#be grateful

You wait in the foyer, scrolling on your phone. There’s a knock on the front door. It has a flamboyant edge. You smile and know exactly who it is. You open it and come face to face with the self-proclaimed Le Chasseur D’Armour. 

“Bonjour, [Y/N] and Grim!” he enthusiastically greets.“Merci for opening your wonderful home to the VDC members. We’re forever grateful. I look forward to working with you in the upcoming days! I’m counting on you.” 

“Hello to you too, Rook,” you chuckle, stepping aside to let him enter.

Vil and Epel come in behind him.  

The Pomefiore dorm leader inspects the area before commenting, “It’s tidier than I expected.” 

You give a polite, retail employee smile. 

“Thank you. I deep-cleaned everything last night and today. I don’t want your stay to be uncomfortable. It’s my dorm after all,” you state. 

Vil raises his eyebrows and nods in approval. 

Epel ducks his head in a small bow. “Excuse me.”

You stop him before he passes. His dorm leader halts as well.  

“Epel, I had to put you in a room with Ace and Deuce because many of the rooms are unusable,” you inform, before turning to Vil. “All of the older students have their own, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Thank you,” the model responds. 

He strides past. Epel nods and scurries after him. You hope that giving the youngest Pomefiore student a room with the other freshmen will help him feel better. Epel seems strained, upset, and dissatisfied with Vil. You placed him with the chaotic Heartslabyul students to promote unity. ADeuce have strong morals. You suspect Vil will become a problem during his stay, so hopefully, you can rally the younger years to form a resistance. There’s power in numbers. 

The Scarabia students trail in. 

Jamil requests, “[Y/N], I’m sorry, but could you move my room next to Kalim’s?” 

You give a reassuring smile. “I already did. I stuck him between you and Rook. If anyone wants to hurt Kalim, it will be difficult to get past you and a trained hunter.” 

The vice leader gives an appreciative nod.

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness,” he replies.

Kalim protests, “Jamil, you don’t have to worry that much about me. There haven’t been any assassination attempts since we entered school.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” you counter.

The Scarabia leader ponders the notion before shrugging. 

“If it makes Jamil more comfortable and his life easier, then it won’t hurt.” He laughs.

You grin back. While Jamil dislikes the sunshine boy, Kalim cares about the other. This is small proof that he’s learning. That deserves some recognition. Jamil will get the attention he should during this training. Vil’s opinion of the Scarabia vice leader is high, so it should brighten his disposition.

The last pair comes in without Trey’s cake. You give a deep nod of approval. 

The Heartslabyul vice leader attempted to send ADeuce with some baked goods. Thankfully, the duo took your warnings seriously and called you. After unmasking Trey’s stunt to incite trouble over the phone, he confessed to your accusation. It left Deuce floored at his seniors' nefarious plan. You giggled for a whole minute at the blue-nette’s predictability, with Ace ribbing him on the other side of the call. It was the highlight of your day. You’re confident your guidance will help them in Vil’s upcoming test.

When all the members gather in the living room, Vil becomes airport security. You maneuver between Rook and Jamil, who stand at one end of the semi-circle. With the amount of detail the model executes, he could be hired as a security guard without a resume. He’d become a ”model” worker in no time. Everything is going as expected until he opens Deuce’s luggage. 

You watch Vil go through the standard procedure before frowning. He double-checks and looks for any hidden pockets or areas he missed. In the end, he finds no illegal contraband.

The dorm leader says nothing. He moves to Ace’s suitcase. The redhead gives you a smug smile. You huff out a silent laugh, shaking your head. 

Vil repeats the process and gets the same clean results. He looks up and scrutinizes the Heartslabyul freshmen. Standing to his full height, he crosses his arms. 

“Who told you two potatoes? You’re not smart enough to have foreseen my inspection,” Vil declares. 

“Perhaps you underestimate us,” Ace retorts.

The junior snaps, “Don’t talk back to me.”

There’s tense silence before Deuce cracks.

“It was [Y/N],” he reveals.

The Pomefiore dorm leader raises an eyebrow and turns to you. 

He analyzes your figure before offering, “Do you want to be our manager? I could use one.”

Your eyes widen at the unexpected question, and you gracefully accept.

“Sure, I’m happy to help.”

Vil gives a sharp nod before reprimanding the offending individuals. He confiscates unauthorized snacks and food. 

Afterward, the dorm leader’s phone buzzes. Everyone begins to chat amongst themselves as the actor takes the call. You nonchalantly tune into Vil’s discussion. The interaction starts fine until Vil learns he was cast as a “beautiful villain” again. He becomes upset, violently rejecting the role. 

“You’re so annoying! Don’t call me again before VDC is over!” Vil sneers before hanging up. 

You’ve schooled your widened eyes by the time he’s turned around. His outburst confirms your suspicion. 

Vil is a high-risk overblot candidate. Considering the previous trends, he checks off all the boxes. 

He’s a leader or representative of a dorm who carries around that weight and responsibility. Most importantly, the current events create extreme personal distress. It has something to do with a deep-rooted childhood trauma. You picked up enough of his conversation to realize the model has a problem with being typecast as a villain. The junior also mentioned Neige LeBlanche in a negative light. Cater informed you that the other child actor has been in many productions with Vil. The other boy is always cast as the hero. From what you heard, Neige leads the Royal Swords Academy’s VDC team. 

The blonde must have issues with his co-star due to their assigned roles in the industry. People probably box Vil as a villain in real life. Since he started young, it must’ve greatly impacted his social development, and it shows. 

You glance at Rook. His arms are crossed. He watches with a serious expression. 

Your attention is pulled away from the hunter as Vil orders everyone to go to rehearsal. 

You’ll have to talk to his vice leader.

—-----------

The VDC group returns to Ramshackle after dark. You bring up the rear, closing the double doors behind you. The group is left to their own devices. Most of them head up to their quarter, exhausted, but you stop them.  

“If there’s anything you need or any problems with the rooms, let me know. I’m essentially your landlord for the next month,” you inform. 

Kalim turns around at the top step and beams. 

“You’re so nice, [Y/N]! Even though Ramshackle is dingy, it’s livable, and you make it feel cozy. Crowley was right when he said your dorm is a place for anyone to come and feel welcome,” he comments.

You reply with a warm smile, letting the unintentional backhanded compliment roll off you. The boy’s nature amuses you. However, it must be grating in large doses. You empathize with Jamil. However, you don’t condone his previous actions. 

You respond to the sunshine student, “I’m glad you like it here, Kalim. It’s enjoyable to have friends in the house. Ace and Deuce have crashed here more than once. At least they’re sleeping on a bed rather than a sofa this time.” 

The redhead questions, halfway up the steps, “Yeah, how did you get five livable rooms? The last time we stayed here, none were up to code. That was a few weeks ago.” 

“I asked Jack,” you reply. 

Epel perks up. “Ah! He’s in my class. We get along really well.” 

“That’s good. He has good morals, unlike Leona and Ruggie’s underhanded tactics. He didn’t ask for anything in return,” you elaborate. 

The lavender-haired boy grins before spotting his dorm leader and tempering his expression. With a quick glance, you notice Vil’s sharp gaze, but his eyes hold a complicated conflict. Not allowing your face to change too much, your eyebrows furrow as you speculate the reason. 

Perhaps Vil approves of Jack’s personality and ethics but doesn’t want Epel to follow in the Savanaclaw student’s path. The idea sounds plausible. 

The others begin to head up stairs when you quietly stop the hunter. 

“Rook, can I talk to you?” you request. 

Both he and Vil pause. 

The vice leader enthusiastically agrees, “Oui! I’m more than delighted and honored.” 

“I’m going to see what the bathrooms are like,” Vil states before warning. “Don’t disturb our host too much.”

“I will be the perfect guest!” the hunter reassures. 

The model rolls his eyes and leaves with heels clicking up the steps. 

The two of you wait for him to vanish. You address Rook. 

“Would you join me on a walk?” you request. 

The hunter removes his hat, bows, and gestures to the door with a grin. 

“After you, Trickster,” he agrees. 

You move past with a small smile. 

“Trickster?” you echo, amused.

You have an inkling as to why he calls you that, but you want to hear it from his lips. 

“Oui! You conceal great powers only to display them in the most unexpected and vibrante way! You trick others into overlooking you. Then, you use it to your advantage. As a hunter, my heart flutters to see such a magnifique performance,” Rook elaborates, flourishing his hand.

You laugh, unlocking the door and swinging it open. 

Stepping out into the brisk night air, you retort, “It sounds like someone I know. However, I think Le Chasseur D’Armour suits him much better.”

Rook chuckles at the comment and closes the door behind him. You’re about to walk down the path when you pause. You glance toward the back of the house. 

“Do you want to go into the woods?”

“I will follow your lead. Do whatever you are comfortable with,“ he answers.

You stroll around the side of the building. The two of you travel in silence as you gather your thoughts. How should you phrase this? The vice leader waits for you. 

As you approach the tree line, you decide, “I didn’t hear the other end of Vil’s conversation with his manager. Was there anything important that I missed?”

In the dark, you vaguely watch Rook’s eyebrows raise. However, you step beneath the foliage and plunge into darkness. The forest blocks out the little light from the moon. You can’t see him that well. 

Now that you think about it, you unconsciously led him to a place where you can’t closely observe him. Rook’s uncomfortable under scrutiny. However, you want to have an honest conversation. If you can’t see him, maybe he’ll be more open with you. He’s familiar with the woods. He has the advantage. You’re at his mercy, but you trust him to guide you. Your intentions and actions will showcase your sincerity, and Rook will pick that up. 

The hunter holds out his gloved hand. 

“For you,” he offers. 

It reminds you of a nobleman asking for a dance, and your lips turn upward as you accept. 

“Thank you.” 

He leads you further in and answers, “Other than the salary being upward of 3 million madol, non.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of money,” you involuntarily comment.

Rook chuckles before warning you of an upcoming branch. He pauses to make sure you safely cross it. You resume your walk. 

“Does Vil have frequent outbursts?” you inquire. 

The feather in his hat swishes back and forth. “Non.”

You hum. “Do you think he’ll overblot?”

The hunter abruptly stops. He immediately turns his head to refute you before pausing. Rook reevaluates his stance, and after deliberating, he rejects the idea. 

“I trust Vil to follow his morals. He is stricter with himself than he is with others, and Roi de Poison places his responsibilities above all. He has been tasked to manage a team. Considering his character, I doubt he will let his grudges and grievances overtake his values,” he explains. 

You nod, relaxing your shoulder. While you’re not completely convinced, Rook’s answer gives you peace of mind. 

“I’m glad. That makes me feel better. I’ll still keep a close eye on him. All the ingredients for a disaster are there. I’d rather be safe than sorry. The school has had a nasty streak recently,” you answer. 

Rook hums in agreement, “You have the caution of a rabbit and the foresight of a fate weaver. One watches its surroundings to survive, while the other decides what direction a tale proceeds. Vigilante individuals are the first to react to any situation. One can never be too careful,” he says. “I will assist you. As I said, I seek to preserve Roi de Poison’s beaute and watch him strive to be his best self.”

“I’m glad he has someone who cares so much about him. He’s lucky to have you by his side,” you tell him. 

“Merci.”

You fall into comfortable silence with the occasional warning of obstacles. The hunter always waits and considers your safety, like a true gentleman. It’s nice to find someone so respectful in a school full of outrageous personalities.

You take in the moment, absorbing yourself in nature. The crickets chirp, and an owl hoots in the night. Leaves crunch beneath your feet. You look up at the canopy to watch the moon and the stars peeking in and out of the branches. The smell of the earth and soil brushes your nose as a gentle wind breezes past. Allowing your hand to run across a series of trees, the textured bark grazes against your palm. Then, your attention focuses on the leather glove you hold. Rook continues to trek forward with quiet confidence, and your lips turn into a smile. You’re glad to have this opportunity to talk with him. Hopefully, he feels more comfortable around you.

You spot the tree line approaching. The lights of the dorm glow from the curtained windows. 

“Thank you. I’ve had a nice time talking with you,” you express.

You hear the smile in Rook’s voice as he answers, “Moi aussi. Merci for allowing me to share this precious moment with you. I’m moved that you chose me to confide in. I will do everything I can to help you and Vil.” 

You give his hand a quick squeeze, and he allows you to hold it until you arrive at the front entrance. He takes the long way around so you can stay connected a little longer. You appreciate it. 

—---------------

You close the door to your room. It’s midday, and you forgot some notes the Clown Crew needs for history. No one else is in the dorm… 

Well, you thought nobody else was in the dorm. 

You’re about to descend the wooden steps when an elegant voice filters from the living room, causing you to stop. 

“Mira Mira,” a smooth voice recites. “Now, at this moment, who is the most beautiful in the world?” 

Even if you didn’t recognize the voice, the content makes the speaker obvious: Vil Schoenheit.  

“The number 1 account with the most mentions of ‘Beautiful’ is Neige Leblanche,” the robotic voice informs. “Do you want to display the search results?” 

There’s a pause before you hear the Pomefiore dorm leader mutter, “Just you see… You can only rest on your achievements this time.” 

You catch the flowing robes of the beautiful queen as he sweeps into the hall with sharp, determined steps. He doesn’t look back. 

You frown. 

It’s nothing you can substantiate an argument that he will overblot. Nevertheless, you grow suspicious. 

————————

“I… don’t want to do this wavy, girly dance move,” Epel quietly rejects. 

Your eyes widen. This child has no preservation instincts. While you internally gawk, you try to look on the bright side. At least Epel voices his opinions rather than hiding them. Sexism is easier to treat that way. If he hid it, then there would be no hope in rehabilitation. 

Vil stalks over, determined to discipline his freshman. 

“What a clear somniloquy of yours,” he snarks. “Even if it’s sleep talk, I can’t let it pass.” 

The model grabs Epel’s ear and pulls. 

“Ow! That hurts!” the shorter boy cries.

You narrow your eyes, contemplating. You’re on the fence about this action. It could be a precursor to more extreme physical abuse, or it could be mild roughhousing. Ace and Deuce always seem to bond and get closer when they shove each other around. However, the heavy power imbalance suggests the former theory. 

You purse your lips and reflect on yourself. Your hesitation stemmed from a personal dislike of Epel’s prejudice. For a moment, you lost your ability to see reason and almost condoned unhealthy behavior. Shaking your head to recalibrate, you return to the conversation.

“It’s still evening, but our cute little apple seems drowsy, so I’m helping you listen to my words,” Vil states before releasing Epel. 

“Listen up. Clothes and dancing aren’t made exclusively for women or men. If you feel embarrassed because you’re dancing ‘girly’ movements as a guy, then your mindset is too old-fashioned. Did you time-travel from 100 years ago to the present day? Is that what happened?” the dorm leader demeans. 

While the first sentences were correct, the rest were counterproductive. You squint your eyes at the model. Does he think accusing and judging someone’s faults and feelings will help the other person? The latter half of his statement was completely unnecessary. The additional questions rubbed salt into the wound. It would be funny and witty if it were playful, but that’s a pure insult.

Vil truly has no filter. He says whatever is on his mind, even if it doesn’t help the situation. He does himself no favors by insulting the person he wants to help. It’s hypocritical that he scolds Epel for his country accent but doesn’t work on his phrasing or tone. For someone who looks in a mirror all day, you’d think he’d have some form of self-reflection. He doesn’t. Vil shattered that assumption a long time ago. Maybe that’s why his reality is so distorted. It’s a broken mirror. 

“I’ve decided Epel will have a different lesson from us starting tomorrow. You have ballet lessons by yourself until I say stop,” Vil dictates. 

Your face drops, and you feel familiar bright green eyes on you. You don't react to them. After a moment, you cross your arms and lean back in your chair. 

The red flag has officially been raised. Isolation is a major factor in narcissistic abuse. Vil has checked off all the boxes.

You need to do more research. 

—------

You approach Rook the next day.

“Rook, what‘s your favorite movie with Vil playing a major role?” you ask. 

The hunter visibly perks up; his eyes sparkle. 

He begins voicing his thoughts aloud before he can think, and doesn’t seem inclined to stop. 

“How can I pick? Each one is radiant and beaute in its own way! I would be doing a disservice to pick only one…”

Rook starts listing all his favorites and complimenting them before you cut him off with an amused smile. 

“Let me change the question,” you correct. 

The Pomefiore vice leader silences himself, listening attentively. 

“What film would you recommend for me?” you inquire. 

Rook’s enthusiasm reignites as he replies, “The Princess Tale! It’s a love story between a peasant boy and a princess. The audience follows their journey as they face the trials and tribulations of the royal court, which threatens to rip them apart. It’s a merveilleux movie!”

“Can we watch it together?” you request. 

The hunter gasps, “Oui! I’m honored you sought me out to discuss Vil’s works. I don’t have many others to talk about it with, so your interest is musique to my ears. I have a DVD of it in my room. I’ll fetch it right away! It’ll only take a moment.”

He flies out the door with the speed of a cheetah. Your eyes widen at the action. You haven’t seen Rook so thrilled and elated, but this seems like a good sign. Maybe the Pomefiore vice leader is opening up to you. You jog to Ramshackle’s porch with a content smile. 

You shout, “Make sure to get Vil approved snacks!” 

He’s already well past the gates. He turns around, continuing to run backwards. 

“Oui! I will heed your order and fulfill it to the highest degree, Trickster!” Rook promises.

The eccentric junior turns back around and books it. You smirk, pondering how long it will take him. You suspect 4 minutes. You head inside to gather some blankets and pillows.

———————

Rook beats your guess and returns in 3 minutes. You blink in surprise as he strides through the door, holding the movie.

The excited hunter walks over and pops the DVD into the corresponding device. The TV you managed to snag is so old that the only way to watch anything is by using a DVD player. Rook’s mouth has a mind of its own, spilling out facts.

“This is Roi de Poison’s plus grand movie since entering NRC! It was filmed the summer between his freshman and sophomore years. As in many of his other productions, Neige LeBlanche is the male lead. However, I was excited to learn that the ever-shining, brillante Sarka Naiki would be the female protagonist! It won the Best Junior Movie Award of the Year. As Beautiful Vil’s dedicated supporter, I attest this film is one of his most superbe works!” he rattles off. 

You nod with an interested smile, settling on the couch. Rook flips off the lights and sits beside you. A couple of apples and granola bars appear before you.

The hunter continues, “It was a merveilleux opportunity for Vil to work with Director Gepetto. He led some of the largest box office hits.”

You take the offered snacks and drape a blanket over Rook’s lap. He looks down at the unexpected action before lighting up and pivoting his praise. 

“I almost missed that you created such a charmant and cozy nest for us! You could be a dove with how well you’ve built it,” he compliments. “Merci for making such a comfortable viewing spot!” 

You chuckle. “And thank you for providing the film and snacks.”

The vice leader waves his hands, dismissing the notion. 

“Non, think nothing of it. I’m more than happy to share my interests with someone curious about them!” he insists. 

You huff out a laugh at his dramatic nature and hit play. 

“Primrose! Run!!” 

Instantly, the screen violently shakes as the camera bolts into the woods. The sound of panting reaches your ears, but it's replaced by rustling leaves. A wide shot reveals a glimpse of long, light-orange fabric. It darts between the trees, the reader never getting a full view of the actor, and the camera is back to running. 

From a movie analysis perspective, the intro sequence sucks you in. The use of first-person reminds you of many video games. It could be a way to connect with the younger audience. Plus, the high-action scene captures even the most bored viewers. You nod approvingly.

Flashes of long brown hair appear, then a pair of heels. Black clothes come into frame as a single man in classic assassin's attire pursues, whom you believe is the main character, Primrose. 

The woman intentionally rips her dress, catching it on a low bush and tearing a different section of the fabric with her teeth. The strands of cloth create a false trail. She doubles back and waits, hidden in a bush. 

The assassin sprints past her, but before he can leave, a blur of orange lunges at him. An up-close shot of a dirty white heel slams into the man’s temple. Primrose’s arm cuts off his airway. 

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! CRACK!! SNAP!!!

The woman drops the man’s body. His right temple gushes blood with the sharp part of Primrose’s broken heel stuck in it. Her palm grips the remains of her right shoe. Then, she puts the other back on and smashes it into his brain for good measure, grinding down on it. She curses and spits in his face. 

Then, a rustle comes from a little ways away. Primrose’s eyes flick up to see a dirty country boy in patched-up clothes. He holds a basket of apples. His already round, doe eyes grow impossibly wider. It adds to his already innocent looks. The face is familiar. He has skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.

The female lead stiffens. 

Neige slowly puts down the bag and raises his hands. 

“Are you alright? You’re hurt,” he says, trembling. “I’m not sure what happened, but I don’t particularly want to get killed. I’ll help you if need be. You can pat me down. I only have a knife, but you can take it.” 

You forcefully yank yourself out of the scene to focus on the characters. This is a research session. However, you understand Rook’s obsession with it. The immersion is immaculate.

You zero in on the black-haired male. Are there multiple aspects that rub Vil the wrong way? Or is it just Neige’s designated roles? 

Unable to commit to analyzing, as the movie is too good, you pause the film and look at Rook. His forest green eyes blink back at you, confused.

“Do you have the original script?” you inquire.

Rook raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. The feather in his hat swooshes in tandem.

“Non, but Vil would,” he answers. 

“What would I have?” the man in question cuts in. 

The model descends the stairs with the elegance of a swan. Arriving at the landing, he glides over, curious about what you’re watching. The frame focuses on the princess. Neige is not in the shot. Vil quirks his eyebrow.

“The Princess Tale?” he echoes.

Rook brightens. He places a hand on his chest. The other gestures to Vil with his signature fanfare. 

“Roi de Poison, you must be a psychic because your timing is incroyable! Trickster was asking to see the original script! They want to know more about you and your acting skills, so they can efficiently help you,” he informs. “The way they devote themselves wholeheartedly to the VDC team is inspirant!”

Vil raises his eyebrow with a mildly approving look. 

“I’m not one to obstruct people from learning about my work, so I’ll lend you my script. I can’t give you the original, but I have an electronic version,” he agrees. “I’m unable to stay and answer questions, since I have other responsibilities, but feel free to find me afterwards. I’m always open to discussing my job.” 

With that, the Pomefiore dorm leader sweeps out of the room. 

Your gaze follows him. 

—————————

You review the script, huddled up with Rook, who’s brimming with joy. He attempts to keep it down as you read, but he can’t help himself. His enthusiasm spills out. 

“The tension in this scene threatens to split my chest in two!” he details, pointing to a section on Vil’s laptop. “The underlying electricity between the princess and our Beautiful Vil enthralls me. It’s as if I’m transported into the ballroom as a simple nobleman, watching the glorieux event unfold before me! The artistry is extraordinaire. I cannot get enough of it!”

You listen attentively. A fond smile pulls at your lips. It’s heartwarming to see him express his feelings so freely. He loses all sense of time and space, but you don’t mind. He’s radiant and immersed in his emotions. You’re more than honored to witness this side of him. Hopefully, this is another sign that he’s letting his guard down. 

The hunter blinks, catching himself rambling. 

“Je suis désolé!“ he apologizes. “I lost myself in my fervor and pulled you off track. I vow to be silent as you continue to read.”

He quiets down, but you shake your head, smiling. 

“I don’t mind. It’s endearing to watch and listen to you. I’ve learned a lot about your interests and the movie,” you reply before adding. “Your enthusiasm is beaute.”

Rook’s eyes widen and fill with emotion. He grabs your hands, keeping eye contact with you.

“Trickster, you never fail to blow me away like a flower in a windstorm! I cherish your words and actions. My heart swells every time you engage in one of my habits. When we first met, you guessed my nicknames. Now, you respond with my speech patterns. I’m honored and exalted to be the target of your meaningful actions,” he expresses. 

You barely stop yourself from bursting out laughing, but your shoulders shake, and a grin splits across your face. 

You squeeze his hand. “I’m glad I made you happy. If you’re worried about going off track, I’ll ask you an important question. Do you have any good videos of Neige in his daily life?” 

The hunter gasps. A hand flies to his mouth.

“Oui!”  he shouts.

Before you have time to blink, a video is already up and playing on his phone. There’s no way he brought up a clip that fast unless he had it in an album on his phone. You glance at the invested and enthused hunter. You observe him. He must be a fan of Neige. 

You watch his phone with the seriousness of a criminal profiler intent on catching a culprit. When the recording is finished, you thoughtfully lean back, taking in the information.

Neige has a naive, simple, and kind personality. In one video, he didn’t know paparazzi were around and naturally helped a kid find his parents. Multiple interviews show him becoming sheepish as a joke goes over his head. His origin story in the entertainment industry began to support his siblings. Neige seems to be playing himself in The Princess Tale: naive, simple, and kind. 

You turn to Rook, who’s still glowing from the video. The glint in his eyes indicates he’s ready to answer any questions. You quirk an eyebrow. He's definitely a Neige fan. 

“Thank you. That helped me a lot,” you tell him. “Let’s keep watching.”

As the film continues, the couple grows closer. You mostly skim over it, more interested in Vil and Neige’s upcoming interactions. 

Then, a new character appears. It’s one you don’t recognize. Rook directed you to read only certain scenes to avoid spoiling everything. Therefore, you haven't seen him.

A lone knight with brown hair stands before the male lead’s rundown house. Golden embroidery pops against his dark indigo military uniform. The pressed jacket drops below his hips, as a white belt secures it in place. Lastly, a short tan cape drapes over one shoulder with fur lining its collar. He grins at the protagonist.

You tilt your head. That outfit looks familiar.

“Princess! I’m glad you're safe,” he declares. “Your brother was so worried that he sent me. I’m glad you haven’t been camping in the woods for a week. It looks like you’ve charmed someone into giving you food, water, and shelter.” 

Neige’s character, Fabian Whitlock, widens his eyes. 

“Princess?” he murmurs. 

Primrose rubs the back of her neck. “I didn’t want to tell you. I haven’t known anyone who doesn’t know who I am, but yeah, I have a royal title.”

The knight glances between the teenagers, intrigued. 

“I suppose introductions are in order!” he exclaims, breaking the moment. “May I, Your Highness?”

The princess chuckles. “I don’t think I could stop your dramatics if I tried.” 

With a sweeping bow, the soldier announces, “This is our country’s only princess, Primrose Montague, and I am Sir Khalil, the crown prince’s personal guard.” 

Fabian’s shoulders relax at the overly dramatic knight, and Primrose notices. 

“This is going to be a big ask, but do you want to come to the castle with me?” the girl inquires. 

Then, her face tinges with pink as she quickly adds, “As my boyfriend?”

“What?”/“Oh?”

Two sets of wide eyes stare at her. 

“I know it’s quick, but we’ve had our moments, and I enjoyed spending time with you. You make me feel seen in a way that nobody in the castle does. Even after you saw me murder someone, you still… fell for me, I guess.” The last sentence is a bit mumbled before Primrose continues. “You’re insane for that, but I don’t want to lose you. I’m not asking to marry you. I just want to try and see if this relationship works out. Are you willing?”

After some debate between the lead couple, Fabian tentatively agrees to the proposition. 

Sir Khalil gives a wry grin. 

“Your strength and conviction are admirable, Your Highness. I hope it continues even when rough waves threaten to overturn your ship.” He chuckles. “Let’s be off! I brought two horses, but I saw the house had a stable. Your paramour should fetch one and bring whatever he needs. Although, I’m sure with her highness’s protection, he won’t have to worry much.”

If you add some French into that line, it’s a replica of Rook’s speech patterns. You turn to the man as the scene continues.

“Did the scriptwriter and director know you? Not only does the knight sound like you, but he also looks like you,” you comment. 

The hunter blinks.

“I know our mannerisms and values are similar, but I… look like him?” he echoes questioningly. 

His eyebrows furrow as he reassesses the character. You lean in with a smirk.

“A tan accessory mixed with a bright white piece. A dark outfit with gold accents,” you point out. “Did I not just describe your school uniform?” 

Rook’s eyes fly open, and for the first time, he laughs. It’s a genuine laugh, not a chuckle of amusement or a performative one. The sound is warm, fond, and captivating. He lets down his defenses a little and tilts into you slightly. You stare, wide-eyed, at the motion. People unconsciously move closer to someone they like. A smile creeps onto your face. You're more than flattered by the unintentional action. Even though the comment and incident are minor, he’s genuinely surprised and tickled. To catch the hunter off guard is a feat in itself. 

“Oui, we do look similar.” He giggles. 

You grin and sear this moment into your brain. You don’t want to forget this. 

On screen, the scenery changes. A grand castle looms in the distance, and the group approaches from the forested area in the back. Fabian’s eyes widen as he glances at his girlfriend. 

“Are you positive your parents will be ok with me?” he inquires, worried. “I’m not sure if I’ll live up to your standards. I’m not used to this stuff.” 

Primrose reassures, “You’re the most authentic and kind person I’ve ever met. Most of my other friends and acquaintances are too formal. It's very constraining. I think people in higher positions need to remember that they’re human, too, and you can remind them of that. Besides, you do well under pressure. You thought I was going to kill you at first.” 

She grins as her significant other playfully frowns at her. 

Khalil looks on thoughtfully, but he doesn’t comment. Only when the duo finishes does he speak. 

“I shall inform Prince Callistus of your arrival, Your Highness, Fabian,” he announces. “However, I will tactfully allow you to tell him the current situation, Princess.” 

“Thanks, Khalil,” she replies. 

When the couple finally gets in through the back entrance, Vil Schoenheit is already at the top of the stairs. The name Callistus means “the most beautiful,” or “the fairest.” You find it fitting for Vil to play someone with that name. 

You inch forward in your seat. What differences will there be between the script and his acting? 

The eldest sibling descends the marble staircase with the sharp click of his heels. His mid-length, purple cape flutters behind him. 

“Your knights are incompetent. Everyone in your entourage was either killed or captured during the assassination attack. The ones who lived were sold as slaves. It took them four days to return to the castle. All the while, I was scrambling to locate you. When I demanded a detailed account, I learned that the last time they saw you was in the woods being pursued by an assassin! Mother and I have already changed your guards,” he rants. 

The princess gives a fond smile. “Thanks for sending Khalil. He’s the best.” 

Prince Callistus huffs as he reaches the landing. 

“Yes, that’s why I picked him, but I shouldn’t have had to send him in the first place,” the blond retorts.

The heir stands almost two heads taller than his sister, and he smirks. 

“Khalil told me he found a corpse that died from a stab wound to his temple. I assume you used your heels like I taught you?” 

The protagonist beams. “I nailed him.” 

“Good. I told you those self-defense lessons would come in handy,” Prince Callistus replies, petting her head before jerking back. 

“You need a bath,” the blonde states, disgusted. “I preemptively called a maid to draw you one and a doctor to check for any injuries.”

His younger sister comments with joking exasperation, “I don’t know how you have time to worry about me and my skin when you have so much paperwork.”

“Maintaining appearances helps with diplomatic deals. If I’m nice to look at, they’ll inherently like me more. Since we have some similar features and genetics, you’re beautiful by extension. I can’t let it go to waste.” The crown prince chuckles.

You squint your eyes. That sounds familiar. 

“Alright, alright, I want you to meet Fabian,” she starts, gesturing to the farm boy. 

You snatch the remote and pause it. You stare at the screen and mull over Vil's last line. There’s something here. You feel forest green eyes on you, but you ignore them. 

’I can’t let your beauty go to waste,’ you internally repeat. 

Maybe you have to change it slightly. 

’I can’t let your potential go to waste.’

…’I want to cultivate your potential’…

…’I want to help you grow’…

Grow… Apples… Apples grow.  

“Ah, the princess reminds me of Epel,” you conclude. 

Rook stares at you, stunned. “What?”

“Both of them have spunky and rebellious personalities that contrast with their soft appearances,” you point out. 

The hunter widens his eyes and laughs. 

“Oui! Our Trickster is most astute! Although I’m sure that Monsieur Pommette may have some complaints,” he chuckles. 

“Absolutely. However, I can’t help but wonder if this is the dynamic Vil wants with Epel,” you add.

Rook tilts his head to spur you on. 

“There are some similarities between each pair. For one, the eldest holds significantly more power over the youngest. However, Vil and Callistus strive to help Epel or Primrose improve,” you explain. “The difference is how the older ones appreciate their juniors. While I haven’t watched much of the film, the siblings have more of an understanding than Vil and Epel. The Pomefiore students are hostile to each other despite wanting the same thing. Both want Epel to improve, but the communication isn’t there on either side.” 

The hunter raises his eyebrows. 

“Oui, that is a valuable and accurate assessment,” he agrees before pondering. “There’s another similarity you missed.” 

“Oh?” you voice, leaning in. 

The vice leader slowly nods. “Vil and Callistus intend to use the youngest to achieve their personal goals. Roi de Poison cultivates Epel to usurp Neige in the upcoming competition. Prince Callistus wants to match his sister in a political marriage to secure a trading route.” 

A whirl of emotions surges through you. On one hand, you want to celebrate your new milestone; Rook willingly shared his detailed observations with you. On the other, the content of his assessment fills you with deep foreboding. 

Instead of revealing anything, you lean over to set the remote on the coffee table. 

“If you have any more thoughts or observations, feel free to pause the film,” you say. 

Rook’s eyes glitter, pleased. He gives a small bow. 

“If Trickster insists, I dare not refuse!” he retorts. 

You smile, shake your head, and resume the movie.

You know from the script that Callistus and Fabian’s first meeting doesn’t go well. Even if you didn’t, it’s a logical assumption. 

The crown prince gives a polite and formal greeting to the farmer boy. 

Then, he quickly segways to his main point. “My knight informed me that you sheltered my sister. Thank you. The royal family would like to reward you. We don’t have anything in mind, so we’ll ask you. What would you like?” 

Princess Primrose immediately steps in front of the shorter boy. 

“I granted him permission to stay in the castle with me,” she states. 

Prince Callistus gives an unimpressed and judgmental look. 

“Did you not hear me when I said your knights were incompetent? I won’t hire him to serve you solely because he helped you. The best I can do is have the head butler employ him as a low-level servant to prove his worth. Then, he can climb the ladder. I’ll ensure his act of kindness is factored into his evaluations. After that, he has to put in the effort to rise above the others,” he stipulates. 

You murmur, “Even here, Vil talks about putting in effort to achieve the desired results.” 

The similarity between the character and the actor aligns more fully, paralleling Neige’s situation. 

“Oui,” Rook concurs. 

The princess clarifies, “No, I’m bringing him in as my boyfriend.” 

The heir jolts, his eyes blown wide. You cringe. Any doubt you have about Epel and Primrose being the same is immediately expelled. Neither has any self-preservation instincts. 

“I’m sorry. Do I need to dig earwax out of my ears? Did you just say you’re bringing in a random peasant boy you met a week ago as your boyfriend?” he clarifies.

Primrose purses his lips and crosses her arms. 

“Yes,” she agrees, feigning confidence. 

The prince’s eyes light aflame. “How can you be so irresponsible?! He’s practically a stranger! He must have ulterior motives once he learned you were the princess!” 

“I asked him to come with me. He didn’t suggest it,” she corrects. 

“YOU asked him?! Do you have a concussion? Because your mental faculties clearly aren’t working. You have responsibilities and a reputation to uphold. You can’t bring in some inadequate, uncultured dunce!” he criticizes. “Look at him! His posture is terrible, he didn’t greet me correctly, and he’s covered in dust and filth. I have no idea what you see in him. That boy is below your status and grade.”

Your eyes widen. While you read it in the script, it’s different to hear him say it out loud.  

However, the insults sound familiar. A few days ago, Vil made a valid argument about clothes and movements being gender neutral. Similarly, Callistus makes a good point by questioning the length of time the couple has been together. Then, both spat out vicious questions. Vil said, “Your mindset is too old-fashioned. Did you time-travel from 100 years ago to the present day? Is that what happened?” Callistus degraded Fabian and his sister in the same way. 

Primrose defends, “Don’t say that about him!” 

“I’m telling you the truth. He does not know politics, etiquette, or socializing. If you take him in, you’ll become an embarrassment. I’m looking out for you,” her brother insists. 

The last line makes your hair stand on end, and you hold your breath. It’s the same language, excuses, and tactics Vil uses to get others to agree. He justifies his verbal assault by claiming he’s righteous and helping others. 

The princess snaps back. “Aren’t you always the one to tell me to try things even if the chances of success are low? Don’t you say if you don’t try, then you’ll never know? Give him a chance to prove himself!” 

Callistus falls silent, glaring. 

“Alright, fine,” he concedes. “I frequently say that, so I’ll give your little lover a shot. I’ll provide all the resources for him to learn etiquette, court politics, dancing, and socialization. We’ll see how well he does at the annual ball in a week. If he fails, he’s not good enough for you, and I will kick him out. If he surpasses expectations, I’ll let him stay.” 

The shorter girl grits her teeth.

“He’ll prove you wrong,” she promises. 

“I certainly hope so, or else I’ll be the one cleaning up your mess and reputation,” the crown prince growls. 

He sweeps out of the room in typical Vil fashion. 

You don’t bother to pause the movie, soaking up the interaction. Your brain barely registers the next scenes. The hired tutors subtly abuse Neige. It’s clear whose orders they’re following. 

You glance at Rook, who stays still beside you. You voice your thoughts for both of you.

“I don’t see any difference between the crown prince's and Vil’s behaviors. It’s toxic and unhealthy. There’s also little difference in their motives. They both seek to dispatch Neige in some capacity.”

“Non,” Rook quickly counters. “Roi de Poison isn’t maliciously targeting Roi de Neige in the real world. Vil wouldn’t use underhanded tactics like that. He wants to prove his worth by winning using his own effort.”

You glance at him and point out, “But you aren’t arguing against the same speech and behavior.”

The vice leader hesitates. 

“They… indeed have similaire habits, but it’s important to factor in their intent,” he rationalizes. 

You hum thoughtfully. You’ll agree to disagree for now. There will be more opportunities to discuss it in the future. However, this gives you insight into Rook’s perception of Vil. The hunter trusts his queen unconditionally, and you’re not sure if that’s the wisest move. 

The music changes to stringed instruments playing a waltz. A ballroom comes into view. It’s the scene Rook gushed about earlier. You have high expectations for it, and the movie does not disappoint. 

The golden ballroom glows and glitters under the warm light from the multiple chandeliers. Prince Callistus mills around other nobles. He dons a large, exaggerated cape. The deep purple overcoat retains its overall shape as he glides past. The silhouette is extremely modern. It looks like something taken right off the red carpet. The costume designers paired the purple outerwear with a more princely base. A black outfit with a simple sash and silver adornments that glint under the light. A touch of light eyeshadow enhances his eyes, only to bring the audience’s attention to his plum lipstick. He converses with political figures at the edge of the ballroom. 

The men step into the dark garden to discuss a few trade agreements. Rook referred to this earlier when discussing Callistus using Primrose as a way to secure political alliances. 

The music swells as the main couple appears. Fabian’s white suit is elegantly splattered with soft yellows, reds, and blues at the bottom. A light cape flows behind him. He looks like a water painting with the languid lines of his attire and splashes of pastel colors. Princess Primrose hangs off his arm, beaming. Her peach dress is paired with simple golden accessories to match her boyfriend’s. They complement each other perfectly. 

Gossip spreads across the room. 

“I haven’t seen him before.”

“Is he a foreign noble? Some envoys from other countries are in attendance.”

“He’s gorgeous.” 

“Maybe he’s a marriage candidate for Princess Primrose?”

“They remind me of the king and queen when they were younger. The two of them were always ones to promote true love. This might be the one for the princess.”

Fabian and Primrose make their way to the center of the ballroom as the orchestra starts up. A waltz begins, and their dance mesmerizes all in attendance. 

Then, Callistus walks back inside.  

Shiny heels falter on the tiled floor. Amethyst eyes darken, and the crown prince’s mouth twitches into a sneer. He takes a sip of his wine to hide his expression. The action reminds you of Rollo with his handkerchief. A handsome foreign noble beside him turns to Callistus.

“Who’s with your sister? I thought she wasn’t seeing anyone,” he comments.

The crown prince laughs, covering his mouth to hide his disgust and disdain for the black-haired boy. 

“She formed an attachment to her savior when she was stranded after an assassination attempt,” he explains before sighing. “It was a grave oversight on our part. I’ve swapped out her entire entourage to ensure this doesn’t happen again. You needn’t worry. She simply wants him to enjoy the luxuries of the upper class before sending him back home.”

The young man’s demeanor relaxes. 

“Your princess is magnanimous. We’ve seen each other a few times, but I haven’t become well acquainted with her,” he comments, setting the stage for an introduction. 

Prince Callistus hums, satisfied. This is his strongest candidate for Primrose’s marriage to secure an important trading route. 

The blond replies, “You have a great deal in common. She’s an avid fan and player of polo. You can clearly tell she values the common people and their hard work. She also understands the importance of emotional connection. I’m sure you will find much to discuss. I’ll bring her over for you.”

“Thank you,” the noble says. 

The blonde nods and moves toward the other side of the room, but he tenses. The king and queen amiably talk to Primrose and Fabian. Even from a distance, their fond expressions are obvious. Callistus’s eyes flash with visceral envy. It flickers away as soon as it appears, but he can’t hide all of his disgust. He strides over.

The angle cuts to the princess and her party. Primrose exudes love and pride, thrilled that her family is getting along with her boyfriend. It’s a clear sign of approval, and smug satisfaction fills her heart. Her parents smile, enjoying the commoner boy’s polite, friendly, and earnest company. 

You interrupt the scene to generally inquire, “Is this how Vil feels about Neige? The actors are practically playing themselves. The king and queen take an instant liking to Fabian because of his personality rather than his achievements. Callistus has a longer list of accomplishments, yet his parents aren’t as fond of him. While it’s not the exact same, Vil’s circumstances mirror the overall conflict. Vil puts in so much effort, but the crowd is often won over by Neige because of his softer demeanor. However, I'm sure Neige puts in the same type of effort into himself.” 

Rook pauses before slowly admitting, “Perhaps. I agree with the last sentiment, though.” 

He pivots to a safer topic. “The costume designs display the character’s relationships parfaitement. The princess and her supporters wear warm colored clothes and jewelry, signifying their affectionate familial bond. On the other hand, the prince’s deep, cool tones and silver accents make him stand out as the black sheep. He’s left in the cold of night, instead of basking in the comfortable sun. Clothes are an effective and brilliant way to convey unconscious information to the viewers.”  

The hunter’s avoidance clues you in on his comfort level. However, he’s still sharing his ideas with you. You take that as a good sign. 

Callistus arrives at his destination with a tight, polite, but subtly demeaning smile. He greets the group, addressing everyone formally and glosses over Fabian.

“Sister, you look splendid,” he says. “May I borrow you for a few minutes?”

Primrose tilts her head. His tone is off, and she’s close enough to him to recognize it. However, she places a quick kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek. Before she can naturally accompany Callistus, the crown prince’s eyes sharpen into daggers. He grabs her arm more forcefully than necessary.

The young woman almost stumbles but follows. Her eyebrows furrow. 

Primrose whispers, “Do you not approve of Fabian? You said you would let him stay if he passed your expectations.”

Her brother’s jaw tightens. 

“This is not the time to be talking about serious matters or conflicts. We can talk about it afterward,” he hisses, trying to keep himself in check.

He collects himself and falls back into his dignified and formal persona. When the prince minutely calms himself, he leans down to his sister’s ear. 

“We’ll talk about it later. For now, I need you to meet some people. They’re important trading partners. He likes polo, so I thought sticking you with him for a while would boost our connections,” he tells her.

Primrose frowns. However, she complies, knowing it’s important to the kingdom. The newly introduced duo amiably discuss different horses and rules of the sport. Callistus’ expression and demeanor relax. The young man asks for a dance, and she agrees. It’s customary after all. After a while of conversing, the princess excuses herself to return to Fabian. When Primrose passes, her brother nods his head in appreciation. Before she leaves completely, he grabs her arm. 

“Thank you. We’ll talk afterwards,” the blonde reassures. 

His sister’s complexion looks better, and she nods.

The screen transitions to a private discussion between the siblings. 

As soon as the doors to a private room close, the princess immediately presses Callistus on the subject. 

“It’s clear you have an issue with Fabian. Why? He passed all of your tests. He didn’t embarrass me, and he got our parents' approval. Do you not like him?” Primrose bombards, worried. 

The crown prince purses his lips and crosses his arms. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I was taken off guard that he passed everything. You know I won’t go back on my word, so I’m not driving him out. However, it will take me some time to get used to. I don’t know him, and nobody else is being vigilant about this, even after a recent assassination attempt. I’m trying to keep everyone safe,” he explains.

You pause, recognizing the behavioral pattern. Instead of aligning with Vil, it sounds like Jamil, with his constant concern for Kalim's safety. That doesn’t cover his subtle manipulations that the Scarabia vice leader uses to his advantage. Callistus seems to be employing that tactic now. 

The princess’s countenance relaxes. 

“Oh, that makes sense,” she murmurs. 

Her brother gives a fond and exasperated smile. 

“I’m glad you understand, and I’ll meet you halfway,” he offers. “I know how much this means to you, so I’ll try to get to know him without prejudice.”

Primrose perks up.

“So you’ll give him a chance?” she confirms.

“Yes,” Callistus agrees. 

The princess fist pumps to herself and replies, “I won’t let you down, brother! Fabian will showcase his value to earn your approval.” 

The prince smirks, fondly shaking his head. 

“Let’s see what he can do,” he comments. 

He gives her a quick hug before the duo leaves.

The camera slides into Callistus’ room. One of his elegant hands retrieves a vial of clear liquid from a secret compartment. He dangles the bottle in front of him, observing it. 

“I wasn’t expecting to use this so soon, but thankfully, I have it on hand. I don’t want to incriminate myself by having bought anything suspicious recently,” he comments to himself. 

The scene pans to focus on the desk. A map highlights an important trading route, a calendar with a deadline at the end of the month, correspondence with a foreign dignitary to secure a marriage alliance, and data about poisons lie atop it.

The screen fades into different scenery. 

You turn to Rook. 

“That sounded like Jamil, not Vil,” you state. 

“Oui! He is more inclined to have a manipulative, slippery tongue than Vil. How perceptive, Trickster!” The hunter relaxes and responds enthusiastically to the non-Vil comparison. 

You continue, “Although I’d argue Callistus is Vil with Leona’s morals, occasionally using some of Jamil’s manipulative tactics.” 

Rook’s eyebrows raise, intrigued. 

“We’ve already established that Callistus mimics Vil’s behavior. However, the prince is willing to use underhanded means to achieve his goal. I can’t imagine Vil doing that. He wants to achieve his objective by legitimate means, proving it as an honest win. Leona doesn’t mind playing dirty. We have proof of that. He planned to take out the entire Diasomnia team before the Magic Shift tournament. Callistus is willing to hurt and poison people to obtain his success.

“Another key difference between Leona and Vil is how their goals affect their closest allies. Leona had a goal that helped Savanaclaw as a whole. If they got rid of the Diasomnia team, that would allow more of his students to get recognized by scouts. While it sets them up for job opportunities or scholarships, the act also satisfied his personal grudge against Malleus. On the other hand, Vil’s desire to defeat Neige is personal. If he wins, that might be good for the dorm, but ultimately it benefits him the most. 

“Callistus copies Leona. He wants to help the majority. If he needs to take out a couple of people to secure a huge trading route for the people, he will,” you conclude. 

Rook nods, impressed. 

“You implied that you believe Roi de Poison and Roi de Lion are similar, correct?” he clarifies. 

You confirm, and he grins. 

The hunter agrees, adding, “Savanaclaw and Pomefiore’s values are alike. One is founded upon the King of Beasts’ spirit of persistence, while the other is on the Fairest Queen’s tenacity. Persistence and tenacity are synonyms.”

Then, he drops a bomb on you.

“Their similarities are what made my transfer from Savanaclaw to Pomefiore so smooth,” he comments. 

Your brain freezes. It gets stuck on the loading screen with the spinning wheel of death.

When it finally reboots, a small smile tugs on your lips. You’ve won the lottery. You’ve pulled 3 SSR cards in one draw. You got 777 on the slot machine. The ever-elusive hunter willingly revealed personal information to you. 

You lean back, looking at him, and beam. 

“I bet Leona was thrilled to get you out of the dorm.” You giggle. “He wouldn’t have been held back if you were still around.” 

Rook laughs with a nod. “Oui.” 

“I assume you switched midway through your freshman year?“ you guess. 

“Yes, I transferred despite Vil’s protests,” he elaborates. 

You pause. That’s odd. You didn’t take Rook as someone who defied his dorm leader. The most you’ve seen him do is soften Vil’s critical blows. He hasn’t actively opposed the other since you’ve met him. Does he not believe the model is doing something wrong? Perhaps Rook is lenient toward Vil because of the stress he’s under? You don’t know, but it surprises you. 

You raise a curious eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for the type to disagree with him.” 

The hunter blinks, caught off guard. 

“You didn’t? Vil and I tend to disagree about my vice leader duties. I know I’m not the best in my role. However, I’m adequate and valuable enough for Vil to keep me there. I’m grateful, since I care about him. I tend to act based on my heart, while Vil uses his head. He often gets frustrated with me.” He chuckles. 

Vil must appreciate Rook’s keen eyes and analysis. The hunter’s hobby is watching movies and live performances. He probably gives Vil crucial and important feedback to boost his career.

You pause. Rook didn’t refer to the actor as Roi de Poison or Beautiful Vil. It’s another step in the right direction. He didn’t put on the overly dramatic facade for you. 

Instead of giving your thoughts, you reply, “I’m glad he likes and values you enough to keep you in that position. He would be missing out.”

The movie speeds forward, and the audience watches Callistus grow closer to Fabian. The farmer boy adjusts to the palace, and he makes some friends. Primrose glows with pride and happiness as everything goes swimmingly. 

Until it doesn’t. 

The setting sun filters through the garden as the couple sits to have dinner. The staff serves an assortment of seafood dishes. Fabian and Primrose converse about their day when the commoner begins to cough. It starts off normal, but progressively becomes uncontrollable. The princess shouts for a doctor. The situation spirals out of control as her boyfriend passes out from asphyxiation. 

The news is all over the castle the next day. 

“Fabian died from an allergic reaction to lobster.”

The palace mourns and falls into devastation at the loss of the sweet farm boy. He brought joy to all who knew him. During this time, Callistus waits to enact the second phase of his plan. He can’t be too hasty.

After a week, he sits with Primrose in the parlor and comforts her. She looks downcast with tears in her eyes. He reaches over and grabs her hand. 

“I’m sorry for what happened to Fabian. It was a terrible tragedy, so take all the time you need to grieve. I know this is hard for you. Remember you can always lean on me,” he reminds her, squeezing his grip. “I have to go on a trip to a neighboring country soon. Would you like to join me? It might help to get some space.”

The princess stares at her lap, mournful. Her hair shields her face from Callistus. From underneath, the audience gets a clear view of her confusion. 

She knows her brother ordered the hit and secretly glances at him. Callistus has an open and caring look. Although his outfit is regal and commanding, he leans on an arm propped against the table, giving him a softer appearance. He gazes at her fondly. 

Her brother reaches over and smooths her flyaways. His hand trails down to her face before pinching her cheek.

“Still squishy,” he assesses with a smile. 

The princess returns to her act, a skill Callistus taught her. She rolls her teary eyes and half-heartedly bats his hand away, seeming a little better. Out of his sight, she looks conflicted. 

You nod, impressed with the direction the team took. It’s always better to have three-dimensional characters rather than a flat surface. You can have a good person do bad deeds. One is not mutually exclusive to the other. 

The heir speaks up again. “What do you think? I can put you to work to distract you a little bit.” 

His sister glares, and the blonde puts up his hands. “Fine, you don’t have to work. You’ll get special treatment for once. Take it as a blessing. I’m usually not this nice.” 

Primrose chuckles and nods. 

The doors to the tea room burst open, flooding with guards. 

“Step away from the princess immediately!” someone shouts. “His Highness is being detained under suspicion of murder!” 

Amethyst eyes blow wide, and his jaw drops. Callistus takes the command as a personal slight. 

“I’m sorry. Did you accuse me of committing murder?” he questions in both disbelief and offense. 

Another knight responds, “We don’t know the details. His and Her Majesty instructed us to bring you to them.” 

“They’re the ones pressing charges?” the prince confirms, stunned. 

“Yes.” 

Callistus sneers at the information. His mood drops even further. 

He stands up and declares, “At least they have some decency to talk to me before throwing me in prison. Let’s get this sorted and clear my name so I can go about my day.”

The princess follows suit. 

“Primrose, I’ll give you a firsthand demonstration on how to catch someone framing you. You should take notes,” he suggests. 

Walking in a formation around the blonde, the guards pull the princess away from the center and out of Callistus’ reach. The blonde gives an unimpressed stare but strides forward. 

The grand double doors to the throne room open. A downward shot speeds along the red carpet and pulls up to reveal the monarchs’ serious expressions. The movement continues up, transitioning to Callistus’ feet and moving up his figure. He stands with crossed arms and a condescending look.

The crown prince walks forward with the confidence of a lawyer defending a client for the most open-and-shut case he’s ever seen. Giving two practiced and perfect bows, he straightens. He doesn’t wait for permission to speak. 

“I heard you’re arresting me for murder. What’s the occasion?” Callistus drawls. 

The king replies, “Son, we believe you killed Fabian.”

The crown prince’s eyebrows raise until they’re almost to his hairline. He looks so offended that you’d doubt yourself if you didn’t know he was the culprit. 

“What’s your theory?” he questions. 

Then, he shuts up. You nod to yourself. It’s a good tactic. The fewer words Callistus says, the less likely he’ll slip up. He’s also fishing for what information they do have. 

The method works. The crown prince pokes holes into the prosecution’s theories. He gains the upper hand with ease.

Callistus could be a defense lawyer at this point. 

He finishes his closing arguments. “If you had evidence, you would’ve presented it by now. This debate is a hoax. I’m being framed by Marquis Larkorn. I’ve been accused before, but I am hurt you believed I was guilty. Because I have an appointment later today, I’ll take my leave and cool my head. In addition, I must look into a certain Marquis for their probable transgressions.” 

The crown prince is about to turn, his cape beginning to swish behind him, when the trump card is pulled out. 

Sir Khalil steps out from the shadows of the king’s throne. He holds a stack of papers and a glass vial. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

Callistus stops, zeroing in on the items. The camera follows his gaze. Khalil presents a familiar bottle of transparent liquid. The document titles and letterheads reveal the poison information and correspondence of all types. However, the crown prince doesn’t lose his cool. 

He simply faces his knight again and waits for the evidence to be handed over. 

As the knight walks, the golden embroidery of his uniform glimmers under the light. The warmth signifies his allegiance to the monarchs, while the cool-toned fabric indicates his loyalty to the prince. Khalil’s betrayal was destined and foreshadowed from the start. 

Callistus’s neutral expression doesn’t falter as he scans the papers with professional precision. For a moment, he sinks back into the constant routine of a prince, reading and evaluating documents. He flips through, ensuring everything has been exposed. 

His movements slow as he reviews the final page. 

It’s quiet for a long time. The frame focuses on Callistus, watching his breath and stare. The tension builds. 

Finally, he looks past Khalil and addresses the king, “You got the one person who has unfiltered access to physical proof of my misdeeds and the one person I’m unwilling to discredit and throw to the gallows or the streets.“ 

The crown prince returns the papers to his knight. He places his hands together and low on his body. An imperceptible tremor runs through them. For a brief moment, his lavender eyes are lowered before he glances up at the rulers once again. Callistus dons a confident expression. 

“You caught me. I was the mastermind behind Fabian's death. Will I be receiving the standard punishment?” the blonde asks. 

His tone stays factual. Silence reigns across the courtroom, as the judge and prosecution are stunned into silence. It was unexpectedly easy once the evidence came out. 

When no one replies, the culprit adds, “If you intend to lower my sentence because I’m royalty, I suggest otherwise. My title will be stripped, and I’ll become a normal commoner. You should use my beheading as proof that the country charges everyone equally, even those with status. It would accrue public support for the monarchy. However, these are the words of a murderer. Feel free to disregard my thoughts.”

Primrose breaks the silence. 

“Why did you do it?” she demands. 

Callistus crosses his arms. “I couldn’t have you marry him. It was obvious Mother and Father approved of Fabian. They would’ve chosen him over political marriage. I think it’s foolish to deny such an efficient practice. Besides, my spot as the sole heir would be secured if you left. Our parents have always favored you because of your empathy. That is why I plotted and executed his death.”

“You did all of this to marry me off?” the princess confirms, her eyebrows scrunching. “Did you even view me as a human?”

Her brother snaps at her. The fire is back in his eyes. 

“Do not accuse me of not caring for you,” he spits, flaring up. “I would not marry you off to some old coot or disrespectful pervert. You know better than anyone else that I have high standards. I picked the best of the best for you. They went through extensive trials that they both knew and didn’t know about. I assessed everything from paper achievements to personality. Nothing was left unturned. If you don’t believe me, there are notes, letters, and data in the hidden compartment under my desk. You can look through it on your own time. I was trying to do the best thing for the most people.”

The room is silent, as the criminal regains his composure. 

Primrose speaks again. “Do you feel remorse?” 

Callistus pauses and thinks. 

He lands on, “I’m remorseful and sorry that I caused you so much pain. However, I have no lingering attachment to Fabian.”

“Why are you not putting up a struggle? How can you be so calm and unbothered?” she interrogates.

The fallen prince raises his eyebrows.

“Calm? Unbothered? Not struggling?” he repeats slowly. “No, darling. I’m seething inside. I’m furious that I was caught. My blood boils knowing a mere peasant boy outweighs my political prowess. This incident thrusts all my weak points into the spotlight, and it reveals a fatal error on my part. I committed a crime and should be punished. I’m not taking this lying down. I will continue to fulfill my role as a prince and protector of the people. If I die, I want it to be productive for everything I lived and stood for.” 

Raging and festering emotional words bubble out of his mouth. The emotions are raw, messy, and sticky. He sneers, disgusted. Disgusted at what? Himself? His circumstances? His family? Khalil? Fabian? Neige? You don’t know. It’s probably all of them. 

His knight speaks up. “Your Highness, I couldn’t bear to see you take such a dark road. If I let it continue, you would fall deeper onto the bloody path. I’m sorry.” 

Callistus pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. 

“I know,” he replies. 

It’s a forceful declaration. His breath hitches as he wills away tears. 

When the blonde can speak, he corrects his loyal knight, “I’m not a prince anymore. Call me by my first name.” 

His voice is rough around the edges, breaking his usual elegance. 

Carefully, the knight tries Callistus' name without any titles. 

“Thank you for allowing me to refer to you by that,” Khalil responds. 

The prince gives a self-deprecating laugh.

“It’s just the truth,” he comments before mumbling to himself. “I also wanted to hear someone say it one last time without negativity clouding it.”

Callistus gathers himself and stands straight. 

“Your verdict?” he prompts the monarchs. 

The king stares at his son before ordering the guards. 

“Bring him in.” 

Callistus flinches but quickly regains his composure. He turns as the doors open, revealing a perfectly intact Fabian. He freezes. There’s no loathing or hatred in his features. It’s neutral. 

Then, he rolls his eyes and swivels on his heels. 

”I should’ve known you’d defied orders,” the ex-prince tells Khalil. “I can’t tell if this is better or worse. If I succeeded, then I would die a quick death. Now, I’m sentenced to 25 years in the dungeon. I can’t tell if it would be worth it or not.” 

He huffs out a laugh when his sister cuts in.

“If you sincerely apologize, your sentence would be reduced,” Primrose states.

Callistus’ reply is instant. 

“No. I won’t speak empty words after admitting I have no remorse. Perhaps if I didn’t expose everything, it would be different. I laid all of my cards on the assumption I would die,” he states, before glaring to the side at nobody in particular. “It was another grave oversight born out of heightened emotions. Maybe the kingdom is better off without me, since I made this fatal error.”

His jaw tightens as he asks his final question. 

“Where will I serve my sentence?” he asks.

“You won’t,” Khalil counters.

The fallen prince raises an eyebrow.

“I was granted one wish for my role in this case. In addition, the royal family was kind enough to consider my long-term services to them. I will also be receiving severance pay,” the knight explains. 

”Severance pay?” Callistus echoes, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. 

He has an idea of what his knight did. The man confirms it. 

Khalil explains, “I asked them to let you walk free with your valuables. I will accompany you. I received a hefty amount of gold for my merit. We can use it to travel out of the country and start anew. I swore my oath to you and wish to witness your success. It would be a tragedy if your story ended here. You have much to offer.” 

The blonde stares, speechless. 

“This is all based on your achievements, correct?” he confirms. “I refuse to accept if there’s any emotional sentiment for me involved.”

The knight chuckles, shaking his head. “I knew you would say that, so I asked for a separate panel to judge my worth as a protector.” 

“You’re utterly sentimental. However, I won’t object since I’m leaving with my life. At least, I have a good eye for people,” Callistus comments. 

He turns to his parents and bows. 

“Thank you for respecting my knight. I apologize I made an inconvenient blunder. I wish you good health and fortune, Your Majesties,” he recites. 

Unlike before, the fallen prince holds his position until they release him. He turns to his sister with the same action and line, switching to her proper title. He doesn’t address Fabian. He’s not an official member of the royal family. 

He stays in the bow for far longer than the one to his parents. 

“Do you really have no regrets?” Primrose asks. 

Callistus stays, looking at the floor. It's proper etiquette when responding to the royal family. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I require more information to answer the question accurately. What should I regret?”

His sister sighs. “Stand up.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Callistus answers. 

She purses her lips and looks to the side, trying to find words but coming up with nothing. 

Her brother asks her question for her.

“Are you trying to ask if I believe it was worth it?” he clarifies. 

“Yes, that.” Primrose nods, waving at him to continue. 

Callistus deadpans, “I have no idea how you’re going to run the country in the future. However, that’s not my concern. I’ll be in a different one.” 

Then, he falls into deep contemplation. It takes him a few moments to answer.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to wait and find out,” he replies. 

“Will you miss me?” 

The fallen prince’s eyes rapidly glisten. It takes all of his willpower to make sure the water doesn't overflow like a burst dam. 

“Of course, I’ll miss my baby sister. I won’t have anyone to tease. I worry that you won’t survive a month without me saving you when you inevitably get into trouble,” Callistus replies with an unstable voice, before glancing at her lover. “The only person whom I can put my shaky and untrusting hope in is Fabian. I’m sorry I have to leave you, Primrose. I love you despite everything I did.”

His face doesn’t change as tears stream down his face, but his bottom lip trembles. He clenches his fists to maintain his composure.

The blonde slightly bows. “I request to be dismissed.” 

The silence seems to stretch on forever. Callistus’s breath is shallow as he restrains himself from fully sobbing. 

Primrose replies, “Will you write to me?” 

Her brother gives an exhausted smile, glancing at her. “You tell me. I’m the commoner now. It’s ironic your lover will soon be promoted to my former status, despite my attempt to get rid of him.” 

She hums. “Well, I’m forcing you to write to me. I’ll be nice and send messages to Khalil instead of you. I’m sure you’ll want to impose some sort of self-imposed isolation.”

“You know me well,” the man huffs. 

“I’ll see you later, Callistus,” Primrose dismisses. 

The former prince goes to give a formal goodbye but stops himself. 

He looks at his sister again and whispers, “Goodbye, Primrose.” 

They lock eyes for a long moment. A silent message of love and empathy passes between them before Callistus swivels on his heels and strides out. He wears fake confidence as his armor when he walks, and his loyal knight follows behind him. 

You stare at the screen, waiting and watching. The end of the movie passes by in a blur, and the only note from the disgraced prince comes from a note from Khalil. By the end of the movie, Callistus and Primrose haven’t repaired their relationship. 

The credits roll with beautiful background music, perhaps too joyful for what happened to the former prince. 

You don’t turn to Rook as you comment, “You know Khalil could’ve done something beforehand, right?”

Silence meets you, but you know he’s listening. 

“Instead of undermining his best knight, Callistus respected him enough to admit what he did rather than discrediting Khalil,” you state. “The prince might’ve been resistant to Khalil’s opinions, but with enough forceful persuasion, it could’ve been done.” 

You let it settle in the air before glancing at Pomefiore’s vice leader. 

“Vil is going to overblot before the competition. He fully believes the only way to resolve his inferiority complex is to get the public to believe he’s better than Neige. Even if he gets it, it won’t stay that way. Their opinions are ever changing.” You pause, meeting the hunter’s green eyes. “I don’t think you want to be like Khalil and let our reality play out like The Princess Tale. We can change the ending and help Vil. Together.”

You subtly offer your hand to him, keeping it on the sofa to give him an out if he doesn’t want it.

Rook waits a long moment before leather slips into your hold. 

His voice is quiet as he accepts. “Merci. Do you have a plan?”

You tighten your hold on his hand, falling into contemplation. 

“We’ll figure it out together,” you declare.