Meddie sat on the bench in the garden and leaned back his head. He had been put up in the Red Palace, and this was going to be his first time truly living on his own. His father had never let him move out of the main palace. This was new territory. He didn’t manage it, the butler did, but he was going to be kept here for the foreseeable future.

And he would be returning here once the academy was over.

The sky was clear and beautiful, and the butler had gone over his restrictions. He was not allowed to go into town at least for the first few years unless he was escorted by a member of the Imperial family and guards. He was only allowed to remain within the Imperial palace and the academy. There were a lot of rules, but he was fine with that. He wasn’t exactly here to enjoy the sights.

He was also allowed to go to the church, but he didn’t particularly want to. In the Holy Empire, they were monotheistic, only believing in the Goddess, as opposed to the polytheistic religion in the Demonias Empire. At the very least, they weren’t like Christians, willing to do whatever it took to violently convert people, so the new territories should be fine to practice their religion in peace. They were annexed, anyway, so it wasn’t like they were officially a part of the Holy Empire.

They should be fine, he told himself, but he wasn’t too sure. He still worried about the people of the Demonias Empire. He couldn’t help it. For a long time, he had been in charge of their wellbeing. Technically, he still was. He had no power here, but…

But.

He didn’t care too much.

With a sigh, he lifted his hand and let Ada crawl all over it, twisting and turning. Maybe they would let him get a pet. He never got a pet in the Demonias Empire because he was afraid his brothers would kill it. But, he wanted a dog. Would he be allowed a dog at the academy? He had no idea. Probably not. Maybe a cat he could keep in his room.

With a groan, he stood up. He had been instructed to relax for the first week, and then there would be a celebratory ball to commemorate the end of the war which he apparently was going to be paraded out at as their hostage. He would rather not go, honestly, but he didn’t have a choice. At least he was used to people staring at him.

He was very used to people staring at him.

The tailor was due to arrive soon to fit him in clothes for the ball, and he needed to meet him in the parlor. He also needed to figure out what he was going to do for food. The food from the Demonias Empire was spicy, typically, but the food in the Holy Empire was very plain. He remembered Medusa complaining about it in the game. She missed home, and he wondered if he was going to miss home, too.

Probably not, he thought bitterly. He should just start to consider this home now.

He needed to read that letter. He had no idea why the prince would send him a letter, but he supposed it was relevant. It was probably something about the war, or an introduction and olive branch. He didn’t know.

He headed back towards the Red Palace, walking through the rose garden in silence. He missed his greenhouse. There was no greenhouse at this palace, and he doubted he would be allowed to grow plants once they figured out he was previously raised by a witch. At least, unless they already didn’t know. They probably did. It had been brought up a handful times over the course of the war, typically by the admirals and captains and whatnot trying to convince him over to their side.

He never faltered. He knew how the plot was going to go, so he didn’t see a point in it except making his life just a little bit easier in the Holy Empire. And his life was already pretty easy here.

He pushed open the doors to the palace and walked inside, closing the doors behind him as he made his way through the halls towards the parlor, where he would wait for the tailor. He made it into the parlor, where a maid was dusting, and sat down, propping his chin in his hand as he stared out the window.

“Could you call for some tea?” he asked the maid, and she dropped into a curtsy.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, and slipped out the door. He watched her go, and then he relaxed. The tailor would be here soon, and---

There was a knock on the door, and he blinked. Surely, the tailor wasn’t here that early?

“Come in,” he called, and the door opened to a maid, who dropped into a curtsy.

“Presenting the star of the Empire, His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Tristan,” she said, and Meddie stared at the other boy.

He had gotten taller from the last time Meddie saw him. He was taller than Meddie now, and he looked every inch the ML, dressed in a dark blue outfit, with his hair freshly trimmed. He was beautiful in a way that was almost off putting, and Meddie thought it was rather rude that he just showed up without so much as a note letting Meddie know he was coming over. Then again, it was Meddie that was the hostage here, so he supposed that was allowed.

The prince stepped into the room, and the maid pulled the door shut behind her. The prince looked around, and Meddie pursed his lips.

“I see you arrived safely,” the prince said, and Meddie studied him in silence. Why was he here?

“Yes, I did,” Meddie replied, though he still thought it was overkill to send Harvey, one of the literal MLs in the original story.

“Well, let’s talk,” the prince said and made his way to the couch to sit down, and Meddie shifted in discomfort. “You’re going to the ball?”

“Unfortunately,” Meddie replied, and the prince laughed.

“Relax,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “It won’t be all that bad. The food will be less spicy, but…”

“What are you doing here?” Meddie asked bluntly, and the prince was quiet, studying him in silence.

“I personally selected every member of the household,” he said, and tilted his head. “There will be no rats here, I assure you.”

So. This was about the thirteen assassination attempts, Meddie thought. He wondered if his brothers viewed him as something of a cockroach, stubbornly refusing to die. Probably. Well. Maybe Gremory didn’t. He liked Gremory a little more. He was still in the negative points, but he liked him a little bit more.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Meddie said, and the prince laughed.

“Call me Tristan,” he said, and Meddie blinked. “What? We’re of similar rank, are we not?”

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate, Your Highness,” Meddie said stiffly. “I’m still a hostage here.”

“It’s fine. I’m telling you to call me Tristan,” Tristan said, and Meddie frowned. “We can still be friends, can’t we?”

“I’m not interested in making friends here,” Meddie said, and Tristan studied him in silence.

“You’re just as closed off as the day I met you,” he murmured, and Meddie blinked.

“Well, of course I was closed off,” Meddie pointed out diplomatically. “You were trying to kill me.”

“Capture you,” the prince corrected, and Meddie blinked again. Capture him? Oh, right. He had demanded Meddie surrender so he could see the healers. Why had he done that?

“Right. Capture me,” Meddie said, and the prince studied him in silence.

“Well, it looks like I got you, anyway,” he said slyly, and Meddie stared at him dully.

Right. He was nothing but a trophy to the Crown Prince. That’s why he was here. The only competent leader in the war, here to be paraded around as the spoils of war. He would probably be trapped here for the rest of his life. Oh, well. It was better than where he came from.

With a sigh, he looked out the window and didn’t respond. The prince continued to stare at him, and then he asked the weirdest question.

“What are their names?” he asked, gesturing to the snakes slithering along the couch, and Meddie blinked.

“Ada and Gladys,” he replied, and the prince was quiet.

“You named your hair?”

“Well, they’re literally alive, so,” Meddie said, and thought about the prince cutting off one of their heads. That had hurt, a lot.

“Mm,” the prince said, and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Are you settling in comfortably?”

Was he really just here to make small talk? That was weird. Meddie didn’t like that. He felt uncomfortable and exposed, and it was hard to---

“You know, it’s a little hard to have a conversation with you like this when I know what you look like covered in blood,” Meddie said, and the prince blinked before he laughed.

“Is that what’s bothering you? You were covered in blood, too,” he said, and Meddie pursed his lips.

“Well, polite conversation doesn’t really fit, now does it?” Meddie asked, and the prince tilted his head.

“Why not? At some point, we’ll have to talk to each other,” he said, and Meddie snorted.

“No, we won’t. I think you forget I’m here as a hostage,” he said, and the prince rolled his eyes.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends,” he said, and Meddie resisted the urge to shoot him a nasty look, because he was just not getting that Meddie wanted to be left alone.

“Sure it does. In any case, you shouldn’t consort with me too much. I am cursed, after all,” Meddie threw out, and the prince studied him in silence.

“I don’t believe you’re cursed,” he said, and Meddie rolled his eyes.

“You don’t end up looking like this without breaking the laws of nature and having the gods punish you,” Meddie said, and the prince’s brows furrowed.

“I thought you were born this way.”

“I didn’t say I was the one breaking the laws of nature,” Meddie said, and the prince studied him like he was memorizing his face and every tell. Well, joke’s on him. Meddie had a perfect poker face. The secret to it was just to look angry all the time.

“In any case, I don’t believe you’re a bad omen,” the prince said. “I don’t believe in silly superstitions beyond prophecies being self fulfilling.”

“And what if I’m a self fulfilling prophecy?”

“Was there a prophecy beyond the obvious one about you being ugly, which is patently untrue, anyway?” the prince asked, and Meddie stared at him. Was he complimenting his appearance? What?

“Uhm,” Meddie said, and there was a knock on the door.

“Your Highness, the tailor is here,” called the maid, and Meddie cleared his throat.

“Come in!” he called, and the door swung open to reveal a man, followed by a troupe of attendants carrying all sorts of materials.

“Hello, Your Highnesses,” he said and bowed. “I am here to prepare you for the ball.”

“Alright,” Meddie said and glanced at the prince, waiting for him to leave.

He did not leave. He simply sat there, and the maid rolled in the tea service and got to work pouring three cups of tea. There were little finger sandwiches and cookies, and Meddie missed the side dishes of the Demonias Empire.

“Now, I was thinking, something red---” the tailor started to say, and Tristan cleared his throat.

“Black,” he said, and Meddie processed that for a minute. Wait a minute…

“I’m sorry?” he asked, and Tristan sat forward and picked up his teacup, taking a sip of the liquid without so much as a sugar.

“Black, with red and silver accents,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes?”

Meddie stared at him, resisting the urge to let his jaw drop. Was he seriously…?

“Your Highness,” he said, steely, “I can pick my own clothes.”

“And who’s paying for it?” the prince asked mildly, and Meddie, if he could, would have flushed.

“Why on earth do you want to dress me?” he asked, and the prince just stared at him, taking a sip of his tea as the tailor looked between the two of them nervously.

“You look good in black,” the prince said simply, and Meddie finally let his jaw drop, staring at the prince, utterly flabbergasted. Was he…? He was, and there was nothing Meddie could do about it.

“Right, then, we’ll do black, with red and silver accents,” the tailor said, and Meddie pursed his lips. This felt weird. Was this a power play? Why did Tristan feel the need to do a power play? He had already won. The demons lost. There was no need for this, but…

It was fine. It was fine. He just had to keep his mouth shut and put up with it.

“Your Highness, if you could stand so we can get you measured,” the tailor said, and Meddie stood, walking to the middle of the room, and the tailor snapped out his measuring tape so he could get started on measuring Meddie’s body.

This was insane. Why was Meddie putting up with this? Why was Tristan doing a power play here? Was this an implicit command to behave? It wasn’t like Meddie was going to be a problem. He had no desire to make waves. This was ridiculous. This was wholly ridiculous.

The tailor finished measuring him, and Meddie sat back down as the tailor sat down and brought out a sketchpad.

“I’ll pull up the initial design, then,” he said as he started to sketch, and Meddie stared across the table at Tristan.

Seriously. What game was he playing at here? Meddie didn’t know, and he was starting to get annoyed.

Whatever. Meddie could persevere. Once Tristan realized Meddie wouldn’t be acting up, he would leave him alone, and he could get through the plot with minimal difficulties. It would be fine. It would be completely fine.