though the evening was one for celebration and fun, alhwin would not allow himself to be caught up in the festivities. he was done up in his best, of course, hair tied up tightly to keep it out of his face; the only thing out of place was the sword strapped to his waist, singling himself out as a guard of the palace (though anyone looking at him would surely know anyway). max was still his top priority tonight; he wouldn’t put it past most to attempt to harm him in some way in all the commotion, unarmed as he was. he nodded distractedly to someone passing, eyes staying on the prince as he twirled around the dance floor with various women; he gave the barest shake of his head, trying to dissipate the tension gathered tightly in his muscles.
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❛ ── my apologies. i’m afraid i wasn’t quite listening. ❜ a sincerely apologetic smile makes its way onto jacques’ face as he tunes back into the conversation, a little embarrassed that he had let his attention drift in the first place. ❛ my oldest insisted that i let her attend tonight, and i’m a little trouble keeping track of her. she’s far too young to be getting into any trouble with boys. ❜
She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking for the pirate, especially after receiving his gift. Red--Such a bold choice, and it was something he would choose, which is exactly how she knew. It worried her in a sense, because she couldn’t afford the dress he had given her and she had to clarify that now before he expected anything from her. Her eyes roamed the room for the man in an all black ensemble, or even leather -- because that’s what she was expecting so when she was approached by a male she couldn’t recognize right off the bat, a part of her wanted to decline the offer to dance. Maybe she could always use her son as an excuse, say that she was making sure he wasn’t causing any havoc, but she couldn’t decline. Perhaps he’d find her in the middle of the ballroom and approach her. After all, he would recognize the dress, wouldn’t he?
“I apologize, i’m more attentive if it weren’t for the fact that i’m trying to keep my eye out on my son.” she added as her partner led her to the middle of the ballroom, which wasn’t a complete lie. If she wasn’t looking out for Abel, she was keeping an eye out for Alonso.
She truly had not had all that much to drink. Yes, her head was a little bit fuzzy and she had a warm buzz running through her, bur she could still stand straight and it was not like her speech was blurred. So no, it was not the alcohol that could be faulted, but the fact that she was an animated story teller. Her hands moved as she described each part of her story, smile wide as she got lost in her own memory. She’s only jolted from it when her hand hits a goblet and the wine is spilled, her face falling into what can only be described as utter embarrassment. “I am so terribly sorry, it was an accident.”
self-para. Victor witnesses his father’s death right before his eyes, but not before hearing a dying confession, which he is left to piece together on his own.
At first it was only a scream. Female. Shrill. Distant, as the prince was outdoors. But Victor knew enough to distinguish a scream of terror from a scream of delight, his instincts suddenly kicking in and telling him that there was danger. Danger in the grand ballroom.
Giana.
The scream could have been anyone, but the thought of his younger sister was enough to send him running back inside, sword in hand. He had to make sure that she was safe. Finding himself in the midst of the chaos, the prince didn’t know where to start. The screams were multiplied. The sound of metal clashing against metal was deafening, and men and women fell in every direction. Death was a real possibility.
“Giana!” he called out once, but it was useless. He’d be lucky if she had heard him above all the noise. Turning to his left, Victor hardly had a moment’s notice before he narrowly dodged another sword swung his way. It cut dangerously close to his shoulder, and the pirate who had attacked him flashed a toothy grin.
“Ye got nice reflexes, lad.”
Heart racing, Victor narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, striking back as he engaged the pirate in a fight. He had no time for this nonsense.
It was moments later when he managed to knock the other’s weapon out of his hand, and without hesitation, Victor plunged his own blade into the other’s stomach. “Don’t waste my time.” His voice was a growl as he pulled his weapon out of the pirate’s body, blood sputtering out of the man’s mouth as he fell. Victor took only a moment to stab the man again, making sure that he was dead before resuming in his search for his sister. He had to find her. Soon.
But as he looked ahead, he felt his blood run cold.
Victor’s eyes widened, a chill running up his spine as he took in the sight of a sword piercing through his father’s body.
No.
He wanted to shout, but his throat wouldn’t allow him. He was frozen in place, voice lost, forgetting for a moment that there were people running and fighting all around him as he felt his heart sink to his stomach. He felt hollow. How could he feel so hollow yet at the same time have the weight in his chest feel so heavy?
No, no, no. This was all wrong.
There were two. One his father had been fighting off, and the other came up from behind – the scum that had his weapon through his father’s body. Victor couldn’t afford to feel the weakness he was beginning to feel in his limbs. Once he realised that, he saw nothing but red. Taking a deep breath, he gripped his sword harder, charging towards the one that had his back to him. The prince aimed for the man’s neck, using his full strength for a quick kill – the quickest he could manage. Through the neck and out the other side. There was no time.
Victor pulled his sword back and let the man fall, his glare immediately finding the other. His father’s killer.
“I reckon ye know this man,” the pirate taunted as he took his sword out of the king’s body.
Victor felt pain in his chest as he watched his father’s body hit the ground. This was the man who had commanded respect everywhere he went. The man he had spent an entire lifetime looking up to. The man who had shaped so much of who he was today – thrown to the ground like he meant nothing.
In his shock, Victor hadn’t noticed the pirate turning towards him until the last minute, but he raised his sword as quickly as he could, blocking the other’s strike. Close call – he could have lost his head then and there. Victor pushed forward in an attempt to force the pirate back, and when the pirate stepped away, Victor struck low – but the other foresaw it, easily blocking his strike. The prince clenched his jaw, frustrated, delivering blow after blow but he wasn’t his usual self. His attacks were messy, fueled by the emotions threatening to flow out of him, and he only realised the fact when he was kicked off his feet.
A searing pain shot up his elbow as he scrambled to get up, rolling to his left as he dodged another attack.
And another.
And another.
It seemed as if he was about to meet his end when he felt the hilt of the sword he had dropped in his fall, and Victor picked it up, this time, taking a stab at the pirate’s thigh. The moment he heard the other man cry and watched him topple to the ground was the moment he knew he had won.
He looked at the other man’s wound. “You will have about three minutes to live, so I suggest you cooperate,” the prince said, grabbing the other by the collar. It was the truth if he hit where he had aimed. “Who ordered the attack?”
The pirate’s face was contorted in pain, but he did not answer the prince.
“Who ordered the attack?” Victor repeated his question, his tone getting more aggressive as he twisted the sword that was still pierced through the man’s leg. The pirate screamed, though as he quieted down to a pant, he still said nothing. Finally, the pirate mustered up a grin. “Like I would tell ye.”
In his frustration, Victor smashed the man’s head towards the ground before pulling his sword out of the man’s leg. Just as he was about to question the man once more, he saw movement from the corner of his eye.
"Father!”
Victor stood up, leaving the fallen pirate before rushing towards the Prussian king, forgetting everything else.
“Father, you’re––”
He wasn’t about to speak too soon. The prince’s eyes fell on his father’s wound. Upper right abdomen. Blood was pooling around him. If what he was thinking was right, then his father didn’t have much time to live. It was a slower death, but the wound was lethal. He had a few more minutes at most. Still, the sight of his dying father urged him to act, and for once, Victor found himself acting out of desperation. Hands shaking, he ripped the fabric of his clothes, as if stopping the bleeding with a makeshift bandage like any other injury would help. But he didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t willing to sit still and watch his father die.
He began dressing his father’s wound with the cloth, but it was futile. Blood still kept seeping through to his hands, to the floor, and he was almost certain that his father bled internally as well.
“Victor...” King Wilhelm’s voice was weak, but he managed to place a hand on Victor’s wrist, catching his attention. “My son...”
The prince looked into his father’s eyes. For the first time, he could see how old and how tired he was. He had never seen his father in such agony – he never expected to. Yet, as much as he wished that he was in some cruel nightmare, what he saw before him was real, poking and prodding at the hollowness he felt in his chest.
“The fire...” There was difficulty in the king’s every word. His breathing, shallow. But he seemed determined to speak while he still could. Victor fought hot tears welling up in his eyes. Every word that came out of the king’s mouth may very well be his last.
“It... was... me.”
“...What?”
“The fire... their leader...”
Realisation slowly set in Victor’s eyes as he became aware of the implications of his father’s words. But it wasn’t enough. So many things were still left unclear. Had his father been against the peace all along? Did he mean to cause the deaths that had occurred? Was this the reason for the attack tonight? Too many questions, too little time.
“You... must...”
King Wilhelm’s voice was getting softer and softer, the light in his eyes fading as the muscles in his face slowly relaxed. Victor’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Father! No! You’re not done!” He grabbed his father’s shoulders, though a part of him knew that it was useless trying to shake him awake. He was still. So very still. “What must I do?”
Be prepared to be king? Take care of his siblings? Continue his work? There were so many possible ways the sentence could have ended and life was cruel to leave him hanging. In the stories once taught to him when he was younger, dying words had always been finished, but alas – this was not fiction.
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He was somewhere between being too drunk and not drunk enough, his mask already discarded somewhere as he finished dancing with his latest partner; an unyielding smile fixed on his lips. Tomorrow - tomorrow - he would regret tonight, would regret the wine, would regret his choice of shoes, would regret ever coming to Bern. But at that moment, he turned to the first person that caught his eye, his grin growing even wider. “You look rather brilliant, don’t you,” he laughed in appreciation, gesturing at the other’s ensemble.
Everything about the duchesses visage at present was harrowing. From her bedraggled hair, stained with blood both her own and not, to her swollen and bruised face, clouded eyes, ––––– and the laceration snaking its way from her hairline to the tip of her brow. But she did not notice any of it, had pushed whatever pain there was deep down, under layers of liquor and adrenalin while she navigated the palace, a hand tracing the corridor wall to both steady herself and remind her that this was real –––– at this point, only hoping to find another living body.
And then, as though by some godsend, through blurry eyes, another hazy figure came into view at the end of the passage...A L I V E. Never in her life had she been as elated to see another living soul, blinking several times in case it were her mind playing cruel tricks again. It wasn’t. “...I’m...certainly glad to see you...” (Having awoken to what could only be described as a sea of bodies –––– with no recollection of what had happened –––– she blindly, stupidly approached, for the present danger present was still unknown to her, and she knew not to ask the crucial question: were they friend or foe?) “–I think something terrible has happened...”
his hands shook the entire eight seconds it took him to reload his pistol, the pirate attempting to fight back, fight against those he might have once sailed with. except, there was no loyalty on the sea, which, for once, made it all that much more dangerous for johannes. he clicked the cock back and shot, a wide hole cutting through the man who nearly cut his head off, inspiring johannes to stand and holster his gun, taking a much simpler approach with his sword. he turned around sharply, sword extended so the blade was pressed to the throat of those who might threaten him. “oh.”
