Chapter Text
Kaz sits in the center of his room.
The room that he has been stuck in for the last thirty-seven days since his last escape.
It’s early morning, someone will be at the door with tea and breakfast soon. The morning guard will not look him in the eyes. The ones that did were given medical leave and (Kaz assumes) new postings.
He can ask for any book, sweets, food, drink, or body that he could possibly think of to entertain himself. But he cannot leave.
So he sits.
It is a rare occurrence that he isn’t filled with rage when he hears someone speak to him through the door. Yet, there are exceptions to every routine. “Kaz, are you hungry or are you going to throw shit at me the second I open this door?”
It’s Anika. He likes Anika. She’s two years younger than him and her mother used to be the maid of all work before the stress of the job killed her. She calls him Kaz because she used to take notes on what factors seemed to set him off. Anika claims calling him by his title led to him being “a rather large douche” sixty-percent of the time “and that’s significant enough that I’m never doing it again if I can help it.”
Anika has never had formal instruction or schooling, but her math skills are impressive. Not enough to rival his own, of course. Enough to earn his respect, though. She can do much more than find simple percentages.
“I will withhold my temper until after you’re settled and no longer expect it.” He called back. Kaz won’t promise her anything he cannot assure. He does like her after all.
“That’s as good as I’m going to get I suppose.” She grumbles, he hears her fumbling with the key before the door opens, the scent of food drifting in, “I’m doing well thank you for asking.” She says as she sets his table in the corner of the room near the window. The clinking of porcelain as she straightens the tea set grating on his ears.
“I don’t care.”
Anika lets out a huff of a laugh, “You never do. How are your friends? I never see much of night shift.”
It’s a scripted performance for the guards outside. They don’t know their loyalties yet and so they have to speak in ways that are…less conspicuous. Anika speaks to him as if he were mad, answering questions he didn’t ask in ways that toe the line of disrespectful, refers to people who seemingly don’t exist, events that have never happened, and only they truly know what they’re discussing.
Kaz does not have friends, everyone knows that, but he has two guards he knows are loyal to him that watch the door at night, “They’re well. We went to see a play instead of sleeping, something about a girl with hair as long as the ocean is deep. I found it all rather annoying.”
Anika shook her head, amused, “I wouldn’t have brought you to that one if it were me. Rather insensitive, I think.”
It’s odd to hear his own voice, creaky and unused. This may be the most he’s spoken in days. He was in a mood the last few nights, didn’t say more than a handful of words, “Oh, it almost stayed a secret I assure you, but someone has a hard time keeping his mouth and his brain on the same page when he’s exhausted.”
“Maybe I’ll see a play one of these days.” She said walking towards the door, “I’d advise you to actually eat something today. I think his majesty is planning some event with all those letters he’s been sending out. Nice red and gold ones have been coming back, too. Must be something big.”
Royal Van Eck stationary coming in was suspicious. It could definitely impede his plans, too. Kaz nodded, “I’ll try my best to find the strength as quickly as possible.” His timeline might’ve just moved up, “Send my best to those that deserve it.”
“Of course. Have a good day, Kaz” Anika opens the door, curtsies like she almost forgot she was supposed to, and closes the door. He hears the lock click soon after.
There’s a balled up piece of parchment sitting on his table next to the tea and breakfast foods.
Kaz limps over, and unfolds it, reading through the hasty scribbles of the spy he planted as an intern in the castle infirmary.
The clearest words he makes out are, “suspicious” “gross” and, of course, “wedding” which has been circled and underlined multiple times. Another one of the scribbles says something that looks like it could be “Tell Inej” Kaz has no idea if that means he should tell Inej or if Inej has been told just what exactly he was meant to extrapolate from this chaos made into parchment and ink.
It’s a long wait for the night shift. He spent most of it scheming, writing out all his plans and their associated contingencies on the parchment and ink he demands large quantities of at the beginning of every week just to watch the skinny little runner they send almost keel over from the effort when he drops them off in his room.
Kaz has learned to be patient. There is nothing else to be when you have nowhere else to go.
“What do you want to bet that he snaps and goes on a rampage about this?” Jesper asks as they trudge up the stairs to Kaz’s tower.
Inej smiles, “You shouldn’t be betting on anything if you don’t want to be the target of the next of his rampages.” The second Kaz was told about the weird energy that had started to overcome the court, and then the castle staff, he was instructed to avoid gambling as much as possible. It was too risky to have someone so close in such a precarious position. It would last a few weeks at most and then it would be over. That’s how it typically worked, anyway. However, she is a little concerned about the long-term effects the information Nina gave her might have on their plans.
“I thought that Van Eck heir was a kid?” He said, already bouncing on to the next topic.
“I think he recently celebrated a birthday, and I remember him being around our age. Either way, it doesn’t necessarily matter. The Geldin king’s wife wasn’t a woman-grown when he married her. I hardly believe that they care.”
Jesper pulled a face, “Gross.”
On the last turn they both go silent. Sound carried in the echoing tower, and even at a whisper their words can be dangerous.
At the landing they switch off with the prior guard.
“Any problems?” Jesper asks
“He actually spoke today. I think he might fancy the maid who came to give him his breakfast.” The one says. The statement causes a small twitch in the back of her mind. Like the spoke of one of her wheels just snapped.
“His highness doesn’t fancy anyone for more than target practice, but I like your imaginative spirit.” Jesper replied easily, a relaxed grin on his face.
They waited until they heard the echoing bang of the door at the bottom of the steps being closed to open the door.
Inej pulled out her keys. As she did, the door swung open. She sighed, “When did you unlock it?”
Kaz shrugged, “I got bored a few hours ago.”
“Did they hear you picking it?” She asked.
“Yes Inej, I’m a complete idiot.” He responded sarcastically, “Come in, we’re in for a long night.”
They entered, keeping the door open in case they needed to hastily return to their posts.
Inej was already frustrated with him. He was going to get himself into trouble if he kept poking at the rules the way he’s been the last few weeks. Their plan will need to be entirely reworked if he gets another security increase because he can’t manage to sit and entertain himself for a few hours.
“Nina’s note is on the table. Have her sent up here tomorrow, we need to have a talk about her handwriting, and her inability to take coherent notes.” Kaz sat in his chair and waved a hand at the table where a crumpled piece of paper had been smoothed out and was laying discarded. He turns to Inej, “Did she speak with you about what’s going on?”
“Yes, and I told Jesper.” She affirmed.
“Good.” Kaz said, “Now one of you can tell me.”
Jesper had wandered off to pick up the note, as he looked it over he said, “Haskell has been sending letters back and forth planning a wedding with Jan Van Eck to his heir, Wylan.”
Wylan locked himself in the room he took his music lessons in.
People will come looking for him, eventually. They always do.
But it is better for everyone if they have to look and don’t always manage to find.
In the room he takes his music lessons in there is a closet that is hidden behind a curtain. A storage area for some of the smaller instruments that aren’t necessarily for display in the main room. In that closet there are shelves, and between the top shelf and the ceiling there is a small space where nothing is stored that Wylan can fit in quite snugly.
Even if someone thought to check in there (which they shouldn’t because Wylan keeps his hiding spots on a strict rotation that spans months) he has learned that many people forget to look up when they’re searching.
He does hope that he still fits in the space. It was terribly jarring the other day when he hadn’t managed to fit in the trunk he used to hide in as a child.
He’s getting too old for this. This hide and seek nonsense.
It was only for a few more months. Wylan’s father had managed to secure marriage negotiations for him recently and he would soon be sent away.
Sent away is better than dead, which is what he will be if he’s still in the castle when Alys’ child is born. His father has lost interest in him, to put it lightly, and would rather have him dead then around to embarrass him another year.
He doesn’t care who he’s married off to. The worst case scenario is that he dies either way. He can live through anything less than that.
Wylan’s father says that their sister city is not made for the living, that it is disgusting and heretical. He isn’t sure how something so close, a boat ride away, could be so different from them.
He has visited their castle on many occasions. His condition is kept secret, and the king must bring an heir to show off. They speak the same language. They were once one people. If he is to marry some noble from Ketterdam he can’t imagine it will be that horrible. No worse than the nobles in his own kingdom, at least.
Early one morning, Alys sends for Wylan to be brought to her room. She isn’t meant to be moving around much, but it’s still an odd choice. Personal.
Her bedroom is grand. It’s filled with soft lilacs and gold accents. A bookshelf displaying all sorts of small trinkets sits in the corner. A portrait of Alys in her wedding gown is displayed over the fireplace. Wylan finds it slightly humorous that it is only Alys in the portrait. He knows that his father posed for wedding portraits as well.
Someone has pulled the curtains to let the morning light in. She’s propped up in bed, a tray of food and tea at her side, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Wylan parrots back, unsure what to do with himself. He jumps when the door closes.
Alys smiles at him, “Jan says you’re engaged to be married. Did you know?”
He nods, “Yes.” There is a note on her bedside table with a pressed pink primrose sitting atop it. It’s an odd thing to have. It’s odder still, that she hasn’t had the foresight to tuck it away somewhere Wylan wouldn’t see.
“Isn’t it wonderful news?” She takes a sip from her tea, eyes drifting to the door, and then they are back on him, “The king of Ketterdam, too. Oh, I’m so glad we’ve found a match that you may live comfortably with.”
Wylan swallows, he forces a smile, “Yes, it is wonderful news. Did you need me to bring you anything while you rest?”
“No, I merely wanted to congratulate you. Thank you for speaking with me.” She dismisses him and he rushes from the room.
The king of Ketterdam was no stranger, Wylan had met him many times on trips to the neighboring country with his father. Per Haskell was an old, mean, drunk with a mind sparser than the hairs on his head! It was not a good match!
Not that Wylan had been expecting a good match. His father hated him, of course, but this was awful. The only bright spot of luck he may have is if the fucker dies quickly. Per Haskell is old and he’s an avid drinker, sickness could come for him. Yet, Wylan would still be watched even then. He couldn’t have been given off to someone of little importance where he could at least suffer in private. No, his life would still be a matter of public record and scrutiny. There would be no quiet life in the country. There would be no peace. He would die a spectacle.
And married to an idiot.