The Bounty Hunter and the King's Son

Chapter fifteen

[TW: Mentions of Death, suicide, depression, such that kinda things. Stay safe, and enjoy the chapter <3]

—Two months have passed—

POV BadBoyHalo

"Whats the status report?" The king's voice was smooth and demanding. It was like a trap covered by freshly fallen fall leaves, and Bad was the rabbit looking for food.

"Prince George still refuses to eat, sire." The room dropped three degrees as Bad's eyes remained on the floor, refusing to meet the King's amber ones. "He's loosing weight he doesn't have to lose. Sir, he's getting sicker each day...by this rate he'll-"

"Start project B, I want the nearest princesses or widowed queens brought here at once. If he dies, I'll just have to make another heir." His fingers tapped rhythmically against the throne's armrests. "If he won't eat, he can starve. I'm done trying with that insufferable child. Be off."

"As you wish," Bad bowed and exited the room. Eret found him immediately, seeking direction from the head guard, he waited for Bad to speak. Bad felt like he was going to be sick as he rushed to the nearest servant bathroom, and vomited. After ten minutes, he headed back outside where Eret still awaited him.

" He wants Project B, so send the letters at once. Tell the others to repeat last weeks schedule, but put Purpled on my shift. I'll take his." Bad stumbled slightly approaching Eret.

"It's not my place to say things like this, but I don't think its a smart idea to for you to go see him. You'll only make it worse again." Eret placed a hand on Bad's shoulder, "Remember what happened last time?"

"You're right," Bad slapped Eret's hand away, "It's not your place. Be off."

"As you wish," Eret hesitated before walking down the opposite direction of where Bad had come from. Coughing, he raised a hand to his head and felt his temperature. A cold? He thought, and shook it off.

Walking down the massive halls, he looked at the passing paintings or the red carpet, which his metallic covered feet thumped across. He tried to think of something to say, something to do that would make this easier. It wasn't his place either, to say anything to George, but he had to do something.

He didn't want George to die.

He approached the secret passageway that led into the second half of the castle. The half of it that had been blocked up and separated from the rest of the world so the Prince would remain absolutely isolated from everyone. Or, so everyone would be isolated from the truth. Bad always thought George looked so similar to the old paintings tossed in the cellar. A man lost in time, and lost in this castle.

The night word had been sent from the front gate of the castle that Technoblade had arrived with the lost prince, Bad was the first to meet them. George had actually fallen very ill, and was in a deep coma from what the doctors said. When they changed him out of the battered and beaten clothing he arrived in, Bad took them to be burnt. An envelope had fallen out the sleeve pocket, and he immediately took it and the clothing to his own quarters. Upon reading, he found the truth he'd only speculated about.

George was the true heir to the throne, and his "father" was a false king. Images of the cellar paintings flashed in his mind.

It'd made him physically ill that night to think he'd been serving someone as awful as this, but he had no right to feel this way. He should've known something was wrong with the King's ways when he was forced to isolate the prince in the first place. Why'd he stay quite? Why didn't he speak up against the King's awful way of life?