THE PALACE COURTIERS WERE FLUTTERING ABOUT. Much like worker ants preparing a hive, the courtiers worked in an organized ruckus. They were preparing a whole palace, after all. Maids, swordsmen, culinary artists, and courtiers preparing for something seemingly grand.
"What do you think we're rushing for?"
"The third prince, but you didn't hear that from me."
"There's a third prince?"
The courtiers stand in wait along the entrance, waiting before the grand doors of this new palace that had been rushed yet well-built. It had been the direct orders of the Imperial Prince. They were attentive as they stand. All of them were assigned to something so grand, after all, if it had been the direct orders of the Imperial Prince himself.
It might have seemed that they couldn't look any more proper to face and greet royalty, maybe even a god, but they had straightened their backs further upon hearing the grand doors click.
Someone important was arriving. They were curious to see who.
As the door opened, there were no escorts, nor were there any grandeur or ceremony. Not even a servant to announce the newly arrived presence.
Silence. Not even a sound of a foot meeting the newly polished marble floors.
One by one, the servants' heads turned towards the door. Normally such impudence would be greeted with a scolding, but they knew that maybe it would have been worth it.
Because before them was an esteemed swordswoman—a Captain, even. One of them, they might argue, judging by what she'd once insisted; but based on the bundle of fabric and whatever it is holding, she was assigned to an extremely precious job.
"Captain Puffy," One of them broke away from the line, looking over her with a confused expression. "Captain, may I ask what we were brought here for?"
Puffy, once the Captain of the Royal Guard, looks at them all with a stern expression.
"We are brought here upon the orders of the Emperor," She watches as the faces of courtiers shift from shock, to awe, and finally, dread, "to raise, protect, and care for the youngest Prince."
The Captain looks down at the bundle, unwrapping the golden cloth from his face, and looking back up at the lot of them.
"The Third Prince, Theseus."
AND THESEUS had looked up at his older brother. His jeweled blue eyes were as cold as the Blood Prince's heart.
"You will never understand the love I have for my brother, Imperial Prince." Theseus speaks his truth, with nothing but poison and hatred for the older brother whose warmth he once sought for. "I would rather die than attempt at his life."
The eldest prince looks down at Theseus.
"How fortunate. You have sought to do both."
Before the public's eye—and that had included an incapable and inconsolable William, their Imperial, ruthless, Blood Prince had drawn his sword. He raised it mockingly against Theseus' cheek. "Greet mother for me. She will be pleased to meet you." He says to Theseus, yet no one but themselves are able to hear.
And he had withdrawn his sword for a moment. William was relieved—had his twin reconsidered this act, perhaps?
The hope kindled for a moment. Had his songs reached his brother? William's pride swells in his chest, yet if only for the briefest moment.
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Who the Ever-Loving F*** Made Me A Prince?
FanfictionTommy wakes up as an infant prince named Theseus-- that would have been fine, if this infant isn't destined to die at the age of fifteen by the hands of his own royal brother. Tommy as Theseus will not have that. He'll be changing a few things in he...
