a/n; don't be a silent reader! remember to vote and comment as it always motivates me!

—

Your throat was dry as you heard your mother's pleas.

"I promised Silas," you murmured, swallowing, "I'm sorry, Mother. I can't abandon my work here. I've sacrificed too much. I've spent too much time here. I simply cannot leave."

"You have no idea, Y/n," your mother rasped out, "you have no idea at all. What you are doing will kill you. The palace will rot your soul and spit your carcass right out. It will —"

"—Kill me, like it killed my father," you finished off, closing your eyes. "You've said those words numerous times, even when I was young. Even during arguments."

"Do you not see His Highness, Y/n? His Highness is dangerously close to you. When you were younger, I thought you had made a normal friend. A fellow servant. But as it turns out, it was the prince."

"What's wrong with befriending the prince?" You stilled, "there's nothing wrong at all. Are you about to nag at me about the hierarchy between the two of us, like Father did? Even now, he still insists that I call Silas His Highness."

"He's advising you to take a distance," your mother told you. "He can see it too — he can see how His Highness is attached to your hip. It's — it's insidious, Y/n. Obsession rarely has a good ending."

You blinked your eyes and laughed good naturedly. "Obsession is a bit of a strong word, no? He's thirteen, Mother. I had a strong attachment to stupid trinkets at that time."

"Maybe you can't see it because you're on the receiving end of it," Your mother said quietly, "but it's blatantly obvious. His Highness can't live without you. And it's to an unhealthy degree."

You were puzzled. Was that not a good thing? Why was it worded like it was something bad? Why did she say that Silas's love for you extended to an unhealthy degree? You certainly loved Silas, but it was nothing strange nor foreboding. It was nothing unhealthy.

"I can't live without him, either." You replied.

"Yes, but you aren't — you aren't dangerously obsessed, like he is. I've seen those maniacal eyes before, dark and sweet and crazed — and the story did not have a happy ending. I implore you, Y/n, consider my advice." Your mother said in a pained tone, "think of returning home with me."

You stayed silent for a little while. "Are you asking me to return because you fear Silas, or is it because you genuinely want me back?"

You had noticed that people were slightly terrified of Silas. Which to you, was odd. But you supposed that normal people were bound to be intimidated by people in power. And in this case, they were bound to be intimidated by Silas, who would, in the future, become their Emperor.

"Both, my sweet son," your mother swallowed, "both. You have no idea how much I missed you when you were away."

"Is that so?" You smiled, giving a loose shrug. "Well, how about this: I stay in the palace, but I visit you occasionally. That's pretty doable, no?"

"But you'll still be in the palace," your mother pointed out.

"And I'll still be visiting and seeing you, so you'll have one of your wishes come true. Your more important wish, I sincerely hope."

"...Okay," your mother nodded her head, seemingly accepting her defeat. "But make sure His Highness doesn't grow too dependent on you, Y/n. I understand that it's your job, after all, to stick by his side — but there are..."

Limits. Boundaries. Problems. Those were the words that your mother wanted to say, but they got caught in her throat instead. After all, hadn't she lived this reality before? Hadn't she seen the same neediness and greediness displayed by the Emperor when it came to Ralph?

And now it was unfolding in front of her eyes again. Your mother was determined to ensure that you, her son, would not fall prey to the prince.

"I understand," you said softly. "Well, I suppose you're going now. This has been a very enlightening talk. I'll visit you soon."

"Please do," your mother patted you on your shoulder. "Thank you, Y/n. For giving me another chance. I'm sorry. I'm truly and sincerely sorry for everything."

You gave her a tight hug, smiling. "I know."

You found yourself glad that she visited, and it put you in high spirits.

Unhealthy degree? You wondered, deep in thought, I suppose I'll have to observe Silas to see what my mother means.

—

You found Silas plucking off the bristles from a hairbrush when you returned. The curtains were pushed to the side, and it gave you a view of the spectacular weather and the balcony.

"You must have been bored waiting," you said, amused. "I'll have to get a maid to replace your hairbrush."

Silas stayed silent, continuing to pluck off the bristles in a mechanical manner. His eyes flickered to yours.

"What did you talk to your mother about?"

You shrugged. "I don't know. I just updated her on some things that happened in my life, and she did the same. Simple catching up, really."

"...Really?" Silas asked, "did you two talk about what your father mentioned?"

"What?"

"Your father was asking you whether you would leave," Silas said, the intensity of his tone startling you — "and knowing your mother, she must have sweet talked you into leaving. So I want you to confirm that you aren't leaving, Y/n."

You blinked your eyes. "Where is this coming from?"

"Well, why aren't you answering the question?" Silas furrowed his eyebrows. "It's a yes or no question, Y/n."

Why was he so worked up? Why did Silas seem so strange? Had he heard rumors, by any chance? You had noticed that the palace had gone abuzz about your parent's divorce, and some speculated that you were returning home. And your mother's visit probably stirred the pot and made them all the more suspicious, leading to unwanted rumours.

You exhaled. "Well, I'm not leaving, per se, but my mother and I arranged this little thing where I'll visit her and leave —"

"Leave?" Silas repeated in disbelief, his laugh cutting you off. You flinched. "You are going to leave?"

"Only temporarily, though," you tried to explain, but Silas seemed like he was already spiraling down into madness.

He interrupted you. "You're leaving? You're —"

"Silas."

"Oh, fuck," Silas spat, "I knew it. I shouldn't have kept her alive. I knew she would poison you against me. I knew she would start spouting nonsense. I knew —"

I shouldn't have kept her alive. Anger surged through you — you felt the sudden urge to slap Silas, but you didn't. Unfortunately, you were the kind of person to crave connection so badly; so intensely: so maddeningly — that when it came to people you loved, you would give them your entire soul. You would forgive them over and over again regardless of what they said. You would forgive them until you lost yourself completely.

You knew Silas was referring to your mother. Silas had misinterpreted the situation out of his paranoia — but he had downright admitted to you that he wanted to kill your mother.

You closed your eyes and let out a weary sigh. "Look, Silas, you've misunderstood me."

"Do you know what the whole palace is saying? They are saying that it's a foregone conclusion that you'll leave me."

You used your fingers to massage your forehead, a headache starting to form. You slowly opened your eyes, ready to meet Silas's own, but a horrific mess greeted you instead.

You wanted to vomit.

You saw the trail of blood first. Red, scorching, maddening blood — bursting from beneath his skin in great droves, completely staining his clothes. Blood poured from Silas's nose and burst from his lips, dripping through his gums and teeth.

In his recklessness, Silas has found the closest sharp object and had brought it right to his chest.

It was like a mirror scene to the day you had aided the gardener, except this was ten times worse. Silas had practically plunged the unassuming scissors straight into his stomach, and a maniacal, crazed smile donned his face.

He was barefoot on the balcony. You could not tear your eyes away from the sight of Silas's blood-stained feet, smudging the beautiful floor of the balcony and leaving a trail of crimson in his wake.

The word stilled around you. You let out a strangled gasp, eyes flitting over to meet Silas's.

He stabbed himself, you thought in horror, he stabbed himself, all because he misinterpreted my words and thought I was leaving.

He...

No. That wasn't the main issue now. The main issue was that Silas was hurt. Silas was wounded badly, and he was losing blood. His face was already growing pale, and his breaths were becoming ragged.

You had known he was attached to you, but to be this —

"Silas!" You yelled, rushing up to him and clasping his shoulders. You forced him to look directly into your eyes. "What the fuck was that? What the fuck —" you cut yourself short as you pushed him down into the floor, hastily unbuttoning his clothes. And there, in plain sight, was a grotesque, deep wound. You gritted your teeth and blanched at the sight, bile rising up in your throat. 

"I thought you promised, Y/n," Silas gasped out, smiling as blood dropped from his mouth, "you promised. You promised that you would stay with me forever. But you aren't. You're leaving me."

"Stop talking," you managed, frantically tearing a piece of fabric from your clothes to stem the bleeding. Silas hissed slightly when you pressed the fabric down onto his wound, trying desperately to minimise the bleeding. "Are you crazy?"

"Perhaps," Silas was still smiling. "It feels so good, Y/n, to have your attention all on me."

Silas was dangerously obsessed with you. Your mother was right. His love for you extends to an unhealthy degree, Y/n, was what she had said. Silas was only thirteen — who knew what kind of things would happen if you allowed this to continue into the later years? To be fair, you were his only friend for years. The only person he had, really. And you had always taken great pride in that, but now you were horrified by it.

Silas had stabbed himself at the mere thought of you leaving.

"Keep quiet," you whispered, your voice more harsh than you had intended it to be. "Stay here. I'm going to stem the bleeding first, before I try to heal you. But for a wound as stupidly deep as this — I warn you, Silas. Stay here. I'm going to call for a servant in case I can't heal you fully."

You were about to swivel around before a hand grabbed your wrist. You would have expected Silas's grip to be weak, for he was so injured now, but no —he was monstrously strong. His gaze was piercing and his eyes bored into yours as he said in a low tone, "no."

You looked at him incredulously. "No to what? Are you even hearing yourself, Silas?"

"Do not leave," Silas enunciated the last word, "do not leave, Y/n. You promised me."

"So? You're injured, for heaven's sake."

"You usually fuss and baby over me over a tiny paper cut. You are supposed to adore me," Silas told you brokenly, "but look. You're leaving now —"

"I still love you, Silas! I'm leaving because I need to get help for you! A paper cut is nothing compared to this —" you gritted your teeth. "Fuck, Silas, what the hell were you thinking? Of course my reactions would be vastly different — you can die. You know that, right? You can die, Silas. So let go of me."

"No."

"Silas."

"Not until you say it," Silas persisted stubbornly. You were sickened by the sheer amount of blood matted on his attire. "Not until you say you won't leave me. Not until you look at me with that same tenderness and gentleness you always looked at me with."

You softened. "You do know how much I love you, Silas."

"But why, Y/n? Why does it seem like I love you more than you love me? Why does it seem like I'm the only one who needs you? You said you would never leave. You promised, Y/n. You—"

"Do you think I'm angry? Because yes, Silas, I am. You cannot be so reckless. So careless with yourself. How can I afford to be calm and tender and gentle now? I'm worried out of my mind, Silas. I'm worried as fuck. You are the only person I have left, and if you die by your own foolishness, then..."

Tears slipped down your cheek. You wanted to crawl into the ground, compress yourself into a tightly coiled ball. You wanted to break down there and cry; sob; demand — why would you do this, Silas? Why? You wanted to do what Silas wanted you to do — you knew he wanted you to cradle him, to hold him, to be tender with his wounds and kiss his cheek — but the situation and your anxiety simply didn't allow for those things.

"I won't die." Silas murmured.

"You don't know that," your jaw grew taut. "This is a wound that even my level of healing cannot afford to repair completely. The tissues are completely destroyed. I need to get your help."

"Say it, Y/n," Silas said as he coughed out blood, "say you will never leave me."

"I won't leave," you said, the words ripping out of your throat. You felt the way his fingernails dug into his skin, clawing against your palm and wrist. He was desperate: he was so very desperate. "I won't, so let go."

You were lying. You didn't know if Silas could sense it.

You had to. You had to leave. You had to allow Silas to grow to be more independent. You had to break this attachment, somehow, for the better of both of you. You would be doing Silas a misfavor if you left.

It was concerning, really, that you only truly realized Silas's obsessive love for you when he got hurt. Even though you knew the things that Silas did behind closed doors, you ignored them, greedy for his love. You had condoned his actions — you had enabled him to a startling degree. And perhaps this would continue if you didn't separate from him now. And even then, even if you did leave temporarily— you could see yourself always taking Silas's side. You could see yourself continuing to support his vicious actions; continuing to fuss over him, continuing to spoil him.

The only reason why you were angry with Silas now was because he had been hurt in the process. You suspected that if someone else had been involved in this — if someone else had been hurt instead of him — you wouldn't have cared as much.

Silas has grown dependent on you.

But one factor that your mother had failed to consider was that you too, had grown incredibly dependent on him.

"Cradle me," Silas whispered, "hold me. You always do that, Y/n. You comfort me. You —"

You wrenched your hand from his and raced towards the door, wringing it open.

"Get medical help!" You screamed, "His Highness is injured! Get the healers here! Get —" you gave a soft sigh of relief when you saw how quickly the servants reacted. They had heard the commotion from outside, and were already ready to combat it. A maid sped off to get help while the others looked anxiously at you.

"Y/n, are you alright? You're drenched in blood. Are you—" one servant asked you.

"It's not mine," you gritted out. "Where the fuck are the healers? Get them here. Get — oh, screw it. I think I'm going to find them myself."

You were about to push the servant away and to run off yourself, but Silas's feeble, reckless tone made you halt in your steps.

"Y/n," Silas breathed out shakily, "if you take one step further, I'll throw myself off this balcony."

"Now's not the time to make such distasteful jokes."

You were barely looking at Silas. Your neck was craned towards the corridor, gesturing wildly for the healers to quicken their pace. You wondered if your father and the Emperor could hear all this ruckus: all that stampeding of feet, all that hustle and bustle. You wondered if they could hear the steady trickle of blood falling onto the ground, or your shouts and tears.

You turned to look back again, and Silas had dragged himself up, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

"Silas," you whispered, "don't. Don't do this to me. This — Silas, this is madness."

"Don't leave."

"I won't," You said anxiously, walking slowly towards him. "Step away from there, Silas. I'm here. I'm with you. I'm —"

You reached out to him slowly, your fingers grazing his skin. You caught the way Silas's body seemed to grow limp and still at your touch, and watched as he visibly relaxed and gave a quiet exhale. Your hands moved towards his hair, and you entangled your fingers in his tresses.

Silas was at your mercy. Silas had grown completely and utterly dependent on you, such that a single caress and flicker of your touch was enough to render him defenseless.

Why does it seem like I love you more than you love me? Oh, what a blessing it was to have someone love you with such raw, vulnerable, beautiful emotions. What a blessing it was to have someone love you so deeply that they would die without you — what a blessing it was to be someone's first choice. And yet what a shackle, what a curse for the giver. Look — that very love had resulted into this mess.

"It's okay," your voice trembled, "I'm sorry for shouting at you earlier, Silas. It must hurt a lot, right? I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Silas."

"You didn't hurt me," Silas said weakly.

"I know. But the idea of me leaving must have been terrible, right? I understand. If you left me, I would have been heartbroken." You cooed softly. You were still angry at Silas — more horrified by his actions than everything — but yes, perhaps it had been your fault. Perhaps you had been too greedy and selfish with him: perhaps you had made him this way. For now, it would be better to indulge him one last time, before you left him. He wanted soft, sweet, tender words, you would give them to him. You could never be too angry with Silas. He was too dear to you. And now you had spoiled him rotten and had effectively destroyed him.

A few years. Maybe you would leave for a few years. That would be the best scenario, no? You would write him a short, sweet letter, and go home with your mother. Your earlier plan had been to visit your mother only occasionally, but seeing how Silas had responded to the need of you leaving —

How dangerous. Who knew what kind of thing could balloon from here?

"I don't know what I would do without you, Y/n. You cannot leave me here," Silas murmured, "you can't. I'll die without you. I'll —"

"Shh," you cradled Silas like a child. You cradled him the way eight year old you would have cradled six year old Silas, whispering sweet nothings to him. "The healers are coming soon. Your wound isn't as bad anymore, for I have stemmed the bleeding and have performed the basic healing process. Just rest well."

"Will you stay?"

"Until you get healed."

"So you are leaving," Silas said quietly, so quietly you had to strain your ears to hear him — "you are leaving, Y/n. Is it because of your mother? Your father? The divorce? Oh, Y/n, why is it that I have to love you more than you love me?"

"Please don't say things like that," you swallowed, "I adore you, Silas. This is for the greater good. Stabbing yourself — threatening to kill yourself — do you not see what's so warped about this whole situation?"

"I thought you dreamt of being loved. And now that I've fulfilled the dream, do you mean to say that you're discarding me?"

"Discarding!" You repeated, "don't talk nonsense. I love you, Silas. I'll say it again: you are so very dear and precious to me."

"Then I don't get it. I love you; you love me. Why must you leave?"

You marveled at the fact that Silas was able to speak even when he was so badly wounded. Was it out of willpower, or was it simply the magnificent royal blood coursing through his veins? You knew that Silas was powerful — delightfully, terrifically powerful — and that he would be one of the most influential emperors in history, if you played your cards right. But for now, an Emperor who was so emotionally dependent on someone would be far too dangerous.

This was your role as the Butler. Your supposed birthright. You were meant to ensure that the future Emperor stayed in line. That was what you were doing. Silas was still your master above anything else. To have him so dependent on you — it just wouldn't do.

"I am your cherished friend, Silas," you told him. "But I am also your servant. And this servant desperately wants to keep you safe. From —"

"But you've always condoned everything I did. You barely batted an eye when I told you plainly of my bloodthirsty thoughts."

"Because this involves you!" You couldn't help but raise your voice a little, "this involves you, Silas. This is you getting hurt, this is you threatening to kill yourself, this is you spiraling. Do you know how much it's killing me to see you like this? You're thirteen, Silas. You're young; you have your whole life in front of you. I, too, have my whole life right in front of me. And if you think I'm going to allow you to mindlessly hurt yourself and go about all suicidal just because I'm leaving, think again. This is unhealthy, Silas — you're too attached to me. Too dependent on me."

"I thought you loved that." Silas said brokenly.

"I do. Not at your expense. Never at your expense. Oh, my darling prince...can't you see? You're covered in blood. You're all hurt," you said sorrowfully, "why must you do this to yourself? Why are you so wretched at the news that I'm leaving?"

"Don't," Silas kept repeating over and over again. "Don't, Y/n. Please. I beg of you."

Silas looked like he was in agony, but not because of his wounds. A shattered heart. You had just broken his heart, and now he was forced to survive in exquisite agony. All you could do was caress Silas's hair as the healers rushed to his side, appalled by the sheer merciless power of the stab. Silas had not just grazed himself — oh, no, that was too simple — he had deliberately, consciously, and viciously stabbed himself.

"None of you guys are to utter a word," you murmured. "His Highness got hurt by an assassin."

Again, you were lying. The healers knew you were lying. But they did not dare to say a single word.

"Careful, now," you gingerly pushed Silas away slowly, so that the healers could attend to him. "Don't move too much."

Silas wanted to vomit the moment the healer touched his skin to examine his wound. Dirty, he thought, so dirty. So filthy. Silas hated it when other people touched him. To him, other people looked like faceless, meaningless blobs all swarming around him with distaste. He wanted your touch, and your touch alone. He wanted your warmth; your hugs; your precious smiles.

But most of all, Silas wanted you to stay. His first friend. His everything. Oh, those three years without you had been torturous. How was Silas even going to endure your perpetual absence? What would fill the bottomless pit of the empty void? You had created a heart shaped hole in his chest.

Until you get healed, Silas. That was what you had said. If so, Silas would be sure to tear his wound open and to let it fester, so that it would remain bleeding forever. And even if it recovered, a mottled, jagged scar would take its place. You would see this scar, and you would remember not to leave his side.

He had been right earlier. Silas really should have tied you up. And now Silas was aching to kill your mother.

Silas remembered that just yesterday you had looked at him with warmth, but now all he felt was coldness. The pain was lost on him, but you had never raised your voice at him before. You had never spoken to him so harshly, then so gently. Silas knew this came from a place of concern, but he just...

Silas clung onto you for warmth. His bloodied hand reached yours, and he clasped it tightly.

You didn't move. You allowed him to stay, as the healers worked on his wound and fussed over him.

You exhaled.

Your mother was right.

It was better to leave.

—

casper and ralph scenes soon — apologies if this scene was messy or badly written, I was pretty busy so I wrote different bits on different days lol. not to satisfied with this chapter but I don't see how else I would have or could have written it

but yeah after like 80k words here we are! y/n realizes the extent of Silas's unhealthy obsession and has a plan to leave so as to reduce that obsession. but we all know that's gonna backfire

almost 200k reads! what a blessing thank u

how was it?