The train raid to Javaria had been fun. Wulfric didn’t get to ride trains often, and he and his guards and servants had had it all for themselves. After the train ride, a carriage was waiting for them. A drive in that later, he and the company his parents had insisted on arrived at a small estate. It, and the whole town around it were so different from what he was used to. It all looked like something straight out of a fairytale. The young royal could easily imagine it having been built by elves, because the houses sort of looked as if they’d been grown right out of the forest. There was a mystical air to the area, and Wulfric was sure there were all kinds of secrets hidden within.

However, he wasn’t here to explore. At his arrival to Count Bernard’s estate, the few guests lingering outside burst into whispers. They did bow or curtsy, but they still reminded Wulfric of flies, what with their annoying buzzing. His guards loomed behind him, their presence serving to deter the buzzards from flying too close.

They made their way inside, the count’s servants announcing his arrival. The reception hall was on the smaller side; a good two dozen guests made for a crowd. Then, there were all the children; there were as many youths as there were adults. A large group of children was a foreign sight to the prince, so he watched them curiously.

There were those murmured greetings and buzzing whispers again. Wulfric looked from guest to guest, searching for the count. However, the first to approach was Duchess Edwards, who weaved through the crowd, and emerged right into the protective bubble formed by his guards with practiced grace and eerie focus. She had a predatory glint in her eye. Similar to Morrigan’s when was about to torture a ‘fun prey’, as she called it.

“Hello, Prince Wulfric, how lovely to see you!” She covered her mouth with a hand as she laughed merrily. But the emotion didn’t reach her eyes; they were all pure calculation.

“Good day, Duchess Victoria,” he smiled a smile as empty as hers. “You’re a very pretty lady, and that dress really suits you!” He flattered her the way he had been taught to do in etiquette class.

She blushed, and Wulfric wondered if that was acting, or if she was just a fan of compliments. “My, what a charmer you are!” As they talked, they slowly moved towards where he spotted the actual hosts of the party. “You will be a lady killer one day, I can tell.” Somehow, the rapacious glimmer in her eyes became even brighter, intenser. “I do have a very pretty daughter, you know? She’s only six now, but give her a few years, and she’ll be the best there is, I know she will!”

Wulfric hummed noncommittally. “Girls are boring,” he commented.

“Oh! At that age, are you?” She fake-laughed again. “Well, if you’d ever like a friend, I have a son too.” She suddenly clapped her hands as they came to a stop before the Bernards. “But! This is my brother’s birthday. This is Jonathan, Your Highness.” She leaned down slightly, holding her hand to her mouth, gesturing that she would relay a secret. “He is a bit odd, but please, do not mind him.” She wasn’t quiet enough not to be heard. Did she not realize?

“I’m not weird!” The young lord burst out, glaring at his sister. But at his father’s sharp, “Jonathan!” the child looked down, sulking. “Sorry,” he said without looking at anyone.

Ignoring what had happened, the prince greeted him. “Nice to meet you, Jonathan.” Wulfric went out of his way to smile at the child, but the boy was still looking down.

“Hi. Your Highness.” His reply was sullen, and he even kicked at the floor. Wulfric judged him as very childish.

“I brought a gift for you. I didn’t know what you liked, so there’s a few things in it. I hope that’s ok.”

Finally, the child looked up again, pleasantly surprised. “O-oh. Thank you…Prince Wulfric.” There was even a slight warm smile, genuine gratitude colouring his expression.

Easy.

“You are very generous, Your Highness.” Count Bernard bowed, taking over for his son. Jonathan gave his father an angry look when the count wasn’t looking, but Wulfric saw it. “Now, let us commence the celebrations!”

They were led into the dining room. Even though it wasn’t his birthday, he was offered the seat of honor. “You don’t mind sitting to my right, do you?” he asked Jonathan, who was still lingering by his side.

“Um. I guess…Is it true you’ve never been to anyone else’s birthday party - other than your family’s?” Wulfric nodded, and Jonathan brightened considerably. “Oh! That’s so cool! T-that I’m the first one, I mean…” he trailed off, slightly embarrassed. But the prince didn’t pay it any mind. Anyone would be honoured.

Their table was set just for the children. That was a shame. Wulfric had wanted to talk to the count, and ask him about this town. He supposed the youngest son would have to make do.

They sat down. For the first time, Wulfric could take a good look at the other youngsters. “Who are they?” he asked Jonathan quietly, who eagerly introduced them.

Immediately to the prince’s left was a girl in a ruffled, pastel seafoam dress who had white ribbons tied in her black hair. She sat all prim and proper, but had eyes only for him. She was the daughter of a neighbouring baron, Suzanne van Bergen.

Next to her were two girls, Margaret Laine and Jennifer Ilves, who were fervently whispering to each other. Here and there, they’d break into giggles after looking at him. They had dresses too, but even though they were multi-coloured, they were plainer than the first girl’s. Margaret had chestnut curls and a freckled face, while Jennifer wore her dark blonde hair in pigtails. The former was a merchant’s daughter, and the latter a banker’s.

Next were a pair of twins, Cora and Charlie McDowell. The girl had her hair braided and pinned up, while the boy wore a ponytail. They were both dressed in practical clothing. Maybe it was a local custom, but they just looked very poor to Wulfric. Their parents were owners of a mining company, and were the Bernards’ friends.

Close to the twins sat a child whose appearance left Wulfric puzzling over their gender until he heard the name Mariel. Her short, artfully styled ashen hair, coupled with a royal blue doublet and black trousers, could easily have led anyone to mistake her for a boy. She came from the minor noble family of Tveit.

At the other end of the table, a girl sitting somewhat apart from the others caught Wulfric’s attention. She had sun-kissed olive skin and dark wavy hair that was slightly browned from time spent outdoors. Her outfit was an unfamiliar, but harmonious blend of Caesonian fashion with accents of Alidasht. When asked about her, Jonathan admitted he wasn’t entirely sure himself. Like Wulfric, this was his first time meeting the girl. All Jonathan knew was that she was the ward of Lord Desmond Dantès. He guessed she may have been brought here to familiarize her with the social circles of nobility.

To the right, a pig—wait, no, just a very plump boy—by the name of Florian Lund occupied a seat. The emerald green tunic strained to contain his substantial girth. He was joyously engaged in devouring a pastry, blissfully unaware of the crumbs that scattered onto his lap. Each bite set his rosy cheeks and honey-blonde curls into a cheerful dance. Despite his unassuming appearance, he was the progeny of one of Caesonia’s greatest knights.

Next was a tall, gangly boy with wild black hair, who kept grimacing as he strived to avoid Florian’s flailing elbow and the spray of food particles. He was hunched over himself, as if to withdraw into a nonexistent shell. Subtly, he inched to the left, trying to get further away from the fat boy. This bony boy’s name was Juan Venegas, and he was the son of a lord.

Adjacent to Juan was a stocky boy who kept shifting around, jittery and restless. Though he kept looking around, he didn’t really seem to notice Juan getting closer. His hair was shorn right down to his skull. Wulfric thought he might jump out of the chair any moment. He was Tomás Meaghan, whose parents were successful in the wood industry.

Lastly, there was Lars Blundell, the scion of another lesser noble family. His presence was imbued with a palpable sense of arrogance, his posture and demeanor leaving no room for doubt about his high regard for himself. He seemed utterly indifferent, even dismissive, of the esteemed gathering around him. This included the prince, whom he viewed as an equal at best. His air of superiority was as unmistakable as it was unapologetic, setting him apart from his peers in both manner and attitude.

Since it was around noon, lunch was served first. The children were louder than Wulfric deemed polite, but the conversation topics were familiar. What such-and-such did, or how they’ve gained this-and-that, or did a good-great-charitable-or-some-other thing.

The last meal was dessert; a birthday cake, of course. Ooohs and aaahs ensued from some of the more eager children.

Then…

Then came the singing.

The children opened their mouths, and an ungodly cacophony emerged. Wulfric could only stare, slack-jawed, as they began to sing the happy birthday song.

Weren’t entertainers supposed to be hired for this part?

Was Count Bernard so poor he couldn’t afford them?

This was terrible.

Some of these youths must have had basic music training, but this particular group had never sung together, and it showed. Some started too soon – or too late – and others rushed to get through, while a few were either too loud or too quiet.

When it was finally over, Wulfric congratulated Jonathan, said, “Happy birthday,” and shook his hand. The same sentiment echoed around the table.

Jonathan blew out all the candles, mouth puffed and face growing red as he snuffed out the flames. That done, the cake was cut and distributed. Any decorum thus far displayed grew exponentially worse with the amount of cake consumed, Wulfric observed. Florian devoured his piece as greedily as the pig he resembled, the girls’ giggling somehow got shriller, Tomás knocked an elbow into Juan, and even the previously sedate twins were exchanging up-to-no-good grins.

After their meal, they were led into a drawing room, where the gifts awaited opening. Jonathan appeared warily hopeful, but not too enthused. There weren’t many presents, but wasn’t he excited about seeing what he’d get?

Yet, as the unwrapping commenced, it became apparent that very few gifts were actually intended for Jonathan. Several were gifted to him, but were meant to impress his parents; things like sample goods from various businesses and territories. A few were actually presented to his parents while Jonathan received a token gift only. And the ones for him didn’t seem like much in Wulfric’s opinion.

His gift, of course, was special. As he’d said, there were several items packaged together; a sheathed dagger, a leatherbound journal, an embossed fountain pen, and an intricate puzzle box. Jonathan marveled over each and every one, and turned to him with a huge grin. “Thank you, Prince Wulfric! These-these are great! It’s…it’s the best gift.”

Obviously. It was from him, after all, Wulfric thought with a smirk.

Jonathan bounded up to him, and Wulfric offered him a hand. The child took it, but also sprung a hug on him. That must have been one of those strange, touchy-feely practices from the north. Wulfric patted him awkwardly and got out of the hug as smoothly as he could. “Glad you like it,” he smiled politely.

“I don’t-don’t just like it, I love it!” Excitedly, Jonathan proceeded to tell him, and to everyone else how grateful he was, how generous the prince was, and how great the king and queen were, et cetera. Just as Wulfric had thought that was it for the gift giving, he noticed a girl who’d kept her gift to give to Jonathan herself rather than handing it off to the servants like everyone else had done.

It was Lord Dantès’s ward who lingered at the edge of the gathering. Clutched in her hands was a small package, plainly wrapped. She frowned down at it, no doubt realizing it paled in comparison to his perfect gifts.

Noticing her hesitation, Lord Dantès went to her side. He spoke gently, reminding her that thought and meaning mattered most of all. With a reluctant nod, the girl shuffled to Jonathan, presenting the package as she said, “I made this for you.”

Jonathan accepted the gift and peeled away the brown paper. Below the modest wrapping lay an equally modest handkerchief. Some of the children, and even adults, snickered at the present. But when Jonathan unfurled it, Wulfric saw the intricate embroidery—the Bernard crest, Jonathan’s initials, and symbols representing his birth month and blessings for his future. “I hope you like it.” The girl watched Jonathan’s reaction anxiously.

Thankfully for the young lady, the count’s son appeared happy. “I do,” he reassured. Gently, he traced the embroidered handkerchief, fingers going over each stitching. He ended up putting it into his pocket, then took her hands into his own. “You thought about me when you made it. That means…a lot,” he told her.

In fact, Jonathan liked it so much that when they went into the small ballroom, he danced with Lady Dantès first, regardless of what his parents thought about it.

Meanwhile, Wulfric, who was more used to dancing with adults, asked Duchess Victoria for the first dance. She was very easy to charm, and though he didn’t enjoy the way she spoke down to him, he was used to that too. Adults always underestimated him. For the second dance, he asked Countess Bernard, who laughed when he did so, told him he was adorable, and accepted.

Even so, the countess urged him to dance with ‘someone his age’ next, so Wulfric picked Lady van Bergen. He didn’t like Suzanne, but she never figured it out. She was blushing so hard, Wulfric wondered if she’d overheat from it. When he was done with her, she skipped to the gossipers to brag about dancing with the prince. Wulfric looked around for someone else. Lady Mariel Tveit was with Florian already, so he sought out the next noble.

He spotted the tiny girl off in a corner again, her guardian Lord Dantès close by. Wulfric approached and bowed to her exactly how he’d been taught to do when asking a lady for a dance. “Would you care for a dance?” he asked politely, and offered her his hand.

Among all the reactions he anticipated, the sheer dread etched on the girl’s face was not one. This wasn’t the timid nervousness of a maiden about to dance with royalty. Her fear was raw, similar to the terror visible in prisoners moments before their execution or the despair of a certain servant. Lady Dantès stared at Wulfric like her worst nightmare came to life.

Desperate and wide-eyed, she looked for help from her guardian. When Wulfric followed her gaze, he met the warm, welcoming smile of the brunet. His eyes, almost black with hints of green in the right light, reminded Wulfric of the gentle demeanor of the horses Aiden tended to. With this lord, Wulfric didn’t feel belittled for his youth; he only looked down at Wulfric because of being taller, nothing more.

Lord Dantès turned his attention to Lady Dantès, saying, “It is up to you, sunshine.” His tone lacked the coercive edge the other adults used to push their children to interact with the prince, truly allowing her the freedom to decide.

The Dantèses exchanged a long, silent conversation with their eyes. Eventually, the girl steeled her resolve, and her deep brown gaze pierced Wulfric.

She executed a proper curtsy but stood rigidly as if bracing for a duel rather than a dance. “It would be my honor, Your Royal Highness,” she said, though her body language suggested otherwise.

“Alright,” Wulfric answered casually, though his smile had grown befuddled. He had no idea why the girl was so scared. Her guardian seemed to know, but Wulfric had never even met these people, hadn’t heard about them either. Who were they, to react like that? “If you’re sure.” He looked from the girl to the lord one more time. The lady, however, had clearly made up her mind, and accepted his hand.

He led her onto the dance floor, and started with a very simple waltz. He couldn’t help but think that she might run away if she grew too scared. However, she was also watching him defiantly, as if trying to challenge him despite her fear. It was weird, so he asked outright, “What are you afraid of so much?” She was moving very stiffly, which made it for an extremely awkward dance, though Wulfric did what he could to make it less so. If they were dancing, then it should at least be a decent dance.

The girl looked like she was about to deny it before simply admitting, “You.”

Wulfric hadn’t expected that admission. He tilted his head, studying her some more. “Why?” he asked simply.

Lady Dantès returned his scrutiny. “Do you care?”

Wulfric gave her a look. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Why else would I ask?” Maybe this girl was a bit slow.

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

He considered that for a moment. He didn’t think he would. The people who’d been afraid of him so far, he wasn’t mad at them, except if they wanted to hurt him. “I promise,” he said eventually.

“Or tell your parents?”

Wulfric sighed. Lady Dantès seemed to think this was some terribly important thing. “They wouldn’t care about what some random little girl thinks – or says. They’d just tell me not to pay it any mind either. But fine. I won’t tell them.”

Her eyebrows knitted together as she weighed the sincerity of his words. “You scare me,” she paused, biting her lip, then continued more boldly, “because you’re mean and fake. Just like your mother and father, and their parents.”

“What?” Wulfric burst out, immediately indignant. Then he remembered the promise, and sulked for a while. “What do you mean?” he followed up when he felt less upset. He was still pouting though.

Even though Wulfric was the wounded party, the girl had the gall to be upset by his outburst. A sense of mistrust permeated from her. He managed to rein in his anger, but he had somewhat violated his promise. She must be wondering if he was also a liar.

Lady Dantès leaned in closer, determined to catch any lies. “You look nice and you talk nice, but it’s not real, is it?” She regarded the others in the ballroom. “You think you’re better than all of this,” she challenged.

“You think it’s fake when you try to be nice? Should everyone be rude and insulting like you are?” He scowled down at her, frustrated. “You don’t know me, you don’t know my parents, and my grandparents are dead. You’re the liar.” She wanted honest? She’d get it. “Everyone thinks I’m better.” He looked around the room. “Maybe not Lars,” he snorted. “You’re like him,” he accused, narrowing his eyes at her. “You’re just some stupid girl, and you’re jealous because you want to be better.”

The girl stared at him, bemused. Then suddenly a smirk spread across her face, and she let out a small laugh. It took a moment for Wulfric to realize his defensiveness caused it. “If that’s what you really think, then you’re stupid,” she retorted.

“They don’t think ‘Wulfric’ is better than them. Nana said these kinds of people will kiss up to anyone they can use.” Images of the gift opening crossed his mind. “And they can use a ‘prince.’ You should learn how to tell the difference, Your Highness.”

“So what? They can use me, I can use them,” he shrugged. Regardless of what Lady Dantès thought, he was better at it than others. And he’d get better still. Besides, many, many people really did believe he was special. What did it matter if some were pretending? It’s just how it was.

The look she gave him could only be described as pity. “It means you’re replaceable, dumb-dumb.” Lady Dantès sighed. “Kind of sad that the only way you can be nice is by faking it…”

The way he was watching her now was as if he was studying a new lifeform. He’d been told about the idea of ‘the heir and the spare’ when Auguste was born - a bit before, actually. If he ever died before he could get to be king, then someone else was there to do it. That was so obvious he didn’t even bother saying anything about it. As for the other thing, it’s not as if the girl was kind either.

When she spoke again, she didn’t look scared or wasn’t laughing anymore. She was getting bolder by the second. “You like hurting people. Lars is a bully, but at least he didn’t do what you did yet.”

So this girl thought she knew something. He wondered how. Could she be guessing? “No, I don’t.” Well, maybe sometimes, he did. “What did I do?” he challenged.

His answer seemed to cement her opinion of him. “Hurt people so bad they’d rather die than live another second with you around.”

“Is that what ‘they’ told you, too?” he wondered. This must be why she made him promise not to tell. Whoever ‘they’ were, they must be an enemy.

“They are the people who work for you.” She tilted her head to the side. “They know what you did to that man… what you like doing to others. But they’re scared because they know how mean you can be… But here you are pretending to be Prince Charming.”

“Whatever. You’re just pretending to know something more. And you think you get to call other people liars,” he scoffed. It was good the song was ending, because he didn’t want to spend any more time with this girl if he could help it.

The tiny girl lifted her chin to look down at him. “Are you talking to a mirror? It sounds like you’re talking about yourself.”

As the music came to an end, she said, “I’m scared of you, because a mean prince will only be a mean king,” and left the dance floor without him.

There were other dances after that, but they all blurred together in Wulfric’s mind. As much as he didn’t want to, the anger and frustration at that Dantès girl wouldn’t leave him. Thankfully, after a few more songs, Jonathan suggested they should do something else. He brought out one of his gifts - a ball from Lord Dantès - and said the boys could go out to play football.

“Isn’t that a peasants’ game?” Wulfric asked the young lord. His tone was equal parts scandalized and enthused. The only reason he’d come to this birthday party was because he had heard other people brag how fun they were. And this would be a new, unknown game, so he was really excited to try it out.

“Er…we play it at school,” Jonathan replied, embarrassed. Immediately, Wulfric blurted out, “You go to school?” This was even stranger to him. “I thought all nobles were tutored…” He looked at Jonathan in wonder, but the boy was growing very uncomfortable. “How is it?”

“What, school?” the youngest Bernard asked, a tad grumpy. “It’s just school…it’s boring.” He looked down, turned the ball he was holding in his hands a few times, then peeked at the prince. “This is much better, I promise! Will you play with me?”

“Of course,” Wulfric confirmed, slightly confused. Weren’t they all going to play? “But you’ll have to tell me the rules,” he grinned dazzlingly.

“Oh…alright.” On the way out, Jonathan related the basics. There were teams, there was striking, scoring, and defending. There were some rules about what you couldn’t do, because it was considered barbaric. Wulfric found himself comparing the game to dueling, except football wasn’t one-on-one.

Outside of the Bernards’ estate, past the garden, there was a neatly trimmed lawn. There were white lines running here and there - this was called the field. There were two simple structures on each end of the field; the goals. There were wooden benches far to one side, and Suzanne, Margaret, and Jennifer immediately sat down, chatting to each other. Wulfric’s servants and guards stationed themselves at the stands as well.

Lars set himself as the leader of one team, while Wulfric let Jonathan handle theirs. After much bickering, cajoling, and a sprinkle of insults, it was five against four. Lars had Charlie, Tomás, Florian, and had reluctantly accepted Cora. With Jonathan were Wulfric, Juan, and Mariel.

“You can handle being one down, can’t you?” sneered Lars mockingly. “Unless you want to take that one,” he laughed loudly as he looked at Lady Dantès as if she were a cockroach he wanted to squash. The young girl had remained closer than the three who’d sat down. Wulfric glanced at the youngest lady skeptically. Surely, that small child wouldn’t decide to play. “Just don’t complain it was unfair when you lose,” Lars jeered with a smirk.

“You’ll see who’s the loser when we beat you!” Jonathan shouted.

“Come on, let’s make him regret picking a fight with us.” Wulfric beckoned Jonathan. It was time to start. “You should get out of the way,” Wulfric said to Lady Dantès dismissively. Jonathan made that discomfited frown again, and said softly, “I…I wouldn’t want you to get hurt…Um…” The boy didn’t seem to want to chase the girl away, but was also reluctant to let her stay that close. “It…could be dangerous,” he eventually settled on.

Lady Dantès and, for some reason, Mariel frowned slightly in response. The younger girl recovered first, while the older girl continued to be mildly upset by what had been said. “Thank you for caring. But I’ll be fine, Jonathan. I played before.” Lady Dantès regarded their team with a critical eye. “Who’s doing what?”

“Positions?” Mariel asked, and when the little girl nodded, she finally stopped frowning and turned to Jonathan. “Well?”

“Um…” Jonathan scratched at his cheek, suddenly shyly embarrassed at all the attention. “I-I’ve played different positions…But I’m good at passing. What about you?” he turned to Juan.

The tall, lanky boy shrugged. “If you’re midfield, I can strike.” Quizzically, he looked at Wulfric, who admitted, “I’ve never played in a team.” He had messed around with a ball on his own, and had seen a game or two from a distance, but that was it. There was an awkward silence, and some of the children exchanged concerned glances between each other.

“Your Highness…” Jonathan started carefully. “Could you…keep the goal for us?” Wulfric tilted his head at the boy, expecting an explanation. When the other youth gave it, the prince grew sulky. “What?” he exclaimed. “You just want me to stand around doing nothing?

“It’s not nothing,” Mariel growled and glowered.

“Can you or can’t you do it?” Dantès gave him a challenging stare.

Juan merely stood there, looking uncomfortable, while Jonathan raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Er…n-now, t-there…uhh.” His gaze wildly darted around, seeking a solution. “T-the other team’s all ready! We, uh, we…n-need to decide soon. Could you pleeease do us a favour here, Prince Wulfric?”

It was only because of Jonathan’s pleading, and because he could see Lars gloating from afar that Wulfric agreed. “Fine, but when I’m bored, I’m switching.”

With three positions settled on, the boys turned to the girls. Mariel punched into her own palm, a fierce expression on her face. “I’ll play defense. No one’s getting past me.” Four pairs of eyes landed on the last member. The small child, Dantès, ended up as their second midfielder.

When they were all ready, they got into their designated spots. Wulfric was at the goal, so all he had to do for a while was watch. The ball was placed in the middle of the field. Rather than a clear signal, the opposing teams had a haphazard count-down, then the children launched towards the center, competing on who would get the ball.

Tomás, who was an attacker - the same position as Juan - had that boundless energy driving him, so he made contact first. He was quick, aggressive, and unpredictable. A wildcard that could whirl by all opposition like a sudden tornado, but also a reckless, easily distractible player who often had the ball stolen from him. However, he had Charlie and Cora supporting him as midfielders, and those two were the stars of teamwork. Unlike anyone else, the pair was clearly used to playing together. They moved fluidly in sync, giving Tomás plenty of opportunities to work his magic. Surprisingly, Lars was the defender; from the back, he shouted out orders to his team. Most of the time, they listened to him - and when they got it right, their play was a work of art.

Honestly, their team was weaker, Wulfric could see that from where he was watching. Juan was a decent match against Tomás, but the twins were good at blindsiding him, and Lars was a formidable defender. Jonathan was experienced, and even Dantès held her own, but compared to the twins? Unexpectedly, Mariel was their saving grace; she limited the opponents’ options so much that Wulfric could predict and stop most of their attacks.

There’d been several times where bickering had ensued in the game so far. Tomás had knocked down Juan, Lars had tripped Jonathan, Dantès had kicked Lars, and Mariel had nearly stunned Charlie once by barrelling into him. For each of these events, the team whose player was affected had called foul, while the opposing team had either claimed it an accident or a valid strategy.

The last accident-adjacent event involved Juan and Tomás knocking heads - literally. Juan came out of it with a swollen eye. Wulfric took that opportunity to switch out with him.

“Can you still see out of that eye?” the prince asked the other boy. Juan just shrugged, and mumbled unconvincingly. Wulfric hummed. “Watch out for your blind spot,” he warned.

Because both sides had been injured (Tomás had a bloodied nose), both teams got one point, and a rest period. Wulfric beckoned the others closer. “Juan, you know what to do?” he confirmed. The tall boy nodded, though not without sending a dark glower at Tomás. The young royal glanced at Mariel. “Can you defend with him like you did with me? They’ll want to shoot to his right.”

Mariel blinked, surprised at the acknowledgement, then gave Juan a considering look. The boy scrunched his face, looked away, then back, expression still sour. Then, he nodded haltingly. “Don’t let them score,” Wulfric directed this to the messy-haired boy, giving him a long look. That seemed to work, as Juan’s eyes widened, and he nodded quickly several times in succession.

“Alright,” Wulfric smirked. “I have an idea…” he motioned them all closer. “So far, Jonathan has stuck to Charlie, and Dantès to Cora, right?” The other children nodded. “Well, how about this? Both of you, get on Charlie.” Some started to protest, but Wulfric spoke on. “Lars almost always passes to Charlie, and then he and Cora to each other. Even if he’s forced to give the ball to her, you should have seen those two don’t work together. We’ll cut down on what they can do like that,” he explained, and most seemed convinced.

“Mariel, you can cover Tomás. Cora will be free most of the time, but we should be able to handle that…I’ll deal with Lars. If I can’t score, I’ll pass to whoever’s closest.” He gazed at the two midfielders. “So, be ready for that.” He looked from one player to the other, waiting for each to give confirmation. “Let’s go!”

They got into action. Now, Wulfric was the one leading the charge.

Finally, he got to move! He was smiling, exhilarated as he ran across the field. It was like the wind was with him, even as it rushed against him. It ruffled his hair, filled his chest, and tickled his skin. Hot puffs of air escaped him. He was so fast! The ground was hard as ever, but he bounded up from it with energy. He was like an unstoppable gale now, and he felt great.

Getting a grasp of who was where was more difficult now, but Wulfric got a hang of it soon.

Then, he was on the ball, and Lars was going right at him. Wulfric grinned.

The two faced off, Lars stole it for a moment, the prince launched right back at it…

…Unexpectedly, he slid sideways onto the grass, but got the ball. He somehow managed to aim it to a free player-

-Dantès.

As Lars was trying not to trip over him, Wulfric pushed himself off of the floor. “GO!” He started to run again, just in case. However, the little girl scored, getting the score even. Wulfric laughed, still enthused at the unexpected move he’d done against Lars by accident. It was so awesome, though!

“What about that? You even got beat by a little girl,” the prince pitched in slyly.

Lars got as red as a lobster, and Wulfric was still chucking as he turned around to get back to the game. The boy was shouting something, but the royal just ignored him. One more goal, and they’d be in the lead.

However, before they could resume, another fight broke out. This one was different. It got loud and messy, quick. Wulfric stopped in his tracks, and glanced back towards the players to see what was going on.

He turned around just in time to see Dantès launch herself at Lars, tackling him to the ground. They rolled across the grass, a tangle of flailing limbs, as each tried to gain the upper hand. They punched and kicked at each other as they grappled, twisted, and wrestled on the ground. “Get off me, you rabid half-breed!”

“Take it back!”

“You can go straight to the hells with your pillow-biting lord and take your diseases with you!” Lars grabbed a fist full of Dantès’s hair and yanked it back hard, causing her to scream in pain. But she refused to relent, pulling on his hair in return.

“Get off her, you fucker,” Mariel growled, immediately joining the fight to back up Dantès. “H-hey now,” Charlie tried to help, but somehow got tangled up into it all when Mariel’s kick landed on him. With her brother involved, Cora was at least half-in, trying to pull Lars away at one point, arguing with him at another, and intermittently attempted to get Dantès and Mariel to back off.

After it became apparent that the fight wouldn’t stop any time soon, Florian tried to help, “Um, guys! Let’s not fight.” Jonathan had been too shocked to react, but this startled him. “I-I’m getting the parents.”

Yet, even as he ran off, Juan drew closer. “You fat snitch,” he said meanly, eyeing Florian with a glint in his eye. Whether in an attempt to help him, or because he was itching to fight with Juan, Tomás jumped into Florian's defense. Now, there was a whole group of children brawling wildly.

Wulfric watched, both surprised and fascinated. He had never seen such a…chaotic, violent melee.

Maybe this was why his parents weren’t keen to let him commingle with other children.

“S-say,” Florian shuffled closer. “C-can’t you stop them?”

“Hm?” Wulfric turned to the rotund boy. “Oh, yes. Sure.” He whistled, and the guards who had previously been stationed by the stands came closer. They didn’t seem happy about the fighting children, but had obviously not judged this to be dangerous to him - else they’d have stepped in already. “Can you break them apart?” It was an order more so than a question.

In the following minutes, his guards wrangled the children with the tenacity of a cowboy dealing with a herd of raging bulls.

With the situation safer and partly handled, the three girls approached as well. “Oh, isn’t this so terrible,” Suzanne said to him. Wulfric just nodded. Margaret and Jennifer chattered too, but Wulfric was only half-paying attention. These three girls were like Duchess Edwards; skulking vultures looking to have fun by gossipping about a ‘terrible’ situation.

Soon after the guards had become involved, some of the parents arrived, led by Jonathan. Wulfric turned to his nearest servant; a man who had come to fuss over him, cleaning the mud and dirt off of him. “It’s time to leave.”

As he made his way back to the building, Wulfric passed by the Dantès. The lord was kneeling, asking what had happened. At first, the girl was fuming as she recounted what happened, but as she got to the part where she launched at Lars, her expression crumbled and tears welled up in her eyes. “Then h-he… he,” she choked up. “He called you a…” It was obvious the insult hurt the girl more than her guardian, because instead of repeating whatever offensive remark Lars had made, she burst into tears. Lord Dantès enveloped her in a comforting embrace, gently stroking her head with his hand.

He was murmuring reassurances into her ear when his gaze met Wulfric's.

The prince observed them for a short moment. Pillow biter. That’s what he’d heard Lars say about Lord Dantès during the fight. Wulfric didn’t even know what the insult meant. Obviously, it was some awful, horrible, and upsetting thing. He could find out later, however. The boy looked away from the pair, and went on his way. He would have to say goodbye to some people. It was clear everyone else had decided to leave too.

While people prepared to depart, Wulfric overheard angry shouts coming from one of the rooms. He went to investigate and found Lars's mother screaming hysterically at Lord Dantès, surrounded by several other adults. It mirrored the earlier fight between the children, except now the adults had sequestered themselves away to argue. And just like before, it turned physical. Lady Blundell struck Lord Dantès so quickly and hard it sounded like a whip crack.

Everyone froze. The room went silent, like the quiet before the storm. Except no storm came. Lord Dantès calmly faced Lady Blundell and addressed her and the others in a measured tone. His restraint seemed to shame all the adults present. Eventually, the matter was resolved, and the group dispersed, leaving Lord Dantès alone.

As the last person exited, he turned and opened the door behind which Wulfric had been listening. “I apologize you had to witness that, Your Highness,” he said, kneeling to meet Wulfric’s eyes. His green gaze, so dark it bordered on black, bore deep inside Wulfric. “How are you feeling? I hope this doesn’t deter you from attending any future birthday parties…”

There was a slightly pouting frown on the young royal’s expression at being discovered. “It’s alright,” he said, and tried to look as composed as the lord speaking to him was. “I could have left,” he added. Wulfric openly studied the bright red imprint upon the man’s cheek. The lord didn’t seem to care a whit; hadn’t even seemed to notice, really. Is that what it meant to be a real, proper adult? If so, Wulfric wished he could become one soon. He wanted to be just as unaffected when faced with pain. Still, he gave the man a weird expression when Lord Dantès asked him how he was feeling. “...I’m fine.” At the next line, however, he smoothed out his expression. Because he was a child, and still unpracticed, it was obvious what he was doing. “It won’t.” His parents, on the other hand?

Lord Dantès nodded, as if he understood unspoken thoughts. “At least it was an eventful, if not a little enlightening day?” He smiled.

A fleeting smile appeared before Wulfric made it go away. The way the lord said it, it sounded like they were both in on a joke, or sharing a hidden message. Mock-serious, he nodded sagely. “Very eventful.” The mischievous grin that wanted to escape warmed his gaze with a playful mirth. “And enlightening.”

“I wanted to thank you for your intervention, Your Highness. People might’ve gotten seriously injured if you hadn’t.” The lord bowed his head.

The young prince blinked in surprise, mouth opening. He shut it before the lord could see. He hadn’t imagined anyone could have found anything positive about this situation. His parents - like everyone else’s - would be upset that it had come to a fight, and that he’d been ‘involved’. They might scold or punish the guards, and would surely not allow him ‘unsupervised’ social outings any time soon.

“You’re welcome,” he eventually settled on. It didn’t cross his mind to mention Florian. He was sure the sincere gratitude he’d received was the only good thing he would get out of the scandal. This was for him - just for him. At a prompt from a servant, he said, “I have to go.” He frowned, disappointed but unsure of the reason for it. The lord was like one of his nicer teachers. He’d been impressed by how the man had handled those other adults. But he didn’t know how to say any of that; hadn’t thought of it so concretely. Instead, he went with what he did know: “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lord Dantès.” It wasn’t just empty words he might have said hundreds of times; he meant it. Same with the following bow.

After exchanging their last words, Wulfric departed for home.

On the carriage ride back, he caught sight of the Dantèses again. They were walking along the sidewalk with unfamiliar faces - except for one. Gardner Haywood, the royal gardener, strolled hand-in-hand with Lord Dantès. Wulfric didn’t recognize the other two adults swinging Lady Dantès between them, holding one of her hands each. One wore glasses over his honey-colored eyes, his features bearing the distinct characteristics of Alidasht. He had a deep complexion and even darker hair. The other was a fair-skinned woman who had auburn hair and eyes darker than either Dantèses.