into crime or dropped on the doorstep before they’d even known their parents. They were hardened around the edges before ten years of age and didn’t take kindly to Wil’s arrival. Wil didn’t fit in. He wasn’t rough and tough and willing to fight the boys for a bed or another blanket. He was docile and quiet and kept to his corner of the room reading his books, and only spoke up when he was spoken to. He’d lie awake, whispering to the wall and praying that the other boys would leave him alone and stop teasing him. They don’t understand, he would tell the walls, they don’t understand what it’s like to have a brother to take care of. To lose everything.
There were daily lessons, lessons in reading and arithmetic, but it was nothing like a school building, and they only learned the bare minimum that allowed them to read books and add and subtract. It wasn’t long before he was put to work, sent out to deliver news pamphlets to the higher status members of the village with a few other boys, or cleaning chimneys, coming home at the end of the day covered in soot and dirt. Wilbur was sure that the only thing that kept them from putting Tommy to work too was the baby’s inability to even stand yet. He was gone all day working, the first day in the entire year of Tommy’s life that he hadn’t seen the boy. He realized, a shock rumbling through his body, that they meant to raise this baby into a worker just like he and the other boys. Or, worse yet, they might try to give him away to a family, as if having a baby to take care of was too much of a burden, and they would do everything they could to get rid of the boy.
So it was there, in the village, that Wilbur decided they had to run away. And it was there, in the village, that Wilbur sealed his own fate, and in turn his brother’s.
Wilbur took a sip of his morning tea. It was bitter and too hot and burned sliding down his throat.
He was on the roof, where he spent most mornings, and a book was lying gently in his lap, the book (Y/N) had urged him to read many fortnights ago. It must incredibly different from the rest of the plain, faded paper books Wilbur owned- ahem, had stolen- and had an intricately decorated burgundy leather cover, with gold lettering inscribed on the front. Romeo and Juliet. A romance. He had struggled and stumbled over the meanings of some of the words, but ultimately, he could understand what the story meant. He could understand the story- young lovers, forbidden from being together, aching for each other despite their family's rivalries. He had not yet finished the story- though the pages were stuffed full of his own loose leaves of paper, ink scribblings of poetry, and love letters that came to his mind while reading and thinking of her, that he would never send her way- but he could understand it. Before this, (Y/N) had given him a book of fairytales, some stories that he remembered with a faint tint of nostalgia that he had heard from his childhood, gentle stories of princesses falling in love and families living happily and knights in shining armor saving the day. Those were easy to finish. This, though, was filled with pain. It was a story of young lovers: naive, starcrossed, fated by the gods, and cursed from the beginning. The audience knew- everyone knew- there was no hope for their love. But still, they fought for each other and sacrificed for each other, and that only made it hurt more, knowing how tragic they were destined to end. It was sad. Like a novel discarded on the last page, like a painting that never saw the last brush stroke, like a symphony that never heard the final bow of the conductor. This was no romance.
It was a tragedy.
But he’d finish it if only to appease (Y/N). If it was good enough for her, he would read it without complaint.
Tonight was the ball. Anxiety crawled up his spine at the thought of how he would be so, so close to the people who despised his family so. Another, softer, warmer type of anxiety ticked him at the thought of dancing with (Y/N). His hand on her waist again, hand wrapped in hers, her body against his. It had not even been a week since they had last danced, since he had last waved goodbye to her in the rain, whispering his love to her and hiding that letter by her pillow, but still, he felt as if his body was aching- purely, aching- for hers. He hoped, he prayed to any deity that would listen, that (Y/N) had read his letter and she returned his affections, that she wouldn’t turn him away at her door tonight.
He had spent all morning preparing before Tommy was awake. He had woken up early to bathe in the river- despite the cold winter air- feeling the cold air against his bare skin, exhilarating him, spending extra time to clean his hair and make sure it would dry soft to the touch. Then he had dressed in front of the furnace in as many layers as possible, pulling on the only sweater he had that could keep out the late autumn chills and hoping Tommy was warm enough in bed. He snuck into their bedroom quietly to tuck the covers more snuggly around the boy before climbing to the roof with the book he adored so dearly.
And that’s where he sat now, a chill running through his bones.
“Wilbur!”
The frantic shout cut his morning short with a jolt of fright. The man’s body tensed at the yelling from the ground, and, assuming the worst, he quickly climbed down from the roof to see what was the matter. Inside, though, he found nothing, and instantly let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Tommy, what are you yelling about, dickhead?”
Despite the peaceful-seeming environment, Tommy looked up from where he was crouching on the floor, glancing up at him with frantic eyes.“Mr. Fuckhead isn’t here!”
“Oh?” Wilbur calmed, realizing there was no real danger at hand, but still felt a tremble crawling up his spine. “Don’t worry, he’s a cat. He wanders off, he’ll wander back when he’s ready.”
Tommy seemed unsure, skeptical even, he hated being told he was wrong. “Promise?”
The word made Wilbur tense up, thinking back on their promise nights ago, but he put a hand in his little brother’s hair. “I promise. He’s okay. He’ll come back later.”
“Okay.”
With that, the conversation was settled as quickly as it had started, and Wilbur closed the book in his hands and set it on the table. Maybe it was a silent apology, a quick change in topic, a way to redirect the boy's attention from the new promise, or maybe it was the only way Wilbur knew how to say he loved his brother, but the words tumbled out casually. “Did you eat this morning?”
“Yeah.” Tommy pointed at his empty bowl of food, the same cold food they’d been eating for weeks now- the coming winter left few crops and scarce resources- and instead, the young boy focused on the book his brother had thrown down on the table. “What’s this?” He asked, grabbing at it with dirty hands.
Wilbur panicked for a moment at the thought of his precious gift that (Y/N) had so generously entrusted him with- and his secrets scribbled in ink between the pages- falling into the hands of his nosy little brother, and jumped out quickly to snatch it back. “Hey, no! Don’t touch that!”
Tommy looked shocked at his brother’s sudden outburst- certainly not the first outburst he’d seen from the elder boy in the past few weeks- and put his hands up in surrender. “It’s just a book.”
“It’s… it’s not for you to read, okay? It’s important.”
“That’s not fair!” The boy scowled, crossing his arms. “Why do you get books and I don't!?”
“You have books.” Wilbur began before he realized that his little brother must have grown too old for the old stack of books he had stolen from various shops by now, and he must have matured past the level of reading children's literature.
“Kids books! I want something better to read!”
“Okay, okay.” The man surrendered, never truly able to say no to his brother. “How about this? You can go into town later and grab some books from the shop with some of the money I have… saved.”
Saved. Tommy wondered, silently, without letting his facial expressions betray him, if this money had truly been saved, or if it, along with many of their other belongings, was stolen. But he ignored it. We have to survive somehow, he told himself, and internally thanked his big brother for the sacrifices he was making and remembering the fear that gnawed away at him that night he tried to put himself in those much too large shoes. The yelling, the dogs, the fear, the blood. And that fear crept back at the thought of going back into town alone. “By myself?”
Maybe it was the guilt eating away at Wilbur from all the lies he’d been keeping from his brother lately, or maybe something deep inside of him whispered to let his little brother enjoy the same type of freedom he did, but Wilbur nodded. “Yeah, by yourself. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
The boy didn’t say anything.
And then, after a few moments, “Can you come with me?”
“Wha- I, I thought-?” Wil had expected his brother to jump at the thought of that freedom, maybe thank him, after so many weeks of being upset at him for keeping secrets and not letting him wander into town alone. Only weeks ago, this boy was angry at him, sitting in trees to avoid talking to him, and scoffing every time Wilbur had to go into town without him and now, here he was, offering that freedom to Tommy on a silver platter, and all he was met with was indifference. “I thought you would want to go by yourself.”
There was nothing spoken then, but after a brief look of ‘please don’t ask’ flashing through Tommy’s eyes, Wilbur remembered the night he found him crying in a treetop with a sprained ankle and carried him home. How he got hurt, how he ended up in that tree, and where he’d been were all questions that he wanted to ask, but trusted Tommy to tell in his own time.
Instead, he just smiled and brushed it off.
“Alright. C’mon, let’s get ready and we’ll go right now.”
(Y/N)’s image flashed through Wilbur’s mind once more, but he brushed it away as best as he could, despite how his heart protested. He dreaded the idea of dancing late into the night after his walk across town all day, but for Tommy, and for his princess, he would endure. If it made them both happy, he was happy to please. As the boy pulled on his fallen-apart shoes and Wil grabbed the little money they had, he couldn’t help but smile at the rekindling of their brotherhood. No longer was Tommy mad at him. No longer were they fighting. And, with that weight lifted off his shoulders, Wilbur could breathe again.
Tommy first, but I will see you tonight, my dearest.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Rose had been a maid in the castle since before the beloved Princess- or any of her brothers- were born.
Decades ago now, when her hair was less gray and her words less wise and her worldview so much more naive, no older than the Princess herself, she first stepped foot in those castle walls, accompanying the Princess of a neighboring kingdom who had recently betrothed the eldest Prince, and who was soon to take her place as the new queen. She had been her maid for years already, and her mother before her, and she’d practically grown up serving the wealthy. They weren’t rich by any means, an unmarried woman and her child would never be, but they were certainly protected and taken care of by the family they worked for, so it was a fair arrangement.
Now, she was on her own, leaving behind any trace of childhood and standing by the incoming queen as her personal lady’s maid.
She was immediately taken aback by the riches beyond the castle walls, a stark contrast to the suffering that many of the village people- including her own friends- went through day to day. She was enthralled by the castle and the idea that it would be her home- at least, the dark and musky servants' chambers in the lower corner near the stables- for the rest of her life. She was as excited as the young queen to be there, even just as a maid. It was an honor. But of course, with such teenage excitement came a thrill of romanticizing, and it wasn’t long before her heart began to throb around the kingdom’s youngest prince, a man her age, whom she first saw briefly while serving them their dinners.
He was everything she dreamed of. He was kind, generous, and charming. She adored watching him move with grace across the rooms as she filled the ladies’ tea cups. She watched him talk passionately about the subjects that made him the happiest. She watched the sparkle of teasing when she bumped into him when turning a corner in the hall, and savored the feeling of his hand helping her up. She watched the fire in his eyes as he argued with his brothers- of course, he was always right- unknowing of the fire it lit inside her. She watched him at the balls, smiling gently at the women he danced with and wishing she were in his arms instead.
And in years, she watched him wed another woman and move far away while his eldest brother inherited the castle and bore children.
Yes, Rose could understand the thrill of forbidden, childish love, and the dangers of never pursuing it, which is how she found herself escorting the Princess’s secret beau to the ball. It had all been perfectly planned out in advance, but as she pulled the horse-drawn carriage along the path leading into the dark corners of the village, she couldn’t help but worry and hoped that this man had gotten the message and wouldn’t abandon (Y/N). She knew it would ruin the girl’s night.
Just as she began to worry, though, a shadowed figure came into view, incredibly tall, lanky, and uncertain in his posture. And as she drew closer, she could make out his features, his mess of hair, the round glasses perched on his face, the tattered boots and jacket he wore, and recognized the man from (Y/N)’s wardrobe. The man she’d seen sneaking into the castle countless times now. He looked up as the horses came to a stop beside him.
“William.”
The man drew in a breath and gave a polite smile. “Wilbur.”
“Ah,” Rose smiled. “Forgive me, Wilbur.” She ushered him up into the seat next to her in the carriage, and they turned around on the path, heading back towards the castle as the sun shimmered down through the trees at them. The woman had to hold back her grin as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. She could tell he was good, much more worthy of the Princess’s attention than any of the men the Queen had planned to set her up with. Her parents would not be happy with the thought of their daughter courting a common boy- no, they wouldn’t even think of allowing it- but Rose thought it was good for her to be with a good-natured working boy. Someone who understood the struggles of everyday life. As for physical appearance… She certainly has a good taste in men. “(Y/N) is looking forward to seeing you tonight.”
“And I, her.” The man smiled bashfully, scratching the back of his neck and fidgeting with his fingers, a pink hue rising up in his cheeks. The sight brought a smile to Rose’s face- Ah, the innocence of young love. “How… how do these balls usually go? What should I expect?”
“Well, for the first bit of the evening, everyone just mingles. The Queen and King will be there, but no one dares approach them, save for other regents who are hungry to market their sons into marriage. And when people have gotten their time to socialize, our lovely Princess finally comes out to the ballroom. Oh, most nights, she absolutely loathes the balls and it takes her hours to show her face, but if she invited you, I think she will be quite engaging tonight. Wilbur, dear, she adores you.” Wilbur chuckled softly beside her, his eyes set carefully on his hands, knotted together in his lap. “And every available man there will flock to dance with her. But, of course, she will only choose you.” He flushed again, too flustered to even make eye contact with the woman, the tips of his ears going pink.
“How long…” He stuttered over his words and begged himself to pull them together and force small talk. “How long have you worked for the castle?”
“Oh, decades.” She sighed, nostalgic. “Years before you were even born. Since I was (Y/N)’s age. I’ve seen countless other servants and lady’s maids come and go through the years, and I’ve just been lucky enough to stay.”
So you were still with them when they sent the order out to hunt down and kill my family? “So you know (Y/N) well, then?”
“My, my. Yes. So much so that she seems like my own daughter.”
“Do you have children of your own?”
“Oh, no. Unfortunately, the right man never came along…” She trailed off, leaving a hint of regret, of unfulfilled life in her voice, but before Wilbur could choke out an apology or even an acknowledgment, she continued. “Tell me about your family, Wilbur. Your parents?”
“I, um-” Wil floundered for a moment, not knowing what to say.
After a few moments of silence, as he stumbled over words, Rose hummed, assuming he wasn’t comfortable discussing that. “When we arrive at the castle, Wilbur, we will enter through the servants' hall, while the other guests enter the main entrance. From there, you will dress in the garments we have for you and I will escort you to the ballroom. I cannot enter the ballroom, of course, so you will be on your own then. Every suitable bachelor of higher status in this kingdom and neighboring ones will be there, trying to woo our Princess.”
Wilbur was quiet, listening to her instructions and watching aimlessly as the carriage rounded every turn in the path, eyeing every tree and bush as if scared someone would jump out. “Will others… attempt to make conversation with me?”
“Perhaps. Simply tell them you’re a viscount or a baron of some far-off land. If it’s believable enough, they will not pry. Try not to draw much attention. And if you have to, you must lie.” Lie, lie, Wilbur. It shouldn’t be too hard for you. That little voice in his head taunted. It seems to be all you ever do. “They will likely be too busy bragging about their own titles to care about yours. All these bachelors are blinded by the need to claim a wife, especially one such as her Highness.”
“Thank you… for keeping our secret.”
“Anything for our darling, (Y/N), yes?” Rose chuckled.
Wilbur’s heart was racing too fast to force a reply, pounding in his ears, as he thought of the danger of tonight, the way he’d be so close to her. The way all eyes would be on them as they danced. But, in a way, he wasn’t afraid anymore, as if something about her made him confident. She wanted him here, she asked for his dance, she had planned this entire scheme just to be able to dance with him. And if he was reading correctly, she adored him. He wasn’t afraid anymore.
I can’t wait to see you, darling.
Wilbur had tried to convince himself he wasn’t afraid, but the second the castle came into view, his heart dropped.
This is real now.
As much as he had told himself he was ready and he was doing this for (Y/N), the view of the castle now made him panic. Regal horse-drawn carriages queued at the front entrance of the castle and lined the grass surrounding the walls, and soldiers and guards with swords strapped to their hips guided royal men inside the walls. Men from distant kingdoms, born into royalty, who- despite being vain and spoilt like royals are - he knew bore titles far superior to his. You’re a thief. You’re a liar. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here. (Y/N) thinks you’re a plain townsperson, but you’re worse. When she finds out, she’s going to hate you she’s never going to speak to you again-
“Wilbur, we’re here.”
He looked up and noticed Rose had stepped down out of the carriage and was tying the horse to the fencepost. They had avoided the front of the castle and were safely hidden away at the back- the servants' quarters, she had called it- and Wil could see the entranceway to the tunnel that he and (Y/N) had used as their secret passageway whenever she brought him here. The trampled down grass where they had danced together, and the arching doorway he had held her close under, hiding from the rain last time he saw her.
“Is it safe for me to step out? Will people be suspicious of my clothing?”
“Nobody is around.” The elder woman assured him. Carefully, the man jumped down from his seat in the carriage and onto the dirt below, glancing around nervously. Subconsciously, he seemed to float over to the passageway’s door, as if the memory of his moment with (Y/N) and the thought that she was inside was just calling to him. “Go in,” Rose urged. “There will be people right inside who will give you your clothes and escort you to the ball.” He reached for the door handle, but before he could go in, the woman’s words hit his ears, making him smile to himself. “And remember, (Y/N) is waiting.”
He turned away and shut the door behind him.
Sealing his fate.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Tommy had never seen his elder brother leave in such haste as he had tonight.
He had only been a small baby the first time his brother left, and it was so long ago now that he didn’t even remember, but Wilbur had told him stories. They had only been residing in the house for forgotten children for a fortnight when their soon-to-be cruel master sent the elder boy to work. Of course, he’d come to learn, this wasn’t a safe haven, and they were not welcome there unless they were bringing in profit to their masters. So Wilbur had been sent out, no older than eight at the start, cleaning chimneys and handing out daily papers of the news, all day until the night rolled in over the hills and cast its darkness over the village when he’d find himself trudging back through the streets just as the nightmen were stringing up lanterns outside their shops. All the while, Tommy- still a tiny, screaming baby- would lie in a dirty makeshift crib, unaware of the harsh words of the “nurses” that cared for him. These new children in the house, especially the baby, were only taking up space, taking up resources. Baby Tommy, blissfully unaware of the world around him and of what had put them in this situation, and where they were doomed to end up, had no idea they were planning their best efforts at giving him away to a wanting mother in the village, tearing him apart from his brother in the process.
Of course, it had been a necessity for Wilbur to leave, and a necessity for him to take his little brother and run away. Back then. Now, though, why was he gone? Why couldn’t he stay? What was the need for him to run off, especially so late in the night? It was much too late for him to be going into the village to play music, much too late for him to go for food- not like there was anything in town worth buying, this late in the year- so, of course, his mind slipped into much darker places. Why had Wil tucked Tommy into bed so early after returning from town, and dashed out of the house before he was even asleep? Why had he gone away in secret again? Once again, the boy’s head rang with the echoing melody of his elder brother’s words from days ago, when they had bared each other’s hearts and made promises neither could truly keep.
“No more secrets.”
So why was he keeping secrets again?
Tommy rolled out of bed, inspired by the fear eating away at his mind to find out where his brother had run off to. Night had begun to roll its starry blanket over the gray-blue sky already, so going out in search of him seemed futile. But one thing he could do- that he knew his brother would hate- was look through his belongings for any clues about his whereabouts.
Before he could even reason with himself as to whether or not he was doing bad, the boy was digging his fingers through the creaky drawer at his brother’s bedside table. He found there, a book- the book he’d been so protective over that morning- a quill and ink, slips of loose-leaf paper with ink scrawled on- small poetic lines, notes on his instrument. None of those things seemed out of place for the introspective elder brother to have- as his music was his life and lately he’d been doing little but reading that book. Buried beneath those things, though, he found something more interesting. An intricately ornate locket on a gold chain, that, when opened, displayed a clock. Next to it, a set of silver cutlery, equally as ornate and polished- so much so that Tommy could see his reflection in the shine- and wrapped together with a silk ribbon. The trimmings and smoothly polished surfaces were certainly not from the village, perhaps the upper class, but even they seemed more modest than to eat their food with such special decor.
He dumped these two items on the bed, observing them, with little in his mind except- “Where did he get these?”
Though bitter, he knew the answer.
Wilbur stole them- but from who?
The house seemed entirely too empty with no Wilbur and no meowing Mr. Fuckhead, and Tommy found himself lonely and sad, knowing his brother was not soon to return. He jumped out of the bed, these items he’d pulled out suddenly making him feel ashamed and taunted, and slung his much too large bag across his body and tucked the items into the pocket. He left the room, carrying the candle with him to the kitchen, and swiped the last of their scarce meat into his bag in the hopes that maybe his beloved kitten would smell it and come home.
He lit a torch with his candle and blew it out in the doorway, closing the door behind him as he left.
If he couldn’t find his brother, maybe he’d have better luck with the cat.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Wilbur couldn't do anything to ease the pounding of his heart.
He had practically floated all the way down the long, dark halls of the tunnel, through the door, and into the hand of the waiting maids that (Y/N) had entrusted with their secret. He could hardly feel himself moving as they pulled him to a spare room- one of many in the enormous castle- and he could hardly understand what they were saying to him as they pulled his arms and legs into a scratchy, tight uniform, something more fitting of a noble duke or marquess, and never of someone like him. He saw himself in the mirror, briefly- though he had been avoiding it to the best of his ability. The striking royal blue coat had been ironed into pristine condition, each gold button polished just as shiny as the shoes they had provided, and the starchy dress shirt was buttoned all the way up the collar, suffocating him. He felt hands digging through his scraggly hair, brushing it down and sticking it in place with all types of creams and gels. But he tore his eyes away from the stranger standing in his place in the mirror. That wasn’t him, it could never be. He was so anxious he was frozen in place, watching them change him so he would look like he belongs, and he barely realized what was happening as one elder woman pulled him down the highly ornate halls lined with silken drapery and ceiling-tall windows, towards what he could only suspect was the ballroom.
From down the hall, he could already hear the loud chatter, mingling with the gentle playing of the symphony orchestra. A quaint and royal melody of string instruments and only the most dainty and proper sounds.
“You must,” The lady was telling him, as he finally phased back into his right mind, the music helping calm his racing heart, “Conduct yourself with the most taste, fashion, elegance, and grace. Many of the men here would jump at the chance to punish a commoner like us for sneaking in. Especially because tonight is not a regular social ball, but a celebration of the Princess’s birthday and the beginning of her season.”
“Of course.” He remembered the words Rose had told him. Lie. Lie. Tell them believable lies. You’re a baron, you own land in far-off places, keep your lies small, so they don’t think you are a threat. Keep your thoughts on (Y/N). Ignore them.
Stopping right outside a huge, ornate wooden door, the woman gave Wilbur a nod and motioned to the door. “Good luck, sir. I know the Princess is absolutely dying to see you.”
Wilbur gave a polite nod back and slowly turned the door handle, his hand almost retracting at the smooth cold iron, as if someone as dirty as he was shouldn’t touch something so clean. As he pushed the door open, the symphony grew louder, and the world around him seemed to melt away as he was sucked inside, drawn into the crowd of chatter and laughing and dancing. The cream walls and gold trimming of the room were tinted in warm candlelight that filtered down from the crystal chandeliers, three total across the top of this large, grand room, as noblemen and women of all ages stood around waiting for the appearance of the Princess. A large staircase leading up to a grand landing and turning to continue to the higher floor stood against one wall, the gold railings lined with carvings and angels and sunshine and beautiful things, and off to the side, next to the opening of the stairs, sat the orchestra, playing their beautiful song. Large silk curtains fell beside the ceiling-high windows, showing the upper class the view of the poor, sickly, and dying in the streets below, and Wilbur wondered in bitter amusement if he would be able to see the light from the roof of his home. The tall walls, though broken here and there by winding, white pillars, were covered in paintings of sky, angels singing, and cherubs and peace, something rightfully fitting of the Princess, and her innocent ignorance of the harsh reality that lay beneath the castle walls.
While Wil had expected animosity, had expected all eyes to turn to him the second he stepped in, nobody had even seemed to notice his arrival through the door, too busy at the front entrance, mingling with each other and likely bragging about their accomplishments. So much joy in this room, it was almost as if no one knew of the dying town he had come from. How could they dance so cheerily when he and his people starved and died in the streets they were supposed to rule?
Perhaps they didn't care.
No- of course, they didn't.
Off to the side of the shining and polished dancefloor, near the wall, was a long spread of delicate snacks and tastings, and glasses of wine and ciders that were free for the taking. On one table was more food than any of the villagers even had in their home when they were doing well, let alone in the middle of the scarcity of winter like it was now. Falling into his urges, Wil stepped towards the table and grabbed a sparkling crystal glass, bringing it to his lips for a heavenly taste.
Before Wilbur could even wipe the drink from his mouth, he heard a voice speaking up next to him.
“Every eligible bachelor across many nations must be here tonight, no?”
He looked up, coming face to face with a large, burly man, dressed in an ornate jacket and with a strong mustache on his face. Wil- like the commoner he was- wiped his mouth with the perfectly cleaned sleeve of his jacket, not stopping to think it might be undignified. “Yes, I suppose.” He stuttered out.
The man seemed amused, as if looking down on him, as if knowing he wasn’t a threat. “I don’t recognize you. What is your title?”
Fuck.
“Wilbur, Baron of a small land in the south.”
“And the name of this land?”
Wil’s voice caught in his throat, but he held his confidence, the lies slipping easily through his lips. “L-L’manberg.” He forced out a made-up name. “Quite small, quite possibly unheard of.”
“‘The Right Honorable Baron Wilbur of L’manberg’.” The man echoed, seeming amused but believing. He stuck out his hand. “Duke of Bellmare.” Wil took his hand and shook it, trying his best to seem polite, dipping his head in respect. As if he had any for the man. “And you’re here to win Her Highness’s hand?”
“Or to simply enjoy the dance.” He answered back simply, trying his best to not cause suspicion. “Enjoy the show, if you will.”
The man laughed and nodded, seemingly in agreement. “It’s not every day the nation’s only Princess appears for a dance. There are rumors she will choose a hand tonight. About time, if you ask me. She has been many years unmarried when she very well could be. Wouldn’t want such a doll to end up a childless old maid.”
Wilbur bit his tongue, wanting to shout at him that she could wait as long as she wanted, if she even ever wanted, but held back. “Surely it is a big decision. Wouldn’t want to choose someone who dishonors her name.” This was true, he knew. The Princess was meant to choose a husband who has just as prestigious a title as hers, as a woman’s title didn’t mean anything if her to-be husband was poor. But even when speaking those words, Wil could feel the sarcasm dripping like venom from his tongue. As if he wasn’t the one dishonoring her. As if their time spent together wouldn’t send him to the grave if anyone found out. As if she would ever choose to be with him when all these Princes and Dukes wanted her.
He brought the crystal glass to his lips for another sip of the decadent, sparkling fruit juice, but when he looked up again, expecting to have to suffer through more strenuous conversation with the duke, he noticed a drastic change in the ballroom. The orchestra’s song had faded, one instrument at a time, into dead silence, and the room’s chatter had quieted, bodies stilled and staring at the grand staircase. Everyone seemed to understand, to follow an unspoken, unwritten cue of fancy affairs such as this, but Wil just stood wondering. And then, he heard.
“Now appearing,” a royal guard called from the stairs. “Her Highness, Princess (Y/N) of the Kingdom of (L/N).”
The room was still silent, in awe and respect, as Wil’s heart pounded in his chest behind the rich man’s cloth he was donning. This was it. She was coming.
At the top of the stairs, she stepped out onto the landing. Wil realized at the sight of her that he’d never truly seen her dressed as her title. She’d come to the village, disguised as his kind, but never had he seen her as the Princess she truly was. Now, she stood on the landing, halfway up the first flight of stairs, in an elegant white gown with gold and lace trimmings and a waistline that lay right under her bust, falling past her feet and glittering in the candlelight. It was the dress she had shown him many nights ago, when they had danced in her bedroom and snuck out the long halls and into the rain. He had thought it was lovely then, but now it was absolutely stunning. She was sparkling. Simmering. He remembered her words from weeks ago. “All I may do is stand and simmer and look pretty so that the men can observe.” And simmer, she did. And observing her, they all were. But Wil took comfort in the fact that he was there, and that she knew he was there. The jewels around her high waistline and sitting on her neck and the crown sparkling atop her head did nothing compared to the way she dazzled. Her eyes seemed to scan the room, from her elevated view, as she reached out a pristine white-gloved hand to the railing, the other hand grasping at her full white skirts of lace and satin, and took a step down the stairs. If there were a God or angels, Wil decided, then she must certainly be one of the most stunning, with the way the light was haloing around her so ethereally.
The music had restarted upon her descent to the ballroom, something more gentle and majestic and other-worldly, much as she was herself. Though all still standing and staring, the chatter had started again, now in mumbles, quiet words uttered about the Princess, rumors and gossip and things the town had spoken of her.
“A lady of her standing and not yet married?”
“And a Princess, nonetheless!”
“I’d have sent her to whatever bachelor wanted her by this point!”
Wil held his tongue and ignored the comments, looking instead at the beauty making her way onto the floor. Guests seemed to part for her like the waves, and he watched as a man dropped to a knee before her, grasping her hand in his.
“Princess,” he lamented. “Lord Bartholemew from the Northern Kingdom, firstborn, many estates inherited. I will do good in your name. Please, will you grace me with a dance?”
(Y/N) held the man’s gaze, but shook her head politely and dismissively, not once looking uneasy. She was confident, Wil saw, this was her lifestyle, her element, she was where she belonged in a world he would never understand. Men seemed to flock to her, practically stepping on the train of her dress, all asking for a dance and ultimately, her hand. And one by one, she rejected them, her guards pulling them away with a flick of her hand.
“So picky, that Princess.” The whispers started again.
“The men, I do say, are quite desperate. But at this point, she should be the one desperate for a husband.”
“If I were her father I’d have already sent her away to the best man who asked. None of this delaying.”
“Shame to have such good years of fertility wasted on being so picky.”
Finally, Wil couldn’t hold his tongue any longer and spoke softly to the person beside him who had uttered the last phrase. “Perhaps she has more important things on her mind currently.”
The other scoffed in disbelief. “What would be more important than lengthening that royal bloodline?”
He wanted to rebuke. He wanted to say the wellbeing of the kingdom but remembered bitterly the conditions in which he and Tommy and every townsperson was living. They had no food, even the wealthiest of townspeople couldn’t prevent crops from freezing and cattle from starving, and the starvation and bareness of winter were only leading to more and more illness and death. Winter was barren, yes, but tonight Wil had seen these noble people gorge themselves on the finest imported foods and fresh fruits and vegetables from the castle’s private greenhouse and farms, while in the town, people and cattle died alike in the streets and their stock of stored away food was dwindling down day by day. If anyone could help, it was the Princess and her family, as Wil knew they had a hefty supply of food that could easily be split among the village. And yet, nothing was done. He didn’t want to blame it on her. Surely there were more elements to the story than he knew. Surely her family prevented her from understanding the town and how to help. Surely she had no say. But still, he felt anger bubbling up at the state of his town, and again, thinking of anger, he thought of his parents. What had they died for? What had they done that was deemed deserving of losing their lives and orphaning their sons?
Across the room, Wil saw (Y/N) stop and stand graciously next to a tall man and woman, both dressed much more exquisitely than any other in the castle. Though he’d never seen their faces, he knew with a fire kindling in his gut who they were. The King and Queen of this great kingdom, the ones truly responsible for the state they were left in, the cause of his parent’s demise. and the reason he was so outcast.
She stood by them for a moment, the gems on her crown sparkling in the candlelight, exchanging a few quiet words with her parents as people began moving off into sections and lords and ladies took each other's arms and danced to the music. Again, Wilbur felt out of place, standing awkwardly in place and not knowing what to do with his own body. He watched her for a few moments, how she carried herself with such grace, but the tiniest details gave her away in his eyes. The way she fidgeted and pulled at the edge of her long glove, the way she seemed to sway subconsciously to the music- not as much as she did to his, he’d noticed- they gave away that her mind was elsewhere. She seemed troubled, listening intently as her mother and father seemed to berate her quietly. But, through the dance floor of long skirts twirling and the flock of guards surrounding the royals, Wilbur soon lost sight of his Princess.
“Good evening, handsome.”
Wil’s head shot around to the sound of the honeyed nasal voice beside him. Standing a head shorter than him, there was a rather large noble woman a few- ahem, many- years his senior, her many skirts making her rounder than she truly was. The man looked around a moment, making sure that he was truly the one she was addressing, face turning pink at the name. “Um, good evening?”
“Such a handsome young man, and still a bachelor?”
“Um… yes.”
“Perhaps,” She continued, placing a hand on the lapel of his jacket. “You would prefer bedding someone with more…” She paused, looking up at him as if he were a piece of meat for taking. “...Experience?”
Slowly, Wil came to understand the woman’s intentions, his face growing hotter with every passing second. “O-oh.” He sputtered out. “No, no thank you.” He took a step away, trying to keep as polite as possible. “You must excuse me now, I’m waiting for (Y-)... I’m waiting for Her Highness.”
“You are?” The woman seemed taken aback. “You mean to dance with her?”
Before he could answer, he noticed more eyes on him and realized when he turned his head again that none other than (Y/N) herself had made her way to him, and stood mere steps in front of him with a smile. He smiled and turned his attention away from the elder woman, instead focusing solely on his Princess. His (Y/N).
“I do.”
“Sir,” The Princess began, and for a moment Wil barely knew her, her voice gentle but bold. “May I have this dance?”
He could almost hear the whispers now, talking about how scandalous it was for a woman, a Princess, nonetheless, to approach a man for a dance. It didn’t bother him, though, for as he reached out his hand for her to take, everything seemed to melt away, and they slipped back into her bedchambers those nights ago, when they had first danced together, alone, when he first let his hand fall to the small of her back, when she showed him how to step the proper way, and when he’d left a letter on her pillow.
“You may.”
With all eyes on them, Wil extended his arm to his Princess and stepped away from the table and closer to the center of the floor. Others seemed to follow their lead and fall into step with the music, and Wil noted as the men dipped their heads and bent at the waist to nod to their dance partners in respect. Following their example and desperate to not look out of place, he dipped to (Y/N), who let out a soft laugh at his attempt to fit in. He put a hand on the small of her back, remembering how they had practiced the first time, and they soon melted into dance. When everyone seemed too caught up in their own dances and quiet conversation to notice, Wil spoke up in a soft whisper.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. And you as well, Wil.”
“Me as well?”
“Yes,” she smiled up at him. “You said last time we were together that you don’t remember when your own is?” Wil felt a wave of shame wash over him at the mention of his forgotten birthday. "Why not celebrate it today, with me?”
“Hm. I suppose I could do that. Though your birth holds much more importance than mine.”
“How so? I am only here to marry, as my mother says. And you are a friend to me. If you hadn’t been born, and I hadn’t met you all those months ago, I don’t know what I’d done.” She admitted softly. Wilbur smiled, not knowing how else to respond to that. “So, what alias did you use?”
“Oh,” Wil chuckled. “Baron of… what was it? L’manberg? Yes, that.” He recalled to her.
“Oh? Did you just come up with that name?”
“Indeed I did, Princess.” Looks like I am able to do just about anything for you. His feet stumbled against hers, but he recovered himself before his face could get too red. Just focus on her. From across the floor, he saw the man he’d been talking to eyeing them as if wondering why the Princess had chosen him. Of course, everyone must be wondering that. “Don’t look, but that Duke over there has been talking my head off.”
Subtly, (Y/N) turned her head to the side to peek, in a way that her cheek lie close to Wilbur’s chest. His heart pounded. “Oh, him?” She seemed to shudder like a cold wind had blown in, perhaps at the mere thought of the man. “He has been trying to court me ever since I came of age. Speaks of how much I’ve grown since I was a girl.”
Wil frowned, disgusted. “He means to marry you?”
“My parents want it too. They think he would be a good fit. Personally, I’d prefer my hands be chopped off than to spend even an hour, let alone my life in his presence.”
Wilbur chuckled. She was so unlike what he’d expected from someone of her status.
They fell into silent dance with each other, savoring the music and enjoying the closeness of their bodies. But Wilbur’s mind wandered through the swampy abyss of his own emotions. He thought back to all those months ago when he’d held resentment towards her very presence in the town square. The way his heart fell and he tasted the bitterness in his mouth when he saw the ornate horse-drawn carriage pull in next to the shop he was playing music by. The way he held his tongue from lashing out at the royal guard who had insulted his music, the way he might have narrowly escaped punishment if the Princess had not spoken up. “Let him play.” He remembered. He remembered her joking. “Did you see his face?” The way she had, with a simple word, spared him and allowed him to play. The way she’d befriended him when all he’d expected was to be scoffed at and looked down upon. The way she’d snuck him into the castle, a risk that would put both of their lives- most especially his- at stake, and they sat in that little nook in the library, looking over the village. “What’s your prison, Wil? So secretive, aren’t you?” And the way he’d not seen her for what felt like ages, and she came for him. She looked for him. And the day by the creek, when she sat quietly on his coat, silken slippers discarded, listening to him pour his heart out. And the dancing in the rain when he finally was able to hold her. And the letter he’d left her when he realized he was falling.
The way she was everything to him.
When the movement came to an end and people switched their dance partners for another, Wilbur backed away from his Princess and dipped his head in faux seriousness. He knew neither of them had any plans to dance elsewhere, despite the people undoubtedly waiting for (Y/N)’s hand.
“Dear (Y/N), will you give me this dance?”
She smiled and mocked surprise. “Oh, I thought you’d never ask!”
And they danced again, for what felt like hours, restarting again and again and again, whispering to each other, gossiping about things they saw around the room- about the woman who had tried to dance with Wilbur, about the men who stood waiting for her to finish dancing so they could beg and grovel on their knees for her. Wilbur got lost in the feeling of her hand in his, his hand on her waist, the way their bodies were so close without any hesitation. He wondered if she’d even seen the letter he left and if she was going to say anything about it. If she felt the same, or if she was going to ignore it like he knew she truly should.
“Wilbur, your letter.” (Y/N) spoke after minutes of quiet dance, as if she had read his mind. “I-”
“You don't have to say anything.” He all but begged, letting his insecurity tug away at him, and fearing the worst. Things were perfect right now, in this moment, and the last thing he wanted was for something to mess it up. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Wilbur’s feet stumbled and lost step, and he tripped awkwardly. A few people nearby turned their heads to the subtle mistake, and Wilbur swore he could hear them whispering about how unfit he was to dance with royalty. Then again, that could have been just his head.
"I want to say something."
"No, I swear it, you don't-"
“-Wil-”
"-Your Highness?" A third voice spoke up. Their dance faltered, and (Y/N) looked up to see one of her royal guards, dressed ornately in shining silver and gold badges, with a heavy sword strapped to his hip that glimmered in the candlelight. The guard eyed Wilbur’s face, curious, looking up and down his body, and fear rattled through the thief’s bones. It was him. Moons ago, in the village square. “Quiet, boy! Your commotion is disturbing the quiet. We demand it stop at once.” Sword glinting in the sun. Badges intimidating and heavy on his chest. Fear rose in Wilbur’s throat. “Did you see his face?”-” He looks pissy.” It was him. The guard spoke again, redirecting his searching eyes to the Princess. “Your presence is needed.”
“By whom?” (Y/N) did not seem to notice who it was- no, she likely has so many guards she doesn’t remember who is who- or see the panic on Wilbur’s paling face.
“It’s her Majesty, your Highness.”
Her mother.
(Y/N) looked at Wil with an apologetic look in her eyes. She didn’t want to go, but ultimately nodded her head and turned away, Her mother, Wil thought, glancing across the room at the heavily guarded thrones where the King and Queen sat, watching, and couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of fear rising higher and higher every second in him. Does the guard recognize me? Does he recognize the poor village boy who has no place at this ball? Why does her mother need her? Surely, I’m dead. This is my end. He begged his mind to be put at ease. Surely, it was nothing. But there was something that just wouldn’t let go of him, something eating away in his gut.
Something was madly wrong.
Wil stumbled off of the dance floor as (Y/N) was led away from him, grasping at the table of food to steady his shaking breath. He felt the pressure of eyes on him, wondering what he was doing, looking so fearful and out of place. Of course, he was out of place, the last place he belonged was here.
“Have you been in the village lately?” He overheard a nearby conversation, over the ringing in his ears.
“The village? Why would I waste my time there with the dirty commoners?”
“Ah, I had to attend for an execution in the past week.”
“Execution? And who had the displeasure of meeting their fate by your hands?”
“A town thief. He had been hanged publicly.”
A hum in acknowledgment. “Crime had been rampant in the village in the past decade or so, hasn’t it? Ever since…”
“Of course,” One man spit, with absolute hate and malice. “That old Soot man and his revolutionaries. I swear some of them still run loose in town. Should’ve had them all round-up and killed, not just the old man and his family. It is what they get for questioning the Crown.”
Panic rose like bile in Wil’s throat.
They’re not… they’re not talking about his family, surely not. They are. No, they can’t be, surely no one still remembers something that had happened so long ago. Cursed. Surely they wouldn’t recognize him. He remembered his mother's words, more than fifteen years prior, when they were still alive. “Oh, so much like your father, my darling. His eyes, his smile.” Surely no one would know. But still, he found it impossible to lift his eyes. You’re cursed. You’re cursed. You’re cursed. Dirty criminal, with nothing but crime and betrayal and hate to your name.
With his head still ducked in fear, he did what he did best.
He ran.
He breathed rapidly, throwing open the door out of the ballroom and into the magnificent halls of gleaming white and crystal, clutching at the collar that was too snug and too perfect on him, and ripping open his jacket, shedding it in the hall and tripping over his own feet as he ran.
He was nothing but a criminal.
He was cursed.
He didn’t belong here.
He followed the path he remembered (Y/N) showing him before, and swung open the library doors, praying nobody was there. He didn’t even stop running until he made it to their spot, where (Y/N) had asked him about his prison, where he had looked out over the town- the town that hated his family so much, where he had played music for (Y/N) so many moons ago, before he knew he was falling. “This is my favorite spot in the whole castle.” She had smiled. He sank to his knees, panting and sobbing, choking hot tears back.
(Y/N) deserved so much better.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The Queen always had this air about her- befitting of a woman of such social and political grace and status.
All the world’s strongest soldiers and wisest of men and noblest of ladies alike trembled under her gaze. For she- like her husband- could move nations, shatter nations, if she so wanted it. Being spoken badly of by the Queen herself- even just a scoff at your presence could put an end to businesses, to livelihoods, to social status. She could crumple someone’s reputation with even a look. Even tonight, at the ball held in honor of her own daughter's name and coming-of-age, with her massive piles of hair and what seemed like hundreds of skirts and petticoats that widened her circumference by at least a foot, she struck fear into anyone who dared cast a glance at her and the King’s heavily guarded thrones.
But Her Highness, Princess (Y/N), was just unlike any of the trembling nobles at the foot of their thrones. No, she did not bow and shudder in fear at her mother or father’s word. If there was something she had inherited from her parents- certainly not their disdain for anyone of lesser status- it was their boldness and willpower. Stubborn as a goat, Rose had always called her.
“Mother!” She exclaimed, drawing the eyes of a few daring nobles before the guards could even move aside to make way for her. “Why must you pull me away from my own ball?” Anyone else would have been struck down for using such a tone with the Queen, but perhaps (Y/N) did take advantage of the perks of being the daughter of the King and Queen.
“You’ve been dancing with the same man all evening. Do you know what people will think?”
(Y/N) glared. “They will think that I am the Princess, and it is my ball, and I will dance with whomever I wish.”
“And who is this, that you wish to dance with so badly?”
She hesitated for only a moment, thinking back on Wilbur’s bluff, his alias. If she misspoke now and someone suspected something- anything- Wil’s life could be in grave danger.
“A baron,” She began. “Of a land in the sound called L’manberg.”
“I have not heard of it.”
“It is quite unexciting there, he says-”
“And a baron, (Y/N)? Really? My dear, you could do so much better than him. A baron is not much better than a common farmer, or a poet, heaven forbid…” She clasped a hand to her heart as if the thought of her daughter with anyone less than a prince was just too much, too horribly tragic for her to handle. “You mustn’t be that desperate. It is unbecoming of a young Princess to be seen with such lowly people, especially in the sense of courting. You shall not settle for anything less than a duke or a prince. Preferably a firstborn son.” She smiled then, a sugar-glazed look, an ‘i am your mother, I am the Queen’ look, something (Y/N) was familiar with. “Sweet (Y/N), I only want for you to have what I have. Imagine you marry a firstborn prince, and he goes to inherit a kingdom. You would be a Queen. You would have a kingdom. You would have all you have now and more.”
“Except love.”
Her mother stopped, looking amused at her daughter's words.
“How can you expect me to marry for status and ignore my own heart? Sacrifice ever being able to be with the one I love?”
“Naive girl, you believe you love this baron? After dancing one night?”
(Y/N) hesitated again, her own argument crumbling. If she said yes she would be nothing but naive, laughable, and worse even, draw attention to this suspicious baron that the Princess was in love with. If she admitted she’d known him for nearly a year now, she would never be allowed outside the castle again, she would be locked up until her wedding day, married off to a stranger, and taken away. She cast a glance over to where he stood by the table of food, nearly fitting in with everyone else, but with a glow around him that just made him stand out, at least in her eye. Yes, yes, I believe I love him. “No… but perhaps, if the right man-”
Her mother huffed, in a way that let (Y/N) know that something was going to happen, and it wouldn’t be in her favor.
“You are to find a suitable man by the end of the night, or I will take it upon myself to have you given to who I see fit.”
(Y/N) froze, her heart pounding nearly in her throat. She mustered up all the strength she could to shout back. “No! I won’t do it!”
“You will.” Her mother spoke, matter-of-factly, finding no compromise. “It is already set in stone. You’ve had plenty of time. Find yourself a suitor tonight, before I put you somewhere. Make that connection you want, find that love, or else I will find it for you. And I- frankly- don’t care about your love.”
The spacious ballroom suddenly felt suffocating, the music deafening, like the walls were beginning to cave in all around (Y/N). She didn’t know how to respond. Despite her sharp tongue and tendency to talk back, she knew that when her mother- the Queen- wanted something done, it was as sure as law to happen. The thought of being married away had never felt so real, It had never scared her because she never thought it a possibility. But now… the thought of leaving Wil behind terrified her. She glared and crossed her arms, not even ashamed at how childish and ignorant she may seem right now, and uncaring of how people may be looking at her, wondering why the Princess was having such a disagreement with the Queen. No, leave, leave, she had to get out of here.
She grabbed up her skirts and the train of her dress and turned around, ready to go back to Wil and dance the night away like she should be doing.
But instead, when she looked to where Wilbur had been standing a moment ago, she saw nothing but the ballroom door closing.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
It was dark.
Even with the pale fire of his torch lighting his path, Tommy could barely find the worn-away dirt path through the forest from their home to the village and wasn’t even sure he’d gone the right way until he saw the shape of the distant street poles and shops illuminated by recently-lit torches and candles in their windows.
His steps became more hesitant against the bumpy cobblestone street as he made his way through the narrow street between looming buildings and looming shadows. This part of the village scared him, the back alleys, the dark corners where anyone could be lurking, waiting to jump and rob you of your belongings. With a sour taste on his tongue, Tommy wondered if that was what his brother did. Though he knew this was how Wil made money, how he fed and clothed the two of them and kept them alive through the years, a part of him clung onto the innocence of thinking his elder brother would never do something like that. His brother was kind and gentle, a musician and poet, someone who scolded him for climbing in the trees. He wasn’t the type to steal and attack and evade.
Though he had kept a daunting secret from his brother for years.
He shook the thoughts out of his head.
From the corner of his vision, a white flash of fur darted through the darkness and around a corner. That’s him! Tommy rushed after, all hesitance and fear suddenly pushed to the back of his mind at the thought of having his beloved cat back. He caught a glimpse of the shape again, jumping down a small staircase into a dingy basement below a cold and empty-looking shop. Without a second thought and assuming it was as abandoned as it looked, Tommy darted down the stone steps after the mystery animal.
“Fuckhead!”
The room was cold, the only warmth coming from a furnace in the back corner, and the dark walls of stone were interlaid with vines and moss from years of abandonment. But, it was obvious it was used for something, as he noticed open chests and things laid out on the table, mugs of drink, and more importantly, three shadows of varying sizes huddled around in the back corner, with all three sets of eyes on him. So, at the bottom of the creaky wooden stairs, he froze under the gazes of three strangers and a cat.
Sucking up all the courage Tommy had left in him, and fighting the feeling of wanting to sink back under their gazes, Tommy pointed to the white cat at their feet. “Give me my cat back.”
The figures just blinked and laughed at him.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
It was impossible to sneak out of the ballroom undetected, with the sparkling diamonds and grand train of her dress, but (Y/N) didn’t care in this instance.
“Your Highness!” The guards called as she crossed the room, dancers parting for her to pass through.
“I wish to be left alone!”
Respecting the Princess's wishes, the guards stood back, and (Y/N) was able to slip out the door and into the hall, searching for her beloved. She found his jacket not far away, thrown on the floor in a pile by a turn. That jacket they’d put him in, she thought, as she picked it up, was nothing compared to his usual choice. No matter how regal and clean and pristinely ironed it was, it couldn’t compare to his tattered, worn long brown coat. The one he’d worn when they ran through the castle, hand-in-hand, the one she had sat on that day by the water, listening to him play his music. That was him. And that was all she wanted.
Something in her tugged her towards the castle library as if she knew that’s where he would be. And now, even though she didn’t notice, she walked past the paintings of long-dead royals- her blood- without slowing and ducking with shame. Instead, she marched on, pulling her skirts with her, the jewels on her crown sparkling in the chandelier lights as she looked for her love. Her Wil.
And up the winding staircase to her beloved window nook, she found him.
“Wilbur?” There he was, sitting on the floor with his back against the bookshelves, head on his hands. He looked so small and silent, at this moment, so unlike the tall, cheeky, and talkative man that (Y/N) had fallen for. “Oh, there you are.” The man still said nothing, but remained silent and buried his head in his hands, his hair out of place and tossed around from being tangled between his fingers. (Y/N) knelt on the floor next to him, reaching out to lay a hand against his knee. “Are you okay? What happened?”
He floundered over his words, his breathing ragged and wet with tears. Still, he couldn’t meet her gaze. Rather than ask again, (Y/N) gently grabbed one of his hands, squeezing it tight in her own. Only when she felt him squeeze back did a small smile lift onto her face. She sat quietly with him, holding his hand and watching him softly as he struggled to catch his breath. The music from the orchestra was still audible here, bouncing off the walls of the castle and seeming to follow them wherever they went. But it was nicer here than in the ballroom, sat so quietly with Wil. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought him here. She thought, thinking back on how he’d been so nervous and hesitant to come into the castle that first night with her when nobody was here but the maids. What happened? Between us dancing so happily and now. What happened? “It’s okay, Wil. Breath for me.”
He heaved a great breath, shaky and struggling, and trembled as he released it.
“I have something for you.” (Y/N) reached into the hidden pocket of her skirts and pulled out the lovely handkerchief she had embroidered, figuring now was as good a time as any. Wilbur lifted his head only the tiniest bit to see her place it on his knee, the silky white bordered with flowers and the words ‘My Dearest Wilbur’.
“For me?” He mumbled.
“Yes.” She smiled softly at his teary face and red eyes. “Consider it a birthday gift.”
He seemed hesitant to use it, and (Y/N) reached out to dab it around his eyes. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you.” Then he shook his head. “I don’t have anything for you.”
“You’re here. That’s enough.”
Wil smiled through his tears, and (Y/N) stood up, reaching her hand out.
“One more dance tonight, Wilbur?”
He happily took her hand and stood into her embrace, holding her waist, even closer than they had in the ballroom, under the eyes of all of the kingdom. In their gentle tangle of limbs, they swayed back and forth, slowly, and quietly, taking in the music and the closeness of their bodies. The privacy. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder, breathing in the sweet, floral perfume rolled onto her, like he was walking through a garden of fluffy English roses, and counting every little constellation of freckles on her perfect skin, and wanting so badly to kiss her neck. Kiss those diamonds and jewels off of her. Tear the crown from her head and let her hair down. Tangle his hands in it. Kiss her-
Something about the way the music was filling his ears, and her scent was filling his nose, his judgment was clouded. But he pushed through. Finally, he spoke, and the words that fell off his lips were so quiet and muffled into her hair, (Y/N) could barely understand them. “I can’t do this.” And then he pulled away.
“What?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.” He looked at her, sliding down to sit and stare out the window. “You’re missing the dancing, you should go-”
The Princess followed him down, sitting next to him, close. “No, Wil. I’m not sure how you’ve forgotten so suddenly, but you’re my guest. In fact, you are the only guest I care to dance with. I’m only here for you.”
“(Y/N),” He sighed, shaking his head. “Princess. There are countless men out there- Princes, and… and people who can give you everything you need, they’re waiting for your hand. I don’t belong there. Everyone can tell.” He had begun to raise his voice, not at her, but out of fear and frustration. “I’m a fucking nobody. You can dress me up in fancy silks all you want, but I’m still the same. I’m not meant for this. I’m- I’m a…” The words were too sour to leave his mouth. “I’m not like you!”
“I don’t want to dance with any of them, Wil. And I didn’t intend on changing you.” His eyes darted to her face for a moment, almost shy. “I only wanted to dance with you.”
“You need to get married.” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he regretted them the moment they left, but it was the truth. She was the princess, she was meant to get married in spring, and he had no right to be holding her back from that. “To someone who can truly give you something.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“But it’s true.”
“Why? Why must I throw myself to these men who don’t even know me? Why must I endure hours of being stared at like a piece of meat or like an animal being sold at the market by men who do not care to give me the time of day, when you are right here? Who truly cares for me?”
“But- I... I can’t pretend to be like them, (Y/N), I’m not.” He tossed the pristine gloves from his hand and ripped the necktie from around his throat. “I’m not like all those rich, successful dickheads in there who only want to brag about what they have to offer you. I can’t offer you anything. You could have anything you want in this world, you are educated, wealthy, and so talented, and Gods, you are stunning. You are the princess. You deserve someone who can share such an important title with you. I’m just a nobody.” I’m worse than a nobody, he wanted to say. I'm a liar.
“You can offer me yourself. That's all I want. I only want you, Wil. I don’t want you to be like them. I want you as you are.”
“But why?” Wilbur cried out, fisting his hands in his unruly hair. “You don’t even know who I am. I’ve told you nothing about me, not even my surname, yet you trust me enough to bring me here? To know all your secrets? When I’ve told you nothing?”
“Wilbur.” She reached into his hair, pulled his hands out of the dark brown locks, and held them in her own. The action seemed to calm him and caused him to finally look up to her for real. She smiled at him, his teary face and all, and squeezed his hands in hers. “I don’t need to know anything more about you. I know you are kind, you are selfless, and you care. I know you play music for the children in the village, I know you dream of the sea, and I know you have a little brother you would die for. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, Wilbur, and that is all I need to know about you to know that I want you in my life, more than anyone else.” She took a deep breath, gathering up the courage to say even more, to convince him of her true feelings, even if it wasn’t a good idea. “In that letter, you wrote me, you said you wished to call me dearest, and I’ve realized, I want you to call me dearest, for the rest of our lives. You said your heart ached for me. And I need to tell you, my heart has been aching for you for months now. And… I believe that means… I am falling in love with you, Wil.”
His eyes softened, brows lifting in bewilderment, and the frustration filtered out from his eyes. He sat in quiet silence, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the words. “L-love?”
“Like in a fairytale, a love story, Wil. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
He shook his head again. “I can’t give you fairytales.”
“I don’t want a fairytale.” (Y/N) reached out, her hand touching his. “I only want you.”
"Love stories...” Wilbur began, thinking of the book she’d given him- with its tragic lovers. “Can end in pain.”
“Then pain I will endure, for you.”
It was quiet for a few moments, and (Y/N) worried that he suddenly withdrew the feelings he had claimed to have in that letter and that her romantic speech may have driven him further away. The music from the ballroom was now loud enough to hear clearly from where they were, tucked in the library, the song coming to a finish in a grand crescendo and a swell of melodies that drowned out her pounding heartbeat.
And then, Wilbur’s hand was on her cheek and his lips were pressing hard against her mouth.
His mouth was gentle and firm, pressing against hers urgently, and she could finally see, after months and months, how much his heart truly did ache for her. He hadn’t lied or exaggerated in that beautifully inked parchment he’d given to her, and she could feel his burning need for her sinking into her skin through his fingertips as he held her against him. His arm tightened its grip around her body, pulling her up against him and his hand was tucked against her jawline, fingers gliding back into her hair and guiding her mouth against his. But despite the franticness of his movements and the suddenness that he had leaped towards her with, his mouth and his tongue were nothing more than a gentle dance that pulled her in and out with ease. He was in no rush and took his time making up for months of seemingly unrequited love, months of secret fantasies that suddenly became real. (Y/N)’s fingers tangled into Wilbur’s hair, tugging the dark locks and encouraging him closer, pulling him further off the edge and into her lips. She’d never felt anything like this, and just the feeling was enough to stir up a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Happiness. This is happiness. Both their heads were spinning, dizzy in the ecstasy of young love and praying that the moment would never end. When it did, though, Wilbur pulled back, panting, with a soft noise as their mouths disconnected. And in his out-of-breath, disheveled look, he whispered:
“Soot.”
“What?”
“Soot. Wilbur Soot.” His face was red, his eyes watery and glazed over, and soft smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “Wilbur Soot. That’s who I am. Wilbur Soot.” He repeated it over and over and over until it felt like a real word.
At the sudden confession, (Y/N) simply smiled and nodded to him. Soot. What a lovely name. (Y/N) tossed the name around in her head, Wilbur Soot, my beloved Wilbur Soot. I love you, Wilbur Soot, and I finally know you, and Wil took the moment to marvel at her pink lips and flustered face, ruffled hair, and love-blown eyes, as if he had kissed the royalty out of her, kissed the jewels from her crown and the dignity from her name, as if she was just his (Y/N) and no longer the princess. She reached out in greeting, taking his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Wilbur Soot.”
He smiled at the simplicity of her answer and interlaced their fingers.
“Now, kiss me again.”
✧
✧
✧
be continued...
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
ending author's note: did you notice how at the beginning I have (Y/N) think "Aching, this is what aching feels like." and at the end, in their kiss, I put "happiness. this is happiness"? Anyway yeah, i thought that was nice :) hope you enjoyed!!!
final edits to chap 4 ;) (lol i ignore most of grammarly's suggested edits cause I just think it sounds artistically written even if its not "correct")
You writing on grammarly while I write my fanfic on a google doc that heaves every time I open it up, every single chapter separated with a title that says "CHAPTER FUCKIN ONE" and "CHAPTER FUCKIN TWO" and so on
heyyyyyyy um. reblog this with some text so i can find u and ill assign u a type/dual type in an ask maybe....... ive done this w a few people but i wanna do it more!!!
i might add another question in the ask too ^^ hehehe
Thinking about piglin and endermen societies. Some of my thoughts in no particular order:
Piglin for enderman roughly translates to "realmwalker", because of their capability to roam between dimensions and explore great distances from the bastions piglins call home. Enderman for piglin roughly translates to "trusted keeper", because piglins are so inherently tied to defending their bastion and the community they develop within it. Endermen raised in the nether are frequently seen joining bastions and leaving their young in the care of their piglin friends while they travel. Sometimes they'll bring back orphaned overworld or end-based endermen to join the bastion.
Bastion-raised endermen are a lot more social than others, and despite still not liking eye contact are more comfortable with it. Generally if you have an enderman content to stay in a boat, it's probably a bastion-raised enderman. Piglins raised in this society are highly aware of the player's treatment of neutral mobs due to their endermen brethren's watching.
Piglin-endermen bastions are bigger than normal bastions and feature a lot of high ceilings and open areas to support the endermen living there. Piglin children are often seen being given piggy-back rides by enderman adults, while enderman children are often seen handing adult piglins various yellow items from their short expeditions into the overworld as an attempt to gift them gold.
Soul sand valley and warped forest-based bastions are the most likely to accept endermen, while crimson forest and basalt delta bastions are generally either neutral or hostile towards them.
While children are mostly watched over by piglins in these bastions, due to endermen being out so often, they do get a lot of interaction with the endermen adults. In particular, endermen are known to be the main storytellers of the bastion, spending hours recounting their exploration and telling tales of everything they've seen. When an enderman sits down to tell a story, most of the bastion gathers around to listen; to hear the tales of worlds beyond their own. Piglin-led stories are often more focused on heroes who have defended their bastions against impossible enemies; who have done great feats of courage and strength to protect those they love.
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