a/n; updates will be a little slow, things in my life r a little busy - so I hope everyone understands! but on that note, don't worry, i will never abandon this fic. there are only 11 chapters til the conclusion, so go ahead and wonder if its going to be a sad or happy ending lol. maybe this will end in february, march, not too sure — but im juggling a lot of fics rn so woops

do vote on this chapter as if would greatly motivate me! comments aid with my motivation a lot too

—

After a while, things had seemingly returned back to normal.

At least, that was how it appeared on the surface. A few weeks after the funeral had passed, things had more or less settled down — the servants stopped avoiding you out of caution or worry, Silas stopped having his fits of disappearances — and your father had vanished again. The Emperor had soon retreated back to whatever obscure shell he liked to remain in, and things were meant to be fine.

The headlines that had splashed on the newspapers had been overtaken by useless bits of news too, like how Lord Mark and Lady Ivory were engaged. Gone was the glaring, ugly words that read The Emperor and his son at odds; Butler's ex-wife dead: you were relieved to see that your dirty laundry was no longer being aired out for the whole world to see.

For you, yourself, you were desperately trying to be who you were before this whole mess. You caught yourself stumbling at times, forgetting that your mother was dead and that her body laid six feet under, cold and unmoving. But still, time moved on, and would not stop. Naturally, you could not constantly act like a petulant, stubborn child. You had to move on.

Silas made great efforts to aid you in that.

Like now, Silas was inviting you for a picnic.

The weather today was lovely and inviting, unlike the pelting, dismal weather that had accompanied your mood these past few days. You remembered Silas somewhat promising to bring you out for a picnic once, but that had been sorely forgotten in the light of things. Your brain had automatically switched to your mother — (she had always been the one preparing snacks to bring for the picnic, after all) — and you had made a classic, rookie mistake; you had forgotten that your mother was dead.

"We've got free time today," Silas had remarked, and you had caught the flicker of hope in his eyes, hoping that your dynamic with him would slide back to normal — "do you want to go out?"

"What do you mean," you had said, sceptical and quite tired from still having to manage details of your mother's funeral, "a date?"

Silas nodded. His posture and body language: everything softened and became sweet and saccharine when it came to you. You thought of the nervousness sequestered within him, pulsing through his veins as he studied your every move with great anxiety and eagerness to please. How ironic — he was scared of you. Scared of the rippling and hurtful anger you had displayed.

"Well, the weather is lovely today, you're right," you squinted at the midday sun, "alright then."

Silas kissed you on the cheek. Your lips twitched. Maybe everything was going to be fine. Maybe you could abandon your feelings of resentment towards Silas — your thoughts and accusations.

"Give me a moment," you said in answer, with a tiny sigh, "I'll probably pack some strawberries from my mother..."

Then you trailed off. You glanced at the box of fresh, juicy, sweet fruits at the side. She had sent that about a week prior to her death. It had been quite long — were they still safe to eat? Then you glanced back at the mirror, and caught the dark circles beneath your eyes.

Right, you thought, she was dead. Officially dead. You would never get to see her ever again. Funny how grief worked. Who was it that always said that grief was a loved souvenir? That grief was living, breathing, torturous proof that you had loved someone, that the marks remaining on your chest was because you had allowed yourself to love, that now you were paying the cruel price of doing so.

Silas had stiffened. Your mother's death was evidently a sore subject. It wasn't one that you would be dropping anytime soon, though. Hopefully yes, but...

"I'm here, Y/n," Silas said quietly, and his slender, strong fingers were now circling your back, creeping up to your shoulders to massage them. You bit your lip, and gazed even longer at the mirror. You looked mad. You probably were mad, still stricken with a grief that didn't want to leave your body. Then you looked at Silas, properly, at his worried eyes and his rigid jaw.

"I know," you said, and you made sure that your tone was not biting — "it's just — hard — to really forget about her. There's no in between. It's either I totally forget about her and the realisation later slams into me like a load of bricks, or I can't stop thinking about her. Is my mind just terribly, awfully weak?"

"The last thing someone can describe you as is weak, my dear," Silas murmured, and the later endearment that passed his lips felt entirely natural. Pet names, sweet nothings — they had all become so normal, and you acquiesced with them.

"I can't help it now," you said ruefully, "I'm blundering alone — like a fool. You see, so many of the people in the palace have lost their loved ones before: I don't get why it's only me who seems to be stuck in places. And I'm growing so irritable, like everything is annoying me and I don't want to..."

You twiddled your thumbs. Suddenly, you felt a wave of shame crawl over your heart. "I don't want to be like this," you said, and the last word was a strangled whisper.

I don't want to be like this. Damaged, hungry for love, and still empty inside.

"It's normal," Silas cajoled you, "it's perfectly normal. It's only been a couple of weeks. It makes sense that you're still grieving for her."

Couple of weeks: you couldn't help but remain rather daunted by that. A couple of weeks was a long time. More than a month had passed, and it felt like you were glued to the same spot. You were watching everyone else move on with their lives and you were still a blistering fool rooted to the ground, moving at snail's pace.

"You haven't lost anyone before. How would you know what's normal and not?" The words were biting, but your tone was not. It mirrored what you had said to him the day of your mother's funeral: you haven't lost anyone before, what would you know? Except, those words had been snapped by you, those words had been intentionally vicious and hurtful — but this time, you were saying it factually.

"Well," Silas wet his lips and looked at you hard and soft, "I lost you, for instance."

You couldn't help but laugh a little, the sound jarring and odd. You winced. "I'm here, Silas. I'm not a ghost."

"I lost you twice," Silas said, and his eyes were growing distant. "You left for three years, and then six."

"But the difference was that you knew, Silas. You knew I would come back."

"My thoughts would not let me think so," Silas admitted, "I was tormented. Evidently, I can't copy what you're feeling now to what I felt then — but I was lost, Y/n. Those first few years — it was the worst period of my life. I was wondering if you would ever come back, if you were just going to have so much fun with your mother —" he scrunched his nose at that word — "and leave me alone. I doubted a lot. I regretted it a lot, treating you so terribly."

"But that's not fair," you couldn't help but point out, feeling bad for doing so, for comparing — what, trauma — "you got closure, because I'm here with you now."

"You are," Silas breathed out, "and I'm so thankful for that."

"See—"

"What I'm trying to say is, that it does get better. Yes, you're right. Your mother is never going to come back to you. But the pain eases, over time. You will remember that your mother died loving you. That she died believing you two made up, that you two —" Silas stopped talking. "I'm sorry. You're right. I don't know my place. I can't be saying this when I haven't lost anyone in my life before."

Secretly, you did think that Silas's words helped you. It reminded you that this was your first time dealing with grief: any first-timer would be clumsy and weak with grief.

It made you wonder, if Silas ever lost you — how would he act? You were too tired to think of a scenario where you lost Silas, so you entertained yourself with the possibility of your death. Was Silas extravagant in his grieving? Would he arrange an over the top funeral and give a long speech? Or would he quietly bury your body beneath your favourite flowers and whisper sweet nothings to it everyday?

Would he —

Would he even live?

"You know what," you smiled softly at him, and you saw how Silas's shoulders relaxed, and he looked so terribly relieved that you were smiling at him — "thank you, Silas. We should head out now, shouldn't we — if we want to make sure the brilliant weather stays."

Maybe it was time to let go of your suspicion targeted at Silas. Maybe your suspicions were the decay hurting both of you. Maybe part of moving on was brushing away all those wariness and fully — living.

Silas took your hand in his. You realized it had been very long since he had touched you, like this. You realized you missed his touch, very very much.

"Of course," Silas's words were soft and mellow and you melted, "let's get going."

—

Casper was someone who grew bored of things fast. Even from birth, he moved on from interests quickly and easily, whether it came in the form of a toy train set or a lengthy, thick book. His parents were exasperated with his ever changing hobbies and his mother had expressed frustration with it multiple times.

"You see that boy —" Casper had overheard his mother remark once, "—can't stick to one thing at one time. He's brilliant. A genius, the tutors say. But he keeps — badgering for my attention — running out of things to play —"

Was it a bad thing, Casper wondered, to want the attention of his mother?

His parents weren't good people, as far as Casper was concerned. It was funny how his mother talked about sticking to things when she herself was infinitely disloyal. Capser very swiftly learnt that there was no such thing as family in his household. His parents had wedded because of purely political reasons. His birth had been a relief — had been a consolation that the royal bloodline had continued. His father was awkward and pathetic and rather bitter, and his mother was frisky and wild and unscrupulous. Casper didn't like them.

When he was twelve, he met his first ever friend. Casper already knew that the Royal Butler would be loyal. His father's own butler was very loyal to his master. Ralph had to be loyal to him. The start was rocky and bitter (Ralph didn't like him, Casper found it difficult to like Ralph too) but then they warmed up to each other.

Ralph wasn't half bad, really. He could be quite funny at times, but he was smart and proper enough for Casper to think that he was intelligent; that he deserved his spot next to him.

Ralph, Casper grew to love. Casper thought to himself that he would never grow bored of Ralph. Ralph would be a constant, steady interest in his life, always. Ralph understood him, Ralph knew him in the ways that so many other people didn't. Ralph understood that Casper was a broken individual, that he was shattered and objectively terrible and yet Ralph still liked him. Ralph still accepted him for who he was, and Casper fell in love with the idea of that, too.

When there is love, there is obsession. Casper thought that was how love worked. It was normal, wasn't it, to want to keep the person you love locked up, so they wouldn't want to run away. It was normal, wasn't it, to be terrifically jealous of other people talking to his beloved — it was normal, wasn't it, to want to get rid of people talking with Ralph — all Casper's life, he had always been reprimanded for moving on too fast, for tossing things away in a blink of an eye —

So was it so terrible to want to hold on to something? And that something — someone — it was Ralph. His butler. The one who had sworn loyalty to Casper. So yes, Casper did feel entitled. He did feel like he deserved this — that he deserved to love Ralph fully, even if it came with bearing his mottled, rotten soul and even if it meant being horrid.

Ralph would understand. Ralph had to understand. Ralph was the person who had been with him from the very start: their souls were wired for each other — they were meant for each other, and that's how things were meant to be.

The only thing — the only person — who got in the way was Sarah. Casper felt more than irritation when she saw the way Ralph relaxed when he spoke with her (was she that gentle, that tender, that Ralph could let down his defenses with her? Why was Ralph so tense with Casper? Why couldn't Ralph relax with him? What was so different about Sarah and Casper? One was a woman, one was a man, but did that make a difference in the grand scheme of things?)

Ralph loved Casper; it was so exceedingly obvious. So was it that hard to just show it? Did Ralph have to be so foolishly stubborn, so hard to please?

Absence did make the heart fonder. When Casper left for that business trip, he found himself pining for his butler, reflecting on his mistakes. He had been too pushy, he decided. Played around too much without a regard for Ralph's feelings. Casper was ready to repent, to get off his high horse, to love and to pursue a true relationship with Ralph —

But that engagement. That engagement — that cursed ring sitting on Ralph's finger where nothing had occupied it once. Casper didn't know how he had controlled himself from rushing out and killing Sarah then, but he had done it.

He had killed Sarah, even if it was after years and years — after decades of simmering anger. And he had caught the helpless look on Ralph's face and he had smiled. Sweet revenge, Casper thought, truly, it was sweet, darling revenge enacted against the one who had crumbled his walls before crumbling him.

Oh, yes.

Casper had been the one to murder Sarah in cold blood, and now he has framed it to look like his son had done it. What was done had been done: there was no looking back, and the curse was cemented, laid in stone.

You and his son were destined for failure.

—

As expected, Casper's butler suspected him. A few weeks after the funeral, Ralph finally looked at Casper and opened his mouth. Casper smiled sardonically. He expected the words to fall out of Ralph's lips, accusing and firm.

"Tell me, Casper, you killed her. You killed Sarah."

Casper relaxed. "Oh. You called me by my name during her funeral, too. You know how to get your way, don't you?"

There was resentment swarming on Ralph's eyes. Casper let it sink in, let it settle in. The hatred Ralph felt for him didn't affect him, not any longer. In any case, it was like a deserving punishment. Casper paid it no mind. If anything, he thought it was rather amusing. His expression was one of boredom and Ralph continued to speak.

"Why? You knew her. She, perhaps deserved many things, but she did not deserve death."

"She knew you loved me," Casper said, bored of this conversation already, "she knew I loved you. And yet she took advantage of those people's pleaser feelings and confessed to you. She broke the rule."

"But why now?" Ralph asked desperately, "why now, Your Majesty? Why did you have to kill her after all these years?"

Now that made Casper irritated. Did he really not know the answer? Did Ralph really forget that conversation a long time ago? Well, evidently, everything was insignificant to him.

He stared coldly at Ralph. "Do you remember what I told you long ago, the day you said that you would wed her? I said that I would kill her the moment you found happiness. I said that I would never forget."

"But you already have everything you want," Ralph found himself crumpling to the ground, "I was happy with you, and now you are single handedly destroying our own happiness."

"Because that was what you did, Ralph. Do you remember that you shattered our normalcy on that day?"

"And now you want to shatter our sons' happiness?" Ralph asked desperately, "why, Your Majesty, why?"

Casper looked at Ralph coldly. "I told you."

Ralph shook his head. "It was all carefully planned out, wasn't it? You told His Highness that Y/n's mother was ill, and that she would die at any time. You told His Highness that it was best that he visited her so that he could aid her to the palace, and surprise Y/n with her. And then when he went back from the visit, and returned to the palace to make the necessary preparations for Sarah's arrival, you killed her. Now His Highness thinks that Y/n's mother died because of an illness, and not because of you!"

Casper blinked. Of course. His dear butler, so very smart. So very intelligent. "How do you know all of that?"

"You are not the only one who can dig for details," said Ralph, and he looked defiantly at the Emperor.

"But it was Silas's fault for being so naive, so gullible, too," Casper shrugged loosely. He was smiling again. "It's strange. He is so intelligent, too. And besides, it was only a slight lie. Sarah had been sick. Not enough to kill her or he fatal, obviously, but it seems that the cold weather had been getting to her."

"Sarah's death has destroyed Y/n," Ralph whispered, "And Y/n's spiral — it will destroy His Highness, too. There is no one in the world who can piece the puzzle together feeling so distraught. One tends to believe the most desirable news that is passed to them."

"You sound so wise," Casper mocked. "You sound just like a caring father, when you know very well you're not."

"Guilt," Ralph whispered, paying Casper's words no mind, "if His Highness begins to suspect you, even for the slightest bit — his guilt will kill him. He will start to blame himself for falling prey to your schemes. He will start to see himself as the true perpetrator of Y/n's mother's death. And the human mind is a peculiar thing: it tends to defend itself from such things. Perhaps it's better that Silas never sees that you, in fact, were the killer. Perhaps it's better that the both of them never know that it was you."

"Silas was there the day Y/n's mother died. When Y/n finds out about that little detail," Casper said slowly, "what do you think will happen?"

"My son will believe that Silas killed his mother, even though it was you. Even if I tell him of the true culprit...have long shattered his trust. He will not believe me. And the cycle will repeat again. The cycle will..." Ralph trailed off.

The cycle would continue. It wasn't even a curse at this point, it was a vicious cycle. Ralph buried his hands on his hands.

"Casper, what did you do? You ruined everything."

Casper barked a sharp laugh. "And you ruined us, first."

—

everything is back to normal...? are they, really? wait to see and find out :) explored a little more of Casper this chapter; and sorry for the behemoth of an authors note you're about to see:

Obviously it was Casper, but either way MC and Silas will never know this. Silas didn't visit the mother to kill her, but to try to get her back to MC for her last moments. (Casper had told him a half truth, that the mother was dying soon). And voila, what a coincidence — the same day he visits, the mother dies, and Silas naively assumes that she had collapsed from her fatal illness.

MC...well, you'll see how things unfold for him and Silas (it'll happen later, not so fast yet), because the minute the rumors get out that Silas was there when the mother died...and all those disappearances...

It won't be pretty, but haha stay til the finish!

So yeah, both MC and Silas will be forever in oblivion of the true culprit, Casper. They'll attribute it to different things, which are subject to change.

This might not be a popular choice amongst readers for I know some of you are thinking that Casper is getting away with all of this — but well, I didn't want MC and Silas to be too busy on the route of revenge. And I would have liked to think that Sarah always expected this, and that she welcomed her fate with open arms. She managed to read and hold onto her child's journal as she died, so I think she was satisfied with that. Ralph is furious towards Casper, but again, he's expected that ever since that one conversation from a few chapters back when he told Casper of his engagement to Sarah.

So really, Allegiance is all about the typical growing up theme but also avoidance and how the smallest actions can cause a huge ripple. The curse is meant to show that somehow.

Hope everything was explained clearly! If you're asking why Silas doesn't know or figure out it's his father who killed MC's mother, it's already explained above. And besides, whatever lingering questions you have will be explained in the story eventually. (etc: what will happen to MC and Silas? How will the misunderstanding be solved? Is MC going to blame Silas, and is Silas going to clear his own name and explain?) I've planned it so that no questions are unanswered, so if you have a question, just be a little patient to see how things unfold.

Thank you for all the support so far! See you in the next chapter and don't forget to vote on the chapter!

how was it?