a/n; don't be a silent reader! hope everyone enjoys and please do comment down your thoughts! wowee seems I'll be averaging 3k+ words for each chapter unlike my usual 2k

—

Your first day alone felt unreal.

You woke up the next day feeling impossibly lonely. Clearly, you hadn't kept to schedule, for it must have been late afternoon when you woke up from your sleep. You found that yesterday's late night sleep hadn't been pleasant.

Cold seeped into your skin as you wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, teeth chattering and body shivering. You could hear the conversation that your mother and father were having outside in small blips. Their voices were rising.

"Of course you would be happier after you spent time with the Emperor."

"You and I weren't supposed to marry," came your father's voice, "we —"

"Maybe I wouldn't be so bothered if not for the fact that you had said you loved me!"

A clatter of the plates and then a shattering of metal. You winced. You didn't get what they were talking about, but you certainly understood that your parents were furious at each other. You rolled over to your side and stayed in bed, having no inclination to get up. A heavy feeling settled within you as you realized that there would be nothing to look forward to — Silas and you had been separated.

You had wanted to write about Silas in your journal. You had wanted to write about the discovery that Silas was the crown prince. You couldn't deny that you felt betrayed, but you needed and wanted someone to love so desperately that you had shoved it under the rug. Instead, you focused on your feelings of excitement that Silas would be the one that you would serve. That Silas would be your friend and your master.

Three years. Three years was such an imperceptibly long period of time. And it would be three years in which your blood, sweat, and tears would be shed. Three years of working yourself to the bone and hoping to retain whatever happiness you could hope to save.

After staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, you dragged yourself from your bed to wash up and change. You entered the dining room, pretending not to notice how the yelling ceased. It was funny how your parents thought they were protecting you by not raising their voices at you, but they easily forgot that you could hear everything easily. If anything, you would rather them continue the fight. It would, at least, fill the suffocating silence.

"Y/n!" Your mother smiled at you, reaching out to you to hug you. "Did you have a lovely sleep? You slept in, didn't you? You're nine now. Well, it's unofficial, but..."

You hugged her back, feeling her frail arms envelop you. Her breath smelled like wine, and soon, you drew back. "Yeah," you lied, "I dreamt really well! There was you and Daddy in the dream, and Silas..."

You were lying through your teeth by now. But you wanted so desperately to withhold the image that you were supposed to have — a cheerful, jubilant, naive child. And in hindsight that was who you were. You were naive. You were a child. And you had been cheerful. But now the gloomy air hung in the air and pierced your soul.

"That's good," your mother cleared her throat. "You'll be glad to know that I've bought some mangoes. They're back in season."

Mangoes. The first time you had met Silas, that was what you had offered him.

"That's great," you mustered up your excitement. "I'll eat it later!"

Your mother's face dropped. She could sense that you didn't care much for them — well, you did, for they were your favorite fruit, but in light of your separation with Silas, it would take a while for you to return back to normal.

"Okay. I'll cut them into pieces and pack them into a container first," your mother smiled. She busied herself with that, whilst your father glanced at you.

"Training starts today, Y/n."

"I know."

"I have some errands to run in the palace, so eat your late lunch first and I'll be back."

"Palace?" You looked at him anxiously. "I want to go, Daddy! I want to see Silas! I want —"

"No," your father flatly refused. "You are not going there."

"That's not fair!" You crossed your arms. "You're going. You've always brought me. I don't see why I can't go—"

"I'm helping you," your father interrupted. "I'm keeping you away from a lifetime of misery that you'll have if you and His Highness get too close. You must call him by his title soon, and not his name."

"Lifetime?" You echoed. "But — you always seem happy when you return from the palace these few days. You used to hate the Emperor, but now it seems..."

A year back, it was true that your father's mood would sour immensely whenever he visited the palace and served the Emperor. But now his mood had lightened and he didn't seem to care much about it anymore. You thought back to the initials on the bark — hadn't it been made by the Emperor and your father?

"I saw what you carved," you said at last, seeing how your father had been stricken momentarily silent — "on the tree. Silas and I saw it."

Your father stiffened. "I have no recollection of that."

"R and C?" You persisted stubbornly. "The initials you carved? We saw it."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Don't you like playing? Go out and do whatever you want whilst I go to the palace."

Playing wasn't fun by yourself anymore. You had grown too accustomed to having a playmate, and now you found that everything was boring by yourself. You could not even eat without being reminded of Silas's constant presence next to you. But still, with your father's orders, you slinked to the backyard of your house and lay there, mirthless.

About an hour passed as you simply sprawled there. There was a beautiful sunset, and swiftly, for the briefest moment of time — you turned to your side.

"Look, Silas —" you said softly, turning to your side. Disappointment swelled in you. There was no one there, and you had simply done that out of pure reflex. "Oh. I forgot. Now this is embarrassing."

You hoped no one had seen this sight. Lazing around there had taken you back to the times when you and Silas would lay silently, watching the sky and pointing out oddly shaped clouds. And now, with the silence that stretched in the air, you had forgotten that Silas was absent.

You never knew boredom until now — before you had met Silas, you had thought that you had the privilege of having such a huge backyard to fool around in. And yet the backyard could not even be compared to a place such as the palace's gardens. There was nothing to explore, no swings to sit on, no lakes to splash in. You picked mindlessly at the tall weeds, your mind wandering off.

It was like those moments with Silas had been a dream. Like a bright ray of sunshine that was now gone. You were sure that you would soon get over it — recover from it, if you will — but for now, you simply had to deal with your current predicament. Deal with your parent's fighting. Deal with everything. Deal with the training that was sure to kill your soul a little inside. Though your father seemed kinder, kindness had a limit when it came to obligatory training.

Perhaps it wasn't just Silas you missed. Looking at the big picture, Silas had given you a lot of things — friendship, companionship, someone to confide in. And for a child as lonely as you, those things had been a godsend. Even the palace had offered you freedom — there was a certain kind of joy that you managed to get from tearing through the fields with careless abandon, allowing your loud shrieks to carry over in the breeze. There was freedom in running away, and yet no freedom in being confined to one place.

The palace had given you your childhood, and now your home would rip it away.

"Elias..." you mumbled under your breath. "I miss him, too."

You wondered if Elias would have forgotten you by the time you met him again. Would Silas become his favorite, or even worse — would Silas get rid of the magic bird? He probably wouldn't have the time to take care of Elias, would he?

And then there was the glaring fact that Silas was the crown prince. That essentially, he had lied to you. In the heat of the moment, admittedly, you had been delighted — relieved, even — at the prospect of your future master being your friend. And you were still a child, and innocent enough to overlook all the other concerning circumstances. But now, with nothing better to do, you forced yourself to think: what else had Silas lied to you about?

You couldn't deny the fact that he had lied. No matter what reasoning he had, Silas had lied to your face. Well, on the other hand, six year olds were bound to spin some yarns and tell some fibs. You had lied to your mother countless times, hadn't you? Claiming you didn't have your dessert just so you could get more. You suspected your mother always knew, but she would give in easily to your demands.

You deflated as you realized how lying about a cookie simply did not compare to lying about something as important as being crown prince. Why, now you were mortified! Had you not boasted countless of times to Silas, telling him that you were of an important position? That you were the future Butler? And look — Silas was going to be the future Emperor!

Why, that...

You grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it in the air towards the rough direction of the palace.

"Hmph," you said childishly, "that's for you."

The blob of dirt fell down a few meters away. Your cheeks pinkened, and you told yourself to work on your arm strength.

Silas would have teased you if he had seen it, and would have probably thrown the clump of dirt further than you. You would have grown envious, and yet Silas would still teach you. He was impossibly patient with you, and for that, you were grateful.

You bit your lip as your heart squeezed.

They said absence made the heart fonder. You agreed. Now even as you were stupidly angry at Silas (not angry, per se, but annoyed and embarrassed), the truth was, you were still thinking of him. Missing his presence. Inserting him into your daily moments of your life and wondering how he would react if you managed to shove five slices of apple in your mouth.

You hoped Silas was thinking of you too.

—

Life, for Silas now, was terribly dull.

Dreadful, even, as the palace was not a home anymore. Where would he run to, when his home was no longer a home without you? Or perhaps Silas's home had been a person — you. The palace had been a home briefly, when you had existed. At least then, he had something to look forward to.

Secretly, Silas hoped that his absence would haunt you. That for these three years, you would be miserable with him gone. He wanted you to suffer as much as he was now — Silas would not have found it fair if you managed to live on easily like he never existed. Like the two of you hadn't been friends.

Sickening. His life was sickening. It was not good for a seven year old to harbor such thoughts, and yet Silas was not an ordinary seven year old. His mind worked alarmingly quickly and deftly, and like you, he had an uncanny sense of the world. Forced to be independent and wary at a young age, Silas had grown twisted and warped. Killing had become a normality — and Silas did not bat an eye. If anything, his friendship with you only taught him how to hide well. How to deceive you.

He had wanted to be loved more than he had wanted to be alive. And now you were gone, and Silas felt the familiar dread inch its way into his heart.

Silas stopped by the gardens at times during the day, but it felt so hollow without your presence that even the hiding spot you two hid in seemed to mock him too. Some of the grass was still flattened with how you two had sprawled on it the previous day, and Silas felt bitter anger at this.

He did not like you leaving him.

Even if it was something that would be a worthy investment — even if your training meant that you would serve Silas and be endlessly loyal to him — Silas did not like the thought of you leaving, not one bit.

He kept Elias in a beautiful golden cage. In hindsight, the seeds of a certain anxiety had been planted. Elias wilted under your absence despite Silas feeding him well and caring for him. He let the bird out to fly occasionally, but Elias refused.

Silas wondered how you were faring.

He hoped you were in despair, just like he was.

(And yet another part of him wished tenderly for you to be happy and sweet, forever cheerful.)

—

The days went by, and the training grew more and more rigorous. The required poison dosage had increased and you found yourself hacking out blood at times, your trachea raw and your lungs screaming for air. In some weeks you would find the pain so crippling that you could have collapsed.

Your eyes burned. Your father's words were gentle at times, but his actions were not. Your energy was so little that you could not muster up the strength to even mutter simple greetings to your mother. As a result, she shied away from you, almost seeming terrified at what you were becoming.

At who you were becoming.

What you didn't know was that your mother had been a cold woman before you were born. Motherhood had made her tender. People had said before that she was lovely, cheerful, and sweet — but known to very few, before you, your mother had not been a kind hearted woman.

You take after your mother, your father had said before. And even your relatives had said that you inherited Sarah's disposition.

You learned that that wasn't true. You had inherited your father's personality. He had been cheerful, jubilant, and naive like you once. Upon discovery of an old photo album, worn with age, you had seen pictures of your mother and father. While you had your mother's face, it had sickened you to see the same expressions that your father had worn.

Motherhood, meanwhile, softened your mother. She was glad to have someone to cherish, someone to love. Evidently, she still loved you dearly, but she did not know how to approach you in those times of your life, even when you so desperately wanted — needed — the love of someone to keep you anchored.

There had been an awkward night when it had been just the two of you. She had been washing the dishes whilst you were studying.

You tried to start a topic. Her touches were still sweet, gentle, and yet you wanted her to speak.

"Daddy sure works late, doesn't he?" You asked hopefully.

A pause. "Yes, darling. He does."

"I wonder why. I hear you two talking about the Emperor —"

Your mother seemed to become a little hysterical at the mention of the Emperor. She went into a trance.

"I've had the misfortune of loving a man who doesn't love me properly. I've had the misfortune of loving a man who cannot fully love me." Your mother murmured under her breath. "Do not bring up the Emperor again."

Fully. Did that mean that at least some part of your father's heart belonged to your mother? And who was the other person?

"But —" you tried desperately — "Daddy does. He loves you."

You were trying to convince yourself.

"Perhaps for a while, he did." Then your mother's eyes widened and she started to realize the enormity of the situation — "oh, sweetie. What was I thinking telling all of this to a nine year old? Come here, sweetie."

You went into her arms gladly. They were cold. You bled warmth to her.

"I love you, Mommy," you said meekly.

You held your breath, but she did not say it back.

She merely cradled you, like you were her lifeline.

"I don't know what I would do without you," was all she said instead.

You felt strange that day.

—

Your father was a man with many things that plagued his mind.

Casper — the Emperor — was the master he served. He was completely loyal to him — your father did not have any other choice, even with the things that he had been forced to do. Yet from an innocent friendship, it had morphed into something more insidious. The past year and a half had been deceptively calm — your father had allowed himself to loosen and relax, hence his softening personality towards you — but now your father found it stifling once more. While he allowed himself to be more tender to you, his feelings of anxiety were piling up once more.

And of course, your father owed those tumultuous feelings to one person.

"You know," Casper said casually, sipping a cup of tea that your father had poured. The Emperor wouldn't have it any other way. My son is growing out of control. It's getting annoying to cover up the bodies."

Your father paused. "I wonder who he learnt that from."

"You jest," Casper said mirthlessly.

"You don't care about your kid."

"And you do?"

"I care about him more than you care about His Highness, Your Majesty. I say this with all due respect."

"You're growing bold," Casper murmured, "in front of me. Perhaps I've been indulging you a little too much. Perhaps I've been too lenient considering how docile you've been. Must I pluck your feathers from you once more and render you a flightless bird?"

"Your Majesty," your father said in a strangled voice.

"I simply don't care about Silas. I admit that. And I thought you would not care about Y/n, but you do. Even if you love him with the grace of a beast — even if you show your love in a rough, careless way — you still love him. I thought we were supposed to have the mutual understanding that we would not form families."

"And yet we both did."

"You formed a family you grew attached to."

Your father thought of his wife and you. He had loved Sarah. He still did, though now it was barely a flicker. And yet your mother was right — his heart was not fully hers to claim, and with the stern way he treated you along with that factor, the relationship between his wife and him had soured.

"I don't know."

"I told you loving her would only bring misery."

"Misery that you brought, Your Majesty."

Casper's eyes gleamed. "I see. You're miserable serving me, aren't you?"

"..." Your father looked away.

"Why? Are you still envious of me, of my abilities? Even when we were friends, you were always so jealous of me," Casper said flippantly.

Your father stiffened. "Your Majesty, you do know that was only a small factor of everything that happened between us."

"Ah," Casper said silkily, "or was it the fact that I—"

"Please," your father murmured, "don't. Stop."

Casper did. He seemed to take pleasure in his butler's clearly uncomfortable expression. "Your wife thinks you talk so badly of me because you hate me. While that's partially true...by your actions, I am led to think that you try to convince yourself to hate me, when you truly can't. But the truth is, you hate yourself for what you feel towards me, don't you?"

"Your Majesty." Your father gritted his teeth.

"Let's see...we met at twelve, didn't we? Our children had the luxury of meeting at such a young age. Granted, your son is older than mine."

Your father stayed silent. The Emperor looked amused. "They will grow up like us, don't you think?"

Your father inhaled sharply.

"If your son looked like you, I might have been kinder," Casper murmured. "But no. He looked like the spitting image of that woman."

Your father felt that the Emperor was wrong. He claimed that you were the spitting image of your mother, and yet when he saw you, all he could see was reminders of himself.

Your father looked away. He answered the Emperor's question belatedly.

"I hope they don't become like us, Your Majesty."

—

Your father continued to train you. His relationship with the Emperor...it was undefinable — and after that conversation, your father did not dare to bring up such topics anymore. That topic was precarious and forbidden, to say the least.

You suffered more and grew quieter, more soft. You remained cheerful and bright in some aspects, but you had certainly toned down.

Your mother's relationship with you stayed on shaky grounds, but it was enough. You two acknowledged the mutual affection you had for each other — though you still missed her dearly. You missed the easy relationship you once shared, and yet you chalked it all to growing up. Wasn't growing up such a double edged sword? Such a misery?

Silas grew wilder. No one could deal with him. Once called childish tantrums, it was clear that his murdering could no longer be called a wilful rebellion from a young child. Oh, no — it held vicious, menacing intent.

Baby tooth fell out. Legs grew sturdier. Hearts grew heavier.

The years started to pass by, and soon you turned twelve.

—

and yes!! finally!!! The major timeskip is coming soon, sorry all for the horribly long wait! there's still so many ages to go through before the big stuff... but so fun!

here's a tiny emperor + dad crumb. do what you want with it!

hope everyone enjoyed!! technically this is act one finale but again there's no acts here soo.... 40k words! a nice amount haha. in my other fics one act would only be 20k words but this fic is me actually enjoying writing so.. not to say I don't enjoy writing other fics but this one is especially fun

remember to vote on the chapter! how was it?