Chapter Text
The fog was already shrouding Hillerska by the time Simon reached the school. He was the first one to reach the chapel where they had been instructed to meet the day before.
The prince would arrive today.
This was the first time he was going to sing a solo. While he had preferred to come with an empty stomach—his nerves unrelenting in their bid to make him as nauseous as possible in the time left for his performance—his sister was probably eating breakfast right now. His stomach was already growling now, though and he regretted making the decision to not eat anything.
He sat on one of the pews, rubbing his hands together as the chill settled over him, the adrenaline rush fading slowly from the run he’d made from the bus stop to the school, scared of being late. His hands itched towards his jacket pocket for that half-eaten chocolate bar he always had in there and bit off a piece, chewing on it as he felt the tip of his nose grow colder.
Simon’s eyes were drooping, the cold making his exhaustion seem ever so exaggerated and he regretted coming to school so early. After a quick glance at his phone, he decided a quick nap would be possible and if worse comes to worst, someone would probably wake him up before their teacher arrived.
And so, Simon closed his eyes, unaware of a tiny crimson puddle forming beside his feet, with drops trickling down the walls of the church, blood inked in a vise-like path. Succeeded by another. And another.
While the red liquid poured down the roof of the chapel, crows fed on the corpse impaled on the spikes placed atop the roof.
The young Prince was sure he’d be found out. His family had already bid him goodbye, and his nail beds were already bitten down to the quick in the time it had taken him to reach the school.
“It won’t be as bad as you think, you know. No one is waiting for you there with torches and stakes. They’ve probably put out their chalices and best China for you,” his brother tried to console him, studying his soured expression.
“Not as helpful as you think,” Was his reply. His cuticles were in a bad shape—more so than ever—and the inside of his cheek hurt, the skin of his lips stung from the packet of spicy chips he’d had a few minutes prior.
They had an arrangement, the royal family and the school. A bargain struck without him knowing he was the bait. They had reached the school before sunup and the brothers were in the process of unpacking his luggage. The Frog Prince snow globe sat proudly atop his study table, and the Crown Prince was folding and placing the younger’s clothes in the closet.
“I won’t like it here,” the prince said, folding his arms across his chest. The sun would not rise for another hour, the clouds hung low and there was nothing but trees in sight out from his window. The wind rustling through the trees made a whistling sound that could be heard in the sleepy silence of Hillerska. He hadn’t wanted to come to this school, not since he’d found out about what he was. He had known it was a precaution to be taken, to send him off to a place people would never be allowed to wander accidentally, to bring him away from the scrutiny he’d attract had he stayed back home—if he could call it that. The palace had its grandeur and beauty, but it seemed to him like living in a museum—a living tomb—encased in shadows wherever he’d go.
“You will,” his brother said, a genuine smile on his face and a hand on the younger’s shoulder, squeezing it gently before wrapping him in his arms. The boy knew these moments were fleeting, that his brother had to attend to other duties before he left, yet he did not know how to let go of his brother as he made to step back.
“Wille,” his brother whispered, patting him on the back, telling him to let go. He was the only one whose scent was etched in Wille’s mind—the only one who’d let him close enough to himself to let him rest his head on his shoulder, to bury his face in his neck when he’d wanted to be coddled or held him close through many restless nights when terrors chased him in the darkness.
“No, Erik!” Wilhelm whined, pulling his brother closer as he stepped away, this time a bit firmly.
“Wille, let go.” The tone of Erik’s voice betrayed him, a hint of fearful tremor coating the words and Wille stepped back, hands clasped together behind himself, one hand grabbing hold of the wrist of the other, squeezing firmly. Tears stung his eyes as he saw his brother nod gently, eyes soft as he sighed.
“I know you didn’t ask for this, Wille.” His brother stepped closer once again, his hand coming to pat his cheek. “But you will be happy here. And safe. It’s the best thing for everyone.”
Wilhelm wondered if his being safe would always mean being cooped up in the dark corners of the world he lived in.
As he watched his brother turn around, hands clasped behind his back, taking one last look at his brother, looking smaller than he’d looked when they’d left, Wilhelm felt even smaller as the footsteps outside his room grew fainter.
Wilhelm watched as the sun rose, the light rays filtering through the woods, creeping toward him. Running a tired hand through his hair, he rubbed his eyes and got dressed for the assembly.
Simon was trying to wipe at the spot on his shirt where he’d drooled during his short nap—just long enough to give him enough of an energy boost to jump up the moment his teacher entered the church, the rest of the choir following her strides.
“Good morning,” he greeted his teacher, the woman clothed in the Hillerska uniform just as the students, the dress jacket pristine and her glasses—usually covered in spots—gleaming in the faint light entering the place from the roof, bathing the area in a warm glow, a stark contrast to the grey, cold place Simon had known the school to be.
As the choir took their places in front of the pews, the students started filling in, the solitude of the room now encased in hums of students chattering away about the arrival of the prince. Simon was focused on his breathing, his hands growing clammy by the second, and more so when the choir teacher gave him a smile and a tiny thumbs up.
The Crown Prince arrived when the students were seated, right behind him was his younger brother, the boy now dressed in a new blue shirt, hair combed away from his face and a suit jacket to match his brother’s, who was already halfway down the aisle, already heading to the seat reserved for the two of them, right in the front.
The prayer service could not have gone slower for Simon. The whole time he’d been reciting the lyrics to the song in his head, repeating the words over and over until they’d stopped making sense. As the last words of the prayer faded, students and teachers humming muted ‘Amens’, he opened his eyes and sang.
Wilhelm looked right ahead, the sunlight he’d run from this morning was now bathing the church in its warmth as the choir started singing.
Then he heard the voice.
Wilhelm’s eyes immediately found the boy who had started singing, his voice ringing through the church—with sure eyes and curls falling over his forehead—the boy looked right ahead, his forehead scrunched as the words floated from his mouth, the symphony enveloping Wilhelm, who looked right ahead, transfixed, a small smile playing at his lips, one he’d not noticed creeping up on him. One which threatened to break into a complete smile when the boy belted out the high notes. He had long lost his focus, his grip on the lyrics, too infatuated with the boy’s voice, which seemed to glow golden with the way the light fell on his soft, brown-toned skin, holding Wilhelm in place, like a siren luring a sailor to the sea.
As the last notes of the song faded, the choir’s voices fading, Simon came back to himself, the applause bringing a tinge of pink to his cheeks, warming them as he tried to resist the urge to duck his head, but found his sister, Sara’s eyes, who was beaming, clapping loudly.
It was moments after the headmaster had introduced the new student who’d be attending the school: Prince Wilhelm.
Not that the students hadn’t known that already, but they did give a round of applause to welcome him, and the assembly was dismissed.
As the choir left, Simon hung back to talk to his music teacher, to ask if he’d done as she’d expected, what he could improve his performance.
And yet, even as he received his teacher’s praise, an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, the hair at the back of his neck standing up.
Behind him, Prince Wilhelm stood up to leave, stealing a quick glance at the boy as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and the young prince looked away immediately, holding his breath as he reached the doors to the church.
And behind him, flames erupted.