Three's Company

Unfortunately, it seemed that his companion was less than pleased. 

Kreacher dragged a hand over his face, groaning lowly as he weakly shoved at Kurt’s arm. That did nothing to dampen the prince’s spirits however, as he simply cheered and hollered some more, spreading his joyous aura throughout the path, making the trees flower in a blink of an eye.

“Ohhh great deities above, I’m finally- I’m finally free...” He gave one last victorious shout with his fists raised to the sky, and finally settled down.

The Fae bandit rolled his eyes as the other calmed down, bending over to pant lightly with his hands over his knees. Of course he was winded—he’d never been out of the castle his entire life. 

In retrospect, Kreacher could definitely feel sorry for him... but in his opinion, being confined to a home for eternity is better than not having one at all—speaking from experience. 

The blooming petals had started to fall and tickle his nose. He scowled lightly at the colourful sight—the trees were flowering, and petals of every hue were raining down on them like a snowstorm. 

It wasn’t typical Fae decorum. He himself would’ve preferred something... less bright. But then again, the prince had always been an oddball—an outsider in his own kingdom. Really, who could blame him for wanting to run away? Certainly not him.

Now if only he didn’t have to play babysitter... because Kreacher knew, the moment he relented to the prince’s pleads of helping him escape, that he would not last one second out there.

Well. Not without him at least. 

“Oh, the trees here look beautiful!”

“Th-that’s because you made them so.”

“And the animals! Oh I’ve always wanted to pet a unicorn!”

“That’s... just a horse. With decorative headwear.”

“No, look at that! A horn! It’s a u-ni-corn.”

Kreacher grumbled to himself. “And I’m t-telling you, that’s—” Wait.

The bandit slowly came to a stop, brows furrowed as he took a good look at their surroundings. 

Wait. This is—

He had been so distracted by the prince’s elation that he had completely forgotten to pay attention to the direction they were headed... and this was not where they were supposed to go.

“Kurt! Stop—” He realised too late that his self-proclaimed charge had wandered straight out of the frying pan and into the fire—for not a moment sooner had he called out, a hex glyph had revealed itself from beneath the prince’s shoe. 

The Fae Prince froze in place as he slowly turned to look down, seeing the glyph light up beneath his feet, pulsing with energy. With magic.

“Kreacher...” He mumbled, voice wavering, “What... what is this?”

The bandit cursed as he quickly came to his side, crouching down so he could better examine the hostile magic. “Hex glyph,” he said simply. “Lift your foot and you’ll d-die.”

Kurt paled. “Die?!”

“Probably. Kreacher’s never s-stepped on one before, so he d-doesn’t know, really.”

Deities preserve him. “Stop joking around, Kreacher!” His voice had taken on a higher note, transforming into a shrill sound, and the bandit winced the slightest bit beside him. He would’ve laughed if only his life wasn’t at stake.

“I’m not!” Kreacher hissed back, shooting him a brief glare before turning back to the glyph on the ground. 

“I know, I know—I’m sorry, I just- am I going to die?!” He probably sounded hysterical at this point, judging by the bandit’s concerned gaze.

“No, no... You’re not. Kreacher’s dealt with this before, okay? Breathe—” He didn’t get his last word out in time before an invisible force punched the air out of his lungs, throwing him back a few feet. He landed face-down, groaning into the dirt. 

“Kreacher!” Kurt eyed the bandit worriedly, fearing for the worst... until he saw the shaky thumbs up he gave him. He sighed in relief, only to feel his heartbeat quicken again when an unknown force pinned his companion to the ground, rendering him unable to move.

“Ugh... Fuck, we’re too late,” he groaned, gritting his teeth as he lifted his head—the only body part he could move—looking past the prince.

The sound of footsteps approaching prompted Kurt to swivel his head around at breakneck speed, and he felt an indescribable feeling of dread rising up in his chest, hollowing out the edges until it had carved itself a nice pit of fear and despair.

For approaching him was a cloaked man, eyes like storm clouds gleaming dangerously beneath his hood as he stared them down. In his right hand was a staff—long and sturdy, made of strong wood and channeling incredibly potent magic, he could tell. The man was clearly a mage of immense power.

He didn’t think he’d cower before anyone but his father—but oh, how he was proven wrong. He trembled before the newcomer, eyes transfixed on him despite the sheer terror flooding his veins.

The man took one look at them and narrowed his eyes, curling his lip in disdain. 

“Fae,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose as he eyed both of them in scrutiny. “What business do you have trespassing my abode?”

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to gather his words. “Your... abode..?”

The mage narrowed his eyes at him, clearly unimpressed with his answer. “Surely you noticed that you stepped into magical territory—territory that is mine, by the way.”

Was that it? The lushness of the trees, the vibrance of wildlife in the area... the overall splendour of this part of the woods... It was all his?

“I... I’m sorry... I hadn’t noticed,” he mumbled, head bowed in remorse. It only served to remind him that he was still in mortal peril however, when the halo of the hex glyph shone upon his face, as if it were taunting him.

“Hmph. It is strange for someone like a Fae to not notice.” He spat out the word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Kurt felt shame creeping onto his face. “After all, I’ve made things very clear with your king that should any of you cross into my realm, I’ll not hesitate to put an end to you. Permanently.”

Kurt raised his head, though most of the mage’s words escaped him. All he caught was the part where—

“You know my father?” He asked meekly. 

All at once, the man’s grim expression dropped and in its place instead was a look of confusion, which quickly morphed into disbelief. 

“Your... father?” He questioned slowly, as if still trying to catch up to what he had said.

He heard Kreacher groan somewhere behind him. 

“Why d-did you tell him th-that?” He sounded exasperated. Though Kurt couldn’t have told the difference—that was how he usually sounded anyway.

“But—”

“The Fae King... is your father.” A statement, not a question. Though by the way the man was raising a brow at him, it may have well been one. 

Kurt mimicked his expression, tilting his head. “Yes?” He was unsure of this line of questioning—had he not made that clear already?

The mage came closer, eyes narrowed as he circled him, much like a hawk would do to mice. 

Overcome by a bout of self-consciousness, he pulled his cloak tighter around himself. It was for naught however, when the strange man poked him with the end of his staff, using it to flip his cloak over his shoulder.

“Hey!” He made a move to protest, but the mage gave him a warning glance.

“I can make this glyph trigger right now,” he said, voice low and cold, “or I can push you with this,” he gestured to his staff, “and make it trigger anyway. Either way, it’ll be excruciatingly painful, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” 

Kurt shook his head vehemently. 

“Then stand. Still.” With that, the stranger continued to poke away, displacing his cloak. Once his garb was fully revealed, he made an unimpressed noise as he stepped back, giving Kurt a once-over. 

“Is something... the matter?” He asked hesitantly.

The mage hummed, stroking his chin in thought. “You are not what I expected,” he said finally, sending Kurt a piercing gaze that left chills running down his spine.

“And what did you expect?” He asked curiously, despite the lingering fear and unease in his veins. 

“Well... not you.”

He gave an affronted gasp, but the man continued onwards before he could even say anything.

“Curses, I wouldn’t even have believed you otherwise if it weren’t for the family crest you bear on your garments.” He chuckled softly while Kurt gave him an ineffective glare. “You’re nothing like your father.”

“And just what do you mean by that?” He snapped, having had enough of the comparison. He was well aware that he bore zero resemblance to his father—it had been a constant reminder since his birth.

The mage raised a brow. “Don’t give me that look, Fae Prince,” the words almost seemed mocking on his tongue. “It’s a compliment.”

“In what way?!”

“Every way possible.”

Kurt paused at that statement, eyeing the other quizzically. “I don’t... understand?” Had he misinterpreted? Had the man not been making a mockery out of him?

Now the mage seemed to be amused, eyeing him with a raised brow and a smirk. “The Fae King is a terrible being—wicked and cruel, deceives all to serve him, takes what he wants with his cunning ways, and leaves nothing but misery and ruin wherever he reaps.” He took a moment to gaze up at the trees—the trees that Kurt had made blossom. “You don’t resemble him at all.”

“Oh.” Kurt was flabbergasted. He watched as the man reached a hand out to catch a falling flower, inspecting it closely.

“Hm. Magnolia.” He pocketed the flower, and Kurt could only watch in silence as his face reddened at the implication of his previous sentence. 

“I, um...” He hesitated, lifting his gaze up to the mage, who now didn’t seem as cold and uncaring as before. Instead, he seemed more amused than anything. When he didn’t say anything, Kurt decided to go on. “I am Kurt, Prince of the Fae,” he said, bowing as best he could while trying not to trigger the glyph.

The mage before him laughed, and he felt his face reddened at the no-doubt incoming embarrassment that would follow.

“By the deities... You really are a Fae unlike any other,” he said, cackling. “I’ve never met a Fae who’d willingly give their name away like that—isn’t it usually the other way around?”

His blood ran cold. Out of all his father’s teachings... it was the most basic principle that he forgot. 

Never give out your real name to anyone, under any circumstance.

He could barely register Kreacher’s shout of alarm behind him—all he could focus on was the suffocating laughter of the mage who seemed thoroughly amused by the turn of events. 

The world seemed to cave in—he had done a terrible, grievous mistake. It was no wonder that his father didn’t care much for him. He was the worst Fae to ever exist!

He covered his face with his hands as he willed himself not to cry—but he was shaking. Trembling. Every breath was hard on his lungs—he felt submerged, even if he was dry. 

He slowly lowered into a crouch, reluctant sniffles and sobs escaping him as he pressed the balls of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears that just suddenly seemed to gush out. 

He felt small. Pathetic. He wasn’t a child anymore—but then why did he feel so useless? 

Perhaps his father was right—he was simply dooming himself the moment he stepped outside. He should go home—go back to his bedroom surrounded by his four ivory walls with his cold marble floor, go back to spending his days rereading every book in the library, back to the days when he watched the townsfolk only through his stained glass window. 

But that was a terrible life... and it didn’t seem like much of a life at all.

“KURT!”

He snapped back to reality when Kreacher shook him violently by the shoulders, gasping when he took him in fully with his blurry gaze.

“You’re- free??” 

Kreacher huffed, dabbing at his face with a woven handkerchief. “Yeah, no shite.”

“But- how?!” He grasped the bandit by the shoulders, eyeing every inch of him.

“How else?” He jerked his head to a direction behind him, and Kurt followed it to catch sight of the mage once more, who, in contrast to before, was now looking at him with a most concerned expression. He almost seemed panicked.

“You helped? But why?” He chewed on his lip as he avoided the man’s gaze, rubbing at his eyes harshly. He managed to pull himself together to send him one withering look, and it surprised him to see that the other actually seemed guilty.

“It was not my intention to insult you,” he clarified, as genuine as he could allow himself to be. “And I most certainly never meant to hurt you like that. I see now that I’ve been far too discourteous, and for that I apologise. If you’re worried about me knowing your name... Don’t be. I swear on my Grandmaster’s name that I won’t use it against you.” He concluded his statement with a bow, and upon looking down, Kurt realised that the glyph had disappeared as well. Or perhaps it had long since vanished and he simply failed to realise it.

“Well, that’s a relief...” He sighed, feeling like an enormous weight had been lifted from his chest, “... And I forgive you,” he said simply after a while, ignoring the sputtering protests of his companion in favour of gracing the stranger with a kind smile. 

To his delight, the mage seemed relieved. He was as well—it left a bad taste in his mouth to let others suffer. It was simply uncalled for.

“Ugh. Fine, forgive him. Kreacher d-doesn’t care.” The bandit rolled his eyes, to which Kurt shook his head fondly. “But if we’re d-done here, let’s move on. Don’t stay where you’re not wanted, Your Highness,” he ended the statement with a pointed look at the mage, who furrowed his brows in thought.

Kurt nodded. He didn’t want to overstay his visit—especially since he wasn’t welcomed in the first place. “Right. Sorry about the trespassing, Sir Mage. Rest assured we won’t be doing it anymore.”

“Actually—”

He definitely did not let out an embarrassing sound when the mage came forth to grasp his hand.

For a moment, both of them stilled, gazes stuck upon their joined hands. The moment was broken with a rather loud ‘OY’ from Kreacher. The mage cleared his throat as he continued where he left off.

“To make up for my rudeness, how about you stay the night?”

The Fae Prince blinked owlishly. “Me?”

“Well, both of you, but- yes. I truly am sorry about everything, and I... wouldn’t want to give off a bad impression as the sorcerer of these woods.” He coughed into his other hand, tugging off his cloak to reveal slicked-back hair, with several misplaced strands sticking out, no doubt from the hood. His eyes were the same exact shade of the storm clouds that Kurt compared them to when he had first met him earlier.

The smile on his face widened, and before Kreacher could say anything, he happily replied with an “Okay!” He bowed deeply, showing his gratitude. “We humbly accept your kind gesture, Sorcerer of the Woods.” When he straightened up, he found that a smile came easily to his face—and the flowers bloomed tenfold. 

Perhaps he wasn’t such a hopeless case after all—in any case, father had always told him how he’d be devoured the moment he left the kingdom, but that couldn’t be true! People could be kind, just like he had suspected his entire life. For how else would he still be alive right now?

The sorcerer took a moment to gaze up at the trees above him, eyes widened and his mouth open in awe as the petals rained over them like snowfall. Turning his gaze to Kurt, he offered a similar smile, a twinkle in his eyes as he grasped his hand again, albeit gently.

“No. It is you who are kind, fair Prince of the Fae—for these trees haven’t blossomed in over a millennium,” he said, a grin on his face. “They were cursed by your father to never undergo florescence—but it seems that you have lifted it on his behalf.”

Kurt’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Oh- really? But... I don’t know how to lift curses...” He flushed when the sorcerer bent down to press a brief kiss to the back of his hand. It left him feeling funny. He heard Kreacher’s indignant squawk beside him.

“Well... I would be lying if I said that I knew the reason it broke... But as I’ve said, you are nothing like him. Though you are his child, and that makes me presume that you’ve inherited his aptitude for Fae magic... so perhaps, you’ve simply... overwritten it?” He tilted his head, and Kurt could only gape in awe.

“That can happen?” 

“Anything can happen if you have the will to carry it out... Though I suspect this was more of your unconscious will than a premeditated effort.” His gaze remained on the trees above them, flowering so prosperously that the forest floor was starting to get covered in pinks and whites. It was beautiful.

Kurt couldn’t help the wonder and excitement brimming in him—he wasn’t at all like his father, that’s true—but perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. After all, he did prefer the sight of flowering trees over the withered, hollow husks of wood that his father decorated his garden with.

The bandit snorted beside him, giving him a slight nudge with his shoulder. “Well, call me a g-goblin’s spawn—you’re just full of s-s-surprises, aren’t you, Your Royal Highness?” It wasn’t his taste at all, but who was he to keep his friend from being happy?

He beamed at his friend, laughter brought back to his face. “Perhaps I am!”

The thief scoffed, picking at his fraying sleeves as he casted his gaze to the woods beyond the window. “Th-thanks for the assurance,” he said softly, albeit sarcastically. “Th-this p-place don’t make for a nice home either.”

Kevin raised an ivory brow. “Well I can’t play housekeeper when I got vampires to hunt now, can I?”

The human made a noise of acknowledgement. “Suppose not,” he replied quietly. After a beat, he threw him a glance over his shoulder. “Why’d you hunt ‘em an-anyway?” 

“Well...” He paused to choose his words carefully. After a moment, he settled for an answer with a sigh. 

“... Who else is gonna do it?” He mumbled, crimson gaze fixed upon the burning embers of the fireplace.

“But you’re one of th-them.”

“No.” He narrowed his eyes at the other who seemed to shrink beneath his gaze. “I ain’t.” It was said rather brusquely, with a snap of teeth and flash of fangs that left the human flinching. He quickly reeled in his composure, feeling the slightest bit guilty. 

“... I’m sorry,” he said after a while, eyeing the thief remorsefully from beneath the wide brim of his hat.

It pained him to see the thief pressed flush against the wall, eyes wide and pupils contracted in apparent fear as shivers wracked his body. He hadn’t meant to scare him at all and now, he felt like a major hypocrite for it.

“Hey,” he tried again, raising his hand up to show that he meant no harm, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare ya.” He tried to speak in a softer tone, watching as the thief eyed him dubiously. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Okay... okay, I can see that you’re doubting me. ‘S fair,” he reasoned, shrugging. “So how ‘bout I... leave ya fer the night, and jus’ mind mah own business? Deal?”

The thief seemed to panic at that, eyes widened and fearful as he sat up in bed and grasped at the sheets tightly. “You’re leaving?!”

“No- naw, not at all.” He was quick to reassure him, thinking that he probably should’ve worded it better. “I’m jus’ gonna be around the kitchen, y’know, so you can get some rest.” He cleared his throat. “I ain’t leaving ya alone to be hounded—who do ya take me for?” He chuckled softly, a wry smile on his face as the thief eyed him silently.

“Oh,” he muttered softly, shoulders lowered as he exhaled softly. “Th-thanks,” he said, and Kevin felt a jolt of... something as he laid his eyes upon that hesitant smile.

“No problem,” he croaked out, clearing his throat soon after. He stood up, dusting his pants as he jerked a thumb to the dining room. “Holler if ya need anything.”

The thief’s gaze was calculative, but the slight smile that emerged on the bottom half of his face threw Kevin’s suspicion off completely.