Fate's oddity volume 2, page 25
One more line, pressed hard enough to etch the paper:
> I am not ready. But I will try to be. And maybe, when I finally am, I’ll have something real to write.
She tucked the notebook away and straightened the paper crown. Across the rooftops, city bells marked the hour—her hour, if she wanted it.
It felt as if the city itself called her name and pressed a bag of chestnuts into her hands, imparting to her that the city was trying to feed her up for what came next.
Kukuri set off through the deepening blue, not just the gremlin or the girl-who-couldn’t-write, but something new:
a would-be princess, uncertain and unfinished, but finally moving forward.
Silvanus, she thought, letting the name rest on her tongue—not a question, but a claim.
I am still yours. For now, you are still mine.
Chapter 13 — Comb and Crown
Krimson woke to pale morning light filtering through a thin hotel curtain, a world softer and quieter than any palace bedroom could manage. His first instinct was to reach for a weapon, or find an exit, or maybe just the next problem. Instead, he found warmth—a tangle of limbs and loose hair, the contented silence that only came after a night spent with no regrets.
He shifted slightly and felt Murasaki’s eyes on him before he even turned. She was watching—propped on one elbow, pillow lines still etched across her cheek, but her stare alert and thoughtful.
He met her gaze and smirked. “Do you always watch people sleep? Or is this a special service for your alpha?”
She snorted softly. “Maybe. Maybe not. Ye snore a little, by the way. Cute, but—” Her mouth twitched, but her eyes stayed serious, searching his. “Krimson… can I ask something?”
He nodded, not moving.
She looked away, searching for the words. “Vivienne. Why do you keep her around? You know what she wants. She makes it clear enough she’s not really here for us, not the same way. She wants to be queen, and she’s smart enough—and ambitious enough—to make it happen if she gets half a chance. You really trust someone who wants to climb so badly? Or are you just ignoring it because she’s pretty?”
Krimson hesitated, feeling the weight of the question more than he expected. He let the silence linger, thinking.
Finally, he said, “Honestly… I’m not ignoring it. When I first met Vivienne, I had this feeling. The same kind of jolt I had when I met you, and Celestia. Not love at first sight or anything sappy like that—just… something important. Something that means ‘pay attention, this matters.’ I’ve only felt it three times in my life, and all three of you are proof I was right to listen. So, yeah, Vivienne’s trouble maybe, but I think there’s a reason she’s here, even if I can’t see it yet.”
Murasaki studied him, unconvinced. “That sounds half mad, Alpha. Just because it worked out twice, doesn’t mean the third’ll be safe. She’s got ambition, aye, and she’s got a sharp mind, but she’s not really with us, is she?”
Krimson looked away, thoughtful. “I know. She’s got that regal thing—cold, perfect, and then she says something that makes you realize she’s looking straight through you. But there’s something else, too. She’s loyal in her own way. She’s promised me she’d stick around, and I believe her. At least, for now.”
Murasaki pressed, “But if she turns on us—on Tia?”
He shrugged, honest. “Then she’ll be gone. Simple as that. But until then, I’d rather keep her close. If I’d pushed you or Celestia away because you were trouble, I’d be miserable right now.”
Murasaki raised a skeptical brow, but her tone softened. “You’re comparing me to Vivienne? Careful, I might take that personally.”
He grinned, letting the moment settle. “You’re a pain in the ass in a completely different way.”
They both chuckled. Then Murasaki’s expression turned pensive again. “Still… Celestia hasn’t tried to drive her off either. I thought she’d be the first.”
Krimson’s eyes flickered with recognition. “She told me once—she had a vision. The only one where it actually ended happily for her. I get the sense that, in that vision, there were… more women with us. Not just the two of you.” He paused, watching Murasaki’s ears tilt in quiet surprise. “Honestly? Sometimes I wonder if Celestia’s trying to build a harem for me. I can’t prove it, but with the way she acts around you, and now Vivienne always finding excuses to hang around us—I just get the feeling that’s the future she really wants.”
Murasaki rolled onto her back, thinking. “Aye, she would. Maybe she just likes the challenge. Or maybe she trusts you more than you trust yourself.”
He was quiet, and the room settled with them. “Maybe.”
Murasaki reached over and poked his side. “Just don’t let her use you, Alpha. I’m here to keep you honest. And if she ever makes you unhappy, I’ll make sure she regrets it.”
He caught her hand, squeezed it gently. “Deal.”
There was a moment—just the sound of breathing, the sense of being real and present and not quite alone.
On the other side of the bed, Celestia mumbled something unintelligible and shifted, her arm draping across Krimson’s chest as she blinked awake, not quite ready for the world.
***
Morning light spilled across the palace’s mosaic floors, pooling in uneven shapes along the corridors as Krimson, Celestia, and Murasaki slipped through a side entrance. Their laughter—soft, private, trailing the scent of last night’s freedom—faded as they entered the grand hall just past the main foyer.
Waiting for them, in a sun-dappled alcove that offered no privacy at all, stood Vivienne and Lieutenant Sylva. The moment the trio appeared, Vivienne straightened, every inch of her posture polished to perfection, her lips stretched in a smile so wide it threatened to shatter. It was a show-smile—hungry and careful, almost brittle with how hard she tried to make it warm. Her eyes, though, flickered to Krimson and lingered just a beat too long on Celestia and Murasaki. If jealousy could be an accessory, she wore it like pearls.
Lieutenant Sylva, for her part, stood just behind Vivienne, hands neatly clasped, her demeanor formal to the point of stiffness. If she noticed the tension, she didn’t show it—though the smallest, fleeting glance toward Krimson was different now. Since the truth had begun to surface, Sylva’s deference had sharpened. This morning, she looked ready to salute.
Vivienne was first to speak, voice smooth as glass but missing any hint of her usual playfulness. “Well, look who finally returns to the palace. I hope the city treated you three to a memorable night?” She kept her gaze locked on Krimson, willing herself to seem unaffected. “You’ll have to tell me all about it. In detail.”
Krimson gave her an easy smile, ignoring the edge beneath her words. “We could, but you know how it is. Some nights are better left to memory.”
Sylva cleared her throat—subtle, but commanding. “Your Highness—” she began, then faltered as Krimson’s brows shot up.
He held up a hand, shaking his head with a faint, rueful grin. “Let’s not start with the ‘Your Highness’ thing just yet. We’re still in the before, not the after.”
Sylva nodded, collecting herself, but her formality remained ironclad. “Understood. But the schedule for today is… full.” She glanced to Vivienne, who took over without missing a beat.
“We’ve made arrangements,” Vivienne said, voice regaining some of its poise. “The palace wants all of you looking your absolute best for your… forthcoming debut.” Her eyes lingered on Krimson, then flicked briefly to Celestia and Murasaki, something proprietary sharpening in her tone. “Outfits, hair, manners, the works. You’re not just adventurers anymore. After today, you’re going to look the part.”
Celestia exchanged a quick, amused look with Krimson. Murasaki rolled her shoulders, unimpressed. “Do we get a say in any of this, or is it all court dress and frills from here on out?”
Vivienne’s smile sharpened just a fraction. “There will be choices. I’m certain you’ll all find something that suits you. And I’ll be overseeing the details personally.” Her voice softened, but only for Krimson. “You deserve to make a statement.”
Krimson shrugged, resigned but not bothered. “Lead the way. I’ll follow orders for once. But no tiaras, please.”
Vivienne’s smile finally cracked into something real, if only for a moment. “No promises.”
Sylva stepped back, ready to guide the group toward the day’s business. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll begin at the tailor’s.”
As they began leaving the palace, Vivienne fell in beside Krimson, her arm brushing his ever so slightly—close enough to suggest belonging, but just out of reach of comfort. As usual. Her presence was magnetic and pointed, every gesture a message to the other women, and maybe even to herself.
Behind them, Celestia watched with an amused, almost indulgent glimmer, and Murasaki kept her eyes sharp on Vivienne, every motion, every angle, ready to step in.
It felt like the palace was holding its breath—not for the adventurers, not for the heroes, but for the man who would soon become a Prince, and his entourage.
The palace doors swung shut behind them, leaving sunlight and city noise waiting beyond the gates. A carriage already stood in the drive—sleek, polished, unmarked except for the discreet royal crest tucked by the driver’s seat. Vivienne was first to approach, offering the driver a brief, knowing nod; Lieutenant Sylva quietly scanned the street, then held the door as the group boarded.
Krimson stepped in first, Celestia quick on his heels, slipping her arm through his as they settled onto the deep leather seats. Murasaki and Vivienne followed, leaving Sylva to take the jump seat by the door—watchful, discreet, professional.
Celestia shifted closer, her smile bright with a kind of secret glee as the carriage rolled past Silvanus’s waking streets. “You know, it’s weird,” she mused. “This city’s always felt so big—like it was just a place we passed through. But today, it feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for us to do something worth remembering.”
Murasaki glanced out the window, ears flicking. “Aye. Feels like even the bricks are watchin’.”
Krimson sat quietly, gazing out the carriage window as the city slipped past, his words softer than usual. “Until now, I could blend in, even if some people recognized me. Maybe I was a hero for a day, but I was still just…me. Tomorrow changes all of that. The city won’t just know my name—it’ll expect something from me. Everything I do becomes part of something bigger. I can’t stay hidden, not even from myself.”
He fell silent, and for a moment, the city seemed to hush with him.
Celestia let out a little laugh, nudging Krimson with her elbow. “Oh, who's a good prince? You are. Yes, you are!” she teased, her tone deliberately ridiculous.
Krimson groaned, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his smile. “Please don’t start that. I don't want to be the prince who has to add walkies and treats to his royal duties.”
Murasaki grinned. “Could always try scratchin’ behind his ears. Might make the crown sit easier.”
Celestia waggled her brows, playing along. “Do you want your people to think you’re approachable, or should we just skip to declaring you their favorite royal mutt?”
Vivienne sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with theatrical patience. “Do any of you take anything seriously?”
Krimson glanced at her, humor softening his features. “When it matters, Vivienne. Today, though—well, I'm not a prince just yet .”
Outside, Silvanus rolled on, bigger than any of them, but—just for today—waiting for them to take their place.
The carriage wound its way through merchant boulevards and busy lanes, eventually slowing as they neared the Adventurers’ Guild—a squat, dignified building half-swallowed by the city’s bustle. Even the creaking placard seemed subdued today.
They each took their time climbing down from the carriage. Sylva stepped out first, every motion precise as she swept a quick glance across the square and offered a steady hand for Vivienne. Vivienne accepted with quiet poise, heels tapping confidently on the stone. Murasaki followed, stretching her shoulders and rolling her neck. Celestia slid out next, hair catching the morning light, her posture relaxed. Krimson came last, pausing for a breath as the city’s gaze shrugged past him.
The Adventurers’ Guild looked much as it always did: an old, sturdy building of dark brick and heavy timbers, its facade marked by decades of adventure. A faded sign with a stylized blade and key hung over the door, creaking softly in the breeze. Through the arched windows, sunlight pooled on worn floorboards and a clutter of guild notices. The air inside was tinged with the scents of leather, parchment, and a hint of roasted beans from the corner café stand. Adventurers in every shade of armor and cloak lounged at battered tables, swapping stories or studying the wall of posted quests.
Despite the bustle, the Guild had always felt like a crossroads—too public for secrets, too familiar for pretenses. And now, thanks to the last few weeks, the place has acquired a new energy. Their faces were known here; the rumor-mill had already made them larger-than-life.
Reynard, the Guildmaster, stood at the front desk as they entered. He caught sight of them, and his wry smile flickered for just a moment into something serious. He could read the mood in their eyes—this wasn’t just another routine drop-in.
“Well, if it isn't my favorite trouble makers—let's go, back room.” he said without preamble. “Hartena’s already there unless you don't want her there. Same for Elira.”
They passed into the office, finding Hartena standing at alert attention, eyes sharp. Elira slouched over a desk, half-asleep, ink-stained fingers resting on a half-written ledger. She blinked lazily awake as the group entered, dark eyes drowsy yet perceptive.
“Ah, the trouble crew returns,” Elira murmured, stretching gracefully. “Tell me you don’t have more drama? The paperwork won’t survive another dungeon.”
Krimson waited until the door had shut and the last echo of boots faded. He didn’t bother sitting.“Actually it's not a dungeon but,” Krimson said, “that’s precisely why we're here. There’ll be a royal decree in two days—the palace intends to publicly acknowledge my family, and we'll be part of the royal family."
The words hung for a beat.
Reynard, who rarely lost his cool, blinked twice, then huffed a slow breath. “That’s—oh, spirits. Well, that explains a lot.”
Hartena stared, lips parting in a dry, silent “damn.” She scrubbed a hand over her jaw. “So you’re not just the city’s trouble magnet. You’re the country’s.”
Elira, who had finally looked up from her ledger, blinked owlishly. “So we weren’t just giving orders to some adventurer. It was the crown prince all along. Should we have been bowing, or…?”
Krimson cracked a chuckle. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Yes, I’m technically the first prince, but ‘crown prince’ is a bit much, don’t you think? I’m still just me, and honestly, that’s complicated enough.”
Reynard shook his head, recovering fast. “You know, I always suspected you were trouble, Krimson, but I didn’t peg you for ‘might run the country’ trouble. Hell of a promotion.”
Celestia grinned, eyes twinkling. “Technically, he’s still on probation.”
Hartena rolled her eyes but softened a fraction. “Figures the prince would spend his days running errands for the guild instead of hiding behind walls. That’s… well, that’s so you.”
Elira leaned back, half-impressed, half-resigned. “So, royalty. That means double the paperwork, I suppose?”
Krimson shrugged. “If it helps, I’m still allergic to forms.”
Reynard gave a rare, genuine laugh. “Well, sire, we’ll try not to drown you in them. Thanks for the heads up.”
Celestia smiled, appreciating Elira’s deadpan wit. “Just keep your desk intact. We’re here to help you stay ahead of this.”
Hartena glanced toward Vivienne, her posture unreadable but focused. “You expect increased foot traffic and publicity requests?”
“Precisely,” Vivienne replied smoothly. “I’ll handle initial filtering personally to prevent a public circus at your front desk.”
“Appreciated.” Hartena nodded. “We’ll rotate staffing to manage the load. Nothing gets by without careful inspection.”
“Anything else?” Reynard asked Krimson.
“Keep an ear for trouble,” Krimson said quietly. “If this draws anything uglier, let us handle it first. I don't want your people caught in the crossfire.”
Reynard met his eyes steadily. “Agreed.”
They parted with quiet nods, the guild bracing quietly for the storm ahead.
***
The city rolled past outside their carriage, familiar yet charged with anticipation. Krimson sat half-listening to the others’ banter, gaze drifting from shopfronts to crowded corners. Silvanus felt alive in a way that pressed in from every side—a city on the cusp of knowing them differently.
Then, up ahead, the carriage slowed. Raised voices cut through the morning clamor. Merchant’s Row was choked with a dense knot of people, arguments spilling into the street and blocking the road completely.
Vivienne craned her neck, frowning. “That doesn’t sound like festival noise.”
Sylva exchanged a look with Krimson. “We’ll need to walk from here. I’ll clear a path.”
But Krimson was already moving. He stepped out first, boots hitting the stone, eyes narrowing as he sized up the crowd. “Let’s see what’s got them worked up,” he muttered. “We’re not getting anywhere sitting here.”
Celestia followed, straightening her coat with a sigh. “ I get the feeling this is gonna be bigger than you think it is.”
Murasaki flashed a grin. “Suppose it’s good practice for prince work, eh, Alpha?”
Krimson shot her a look. “Don’t start.”
They pressed through the knot of onlookers, the city’s breath held tight around a commotion that was rapidly gathering storm. The crowd had thickened around a fish stall run by a pair of elven women—their accents marked them as immigrants from Levisdia, Celestia’s own homeland. Across from them, three human stallholders—locals by the sound and sharpness of their words—argued fiercely, hands and voices escalating.
