Chapter 42 – Day 16, Part 2: Fame & Fortune

Chapter 42: Day 16, Part 2 – Fame and Fortune

“So, how did you do it?”

I outsmarted her. Simple as that.

“Ooh ooh! What tactics did you use?”

Misdirection. The rest came from sheer talent.

“I bet they had no chance!”

Mm. It was not even close. These scratches are from the bumpy ride home, not the battle.

“So cool…”

Yes. I know.

“You didn’t even deliver the final blow!”

Ricinus coughed abruptly.

The noise reverberated against the cave walls with as much force as a falling Gigalith. So loud and scratchy that it made his ears ring.

Or maybe they were already ringing. Panic attacks often worked like that.

The Sylveon, with his ribbons slung across his chest like wet rags, leaned up against a dimly lit wall as he caught his breath. It was not often that Ricinus cursed the cruel god that granted him fur, but it was in moments like this where he wished he could willingly rip it all off.

And perhaps his skin, too. Maybe then those “admirers” would think twice before looking in his direction.

He shuddered.

There were so many of them, all peering down at him with their eyes made of glass, reflecting him—expecting anything and everything from the new talk of The Oriole.

There was once a time when Ricinus loved to be looked at, marveled upon, adored, doted over. When he was a little Eevee, the simple act of meeting eyes with another pokemon felt exhilarating, intimate in ways he could not yet describe. He got up to mischief just so someone would acknowledge him. He grew out his fur and styled it to garner more compliments. Little flings here and there, romantic and platonic, just so he could be desired for a little while. Anything to attract attention. Nothing but joy would be had when Ricinus was at the center of the room.

He needed that attention. He pursued it—lest his image die a horrible death. Why else would he put himself in this position?

Something had since changed, though. Attention was no longer his sustenance—his food. It was now his lifeblood. Spoiled food would just make Ricinus sick. Spoiled blood—well, that could kill him.

Only recently did he realize that he was being injected with infected blood: a lie.

So when he failed to avoid that crowd just a few moments ago, the interaction went a little bit more like this:

“So, how did you do it?”

“I have no time for this! I have important matters to attend to!”

And then he stormed off, trying to shake off the surprise he felt at hearing his own voice sound so shaken. His efforts proved to be futile.

It had been a few days since Ricinus had returned from retrieving the eastern Enigma treasure, and in that time these crowds of pokemon with their incessant questions became a persistent nuisance in Ricinus’ life. It was perplexing, really; the news had not even left his own mouth before packs of admirers started flocking to him.

I am a prince! he frequently told himself. I should not be shivering like a little Eevee under this much pressure!

Yet here he was, trying his damndest to keep his chin held high while ignoring his heart beating in his ears. The only thing he hated more than being looked at with mirrored eyes was the need to vomit that came with it. Panic was unbefitting of a prince.

I am a prince! I am a prince! I am a prince!

Running away was also unbefitting of a prince. However, Ricinus reasoned it to be a…tactical retreat; they were threatening him. He imagined himself playing a game of chess, backed up into a corner with next to no pieces remaining. Luckily, Ricinus still had an Ace under his fur, and his opponent was none the wiser. That sort of thinking had helped before.

Still, Ricinus could not get the lingering disappointment in their gazes out of his mind. It had dripped from their eyes like tears, as their fragile image of a noble prince in their midst leaked onto the floor. There was no telling how far this would spread.

I am a prince! I am a prince! Dammit, I am better than this! Even that little brat of a Magmar learned to suck it all in.

Heron was his name; Ricinus hated the fact that he still remembered it. There was hardly a doubt that the teenager was thrust into the very same spot that Ricinus was in against his will, blamed for heroics. But that hardly fucking mattered, given the brat sold the show every time.

Ricinus’ breathing was only growing more haggard. He needed to move, and get out of these stifling tunnels.

His tail dragged behind him as he snuck through the candlelit halls, granting no second thought to any path but his own. A steep incline slowed his progress; once again, Ricinus scorned the creator for the fur they nailed to his back.

There were three paths out of the mess hall: a central hub that connected to various branching paths, a steady descent that mainly functioned as an emergency exit, and a more narrow path that snaked up to the higher levels of the base. Ricinus once had the thought that only a genius could construct a homebase so intricate that even he was still discovering new things about it years later. Secrets and hidden tunnels and the like.

What changed his mind was this narrow path, which made no effort to accommodate the full belly of any mon that would reasonably scale it. In regards to the original architect, what kind of moron robs the newly awakened of burned calories, only to make them suffer during the hike back? That being said, Ricinus could only partly attribute his loss of breath to the architecture.

It was for these aforementioned reasons that Ricinus made an effort to rarely make use of this path, instead opting for the more winding central path. At least then he could enjoy the walk. But recent…events have led to him utilizing the more narrow and straightforward path every day after breakfast. It was the path less taken, and for good reason.

Other pokemon hardly ever followed him when he took this route, while even those that bothered never committed. And here Ricinus was thinking that they were training soldiers down in these tunnels.

That line of thinking did not last long, however, as Ricinus soon found himself cursing the creator for a third time today.

There were other, connecting paths that intersected the narrow path, heading upward just the same. Ricinus was not ignorant to the fact that pokemon of higher status lived closer to the surface in the Oriole, and so it was no stretch to expect other…aristocrats on his way back to his chambers.

They were no admirers, that was for sure. Ricinus likely would have preferred it more if they were. High class pokemon had a habit of turning their nose up at Ricinus, as if they were above him—a prince. He was expecting the opposite when he first arrived, but the concept of royalty rang hollow in the ears of certain pokemon in this day and age. Or perhaps they were just jealous.

They wanted their castle, and nothing would stop them. Ricinus was expecting to run into one of them at minimum, ranting and raving about the kinds of changes they would make when their time would come.

Two children accosted him instead.

They came out sprinting through one of the side passages, intersecting the Sylveon as though they were waiting for him. Their obnoxiously large grins were the first things he saw. The rest followed without his consent.

“Prince Ricinus! Prince Ricinus!” one of them squealed—a yellow Jangmo-o no older than ten.

“We found him, yes! Please, wait up!” screeched the other one—a Vulpix with fur whiter than Ricinus’ own.

Children. There was so much venom behind that word that Ricinus could taste the poison trickling down his throat. Add that on the list of things that were trying to kill him today.

Of course the rebels of the Psychic Wars had to have children. Ricinus was technically one of them, after all. But he spent his youth on the surface, living a life under the sun. All he could determine from the little ones in these caves was that they were slowly being driven mad—and just as well, driving Ricinus mad by proxy.

Under different circumstances, Ricinus did not mind children. Certainly not in the ways that the other aristocrats spoke of them. They could be infuriating, yes. So was Ricinus once, although he had since outgrown that behavior. But expecting them to learn respect through unpaid labor and strict manners training? Perhaps the children were not the only ones being driven mad; some practices of the old world were better left behind.

He sped up, raising his ribbons up back onto his shoulders in a more dignified manner, while tilting his chin upward. It was not uncommon for nosy little attention-grabbers to lose their drive when ignored thoroughly enough. Eventually it would work, at least. Mature pokemon often got the message quickly, but children-

The Vulpix and Jangmo-o matched his pace, bouncing on their puny paws and claws energetically, mocking him.

“Did he hear us?” questioned the dragon.

“We’ve been waiting all morning!” pleaded the fox. “It won’t be long! Promise!”

-…tended to be more insistent. Ricinus rolled his eyes. To think that he used to be just like these moppets.

It’s almost admirable. Nostalgic, even.

No matter how aggressively he tried to ignore them, though, the two of them would not catch a hint, nor would they slow down. What were their parents feeding them? False hope and three meals a day? Ridiculous.

Mercifully, the path finally leveled out, but what had seemed like a hindrance at first proved to be Ricinus’ only advantage, thanks to his longer legs. His path was swiftly blocked by a shaking ball of matted fluff and another one of those garish shinies. Ms. Shasta—that Inteleon—definitely pulled it off better than the little dragon.

Ricinus had no choice but to come to a halt.

The Vulpix panted. “Wait…please!”

At the same time, the Jangmo-o spun in circles excitedly. “We gotcha! We gotcha! We got the prince!”

Ricinus finally lowered his chin to be level; he had no choice. Moving around them meant acknowledging their existence, even if only impassively. Ironically, Ricinus found that there was more finality in using words as opposed to not, if it came down to it. This would only take a moment.

“What do you want?” he groaned, tail flicking in annoyance. “I have someplace to be. Can you not see that?”

As expected, guilt flashed in the Jangmo-o’s eyes. His tail fell to the floor, likely in realization that both he and his friend had made the wrong call. This was the part that worked better on younger mons: their conscience controlled them.

The other one, however, was persistent. “It’ll only take a moment!” If anything he was evidently invigorated, what with the prince finally gracing his ears with a royal voice.

Ricinus was quick to shoot back with, “I do not have ‘a moment.’ I am a prince. My time is invaluable.”

Guilting the ice type did not seem to work. Determination flared in his eyes and overpowered the shame, his six tails swinging from side-to-side with his frantic movements. There was no stopping what came next.

Around the Vulpix’s waist was a saddle bag, and from that saddle bag he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Hehre!” he exclaimed with the paper between his teeth. “Jus ta-ke ah loo-k ah is!”

And now Ricinus was being asked to take handouts. He just wanted to go back to his room—did the pestering ever end?

How annoying. His eyes were set hard on the paper dangling from the fox’s teeth. It was a look that read “and what in distortion do you expect me to do with this?” Only a blind pokemon would misinterpret it.

“Mm ehh!” Vulpix mumbled. The paper waved up and down in motion with his head, beckoning Ricinus to take it. His little friend looked on in nervous anticipation, as well. Neither dared to take their eyes off of the prince.

I’m not getting out of this easily, am I? he thought.

With a sigh, Ricinus extended a ribbon and lifted the paper out of the child’s grip. Obnoxious smiles spread across both of their faces once Ricinus’ ribbon was retracted. More than anything he wanted to rip the paper to shreds just to watch that satisfaction wash away. He really should have; a lesson could have been learned here. But against his better judgment Ricinus glanced at what was on the piece of paper.

He blinked. All of a sudden he was back on that beach again.

There was Lord Crane, fighting what looked to be both a Blastoise and a Milotic. For some reason that massive gem shield he conjured was missing, but the valor and bravery on display was hard to miss.

Shasta was there, too. Laid out on the ground and flattened both literally and figuratively. A few Palossand and a Trapinch surrounded her.

The sun, shimmering off of the latent waves of the sea, was a lot more purple than Ricinus remembered. Several of the rocks were missing, as well. No more jagged ones at the base of the cliff? Peculiar.

Aven was nowhere to be seen.

And at the center of it all was Ricinus himself, mid-Moonblast and floating off the sand like some all-powerful deity. Tapu Fini was cowering from the light, looking quite…off. In fact she appeared to have transformed into a Cloyster with hair. How fitting.

Ricinus blinked several more times and he was back in the Oriole, staring at a depiction of a delusion. A decently drawn delusion to be fair, but still a delusion. His eyes kept drifting back to his own twisted reflection—an alternate take on his previous failure.

The Vulpix beamed. “I drew it for you!” he said. “It was so cool how you turned the tides of battle like that!”

“Yeah!” Jangmo-o agreed. His confidence had been rejuvenated. “I wish I could’ve been there to see it!”

This was getting out of hand.

Eyes shifting between his admittedly flattering depiction (the Vulpix certainly had talent despite his lack of dexterous appendages) and the fox, Ricinus’ expression cycled between an irritated grimace and a perplexed frown. He lost track of which corresponded to what.

He had been given gifts before. He had been complemented, hit on, and praised over and over again. But the longer he absorbed the details of the piece of art, the tighter his chest became.

It was not because it was misinformation given life—no, not that. Whoever had twisted the story of Ricinus’ battle never could have envisioned a scene such as this.

Aven’s absence certainly upset him, but that was unrelated.

No, it was the question of how someone so young and ignorant of the circumstances concerning…everything around him could construct something so marvelous.

They were profoundly unaware of the cruelties of the world, the hypocrisy, the depths to which the most desperate would plunge if it meant attaining power. Ricinus found beauty in those vices. He could not be desired if not for the lustful and star stricken. Kingdoms and riches did not foster stronger mons if not for the wars that spawned them. Progress and knowledge? That required hunger. Something primal at the back of every mon’s mind.

This could be a good teaching moment for these children. A lesson on what the real world was like. His ribbon tightened its grip on the paper.

And yet…

What the Vulpix said next gave Ricinus pause.

“I wanna be just like you when I grow up. Dad says he’ll show me how he does his own Moonblast, then I’ll be blasting baddies in no time! Just like you!”

That was…new.

Well, no it wasn’t. There were just as many ambitious goal-seekers in the Oriole as hopeless romantics. Ricinus had heard every possible line hundreds of times by now. Give or take.

The difference here, though, came from what Ricinus believed to be that old fashioned concept so easily misplaced and misused.

Effort.

It took effort to draw a work of art with this amount of passionate detail. It took effort to learn the movement patterns of someone important and hunt him down, just to sing his praises. And not only did it take effort, it took patience, as well.

Ricinus, frankly, could not ignore that level of dedication even if he tried. Something deep within him prevented him from tossing it aside.

His grip loosened on the paper, his expression softening in the process. He met the inscrutable gaze of the small fox, searching for any sign of deceit or a lack of genuine intent.

Instead, Ricinus only saw the small fox’s smile grow in size.

No! NO! Don’t fall for these tricks! his inner voice screamed at him. You are a prince! You! Are! A! Prince!

The smile that Ricinus chose to return paled in comparison to the Vulpix’s, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Thank you,” he muttered, the words spilling out of his mouth. “You are a…good artist. And…Moonblast…it took me a considerable amount of time to learn it. But…I have…confidence in you.”

Both of the children squealed a happy little noise that only marginally made the ringing in Ricinus’ ears worse.

“Thanks, prince!” cheered the Jangmo-o.

“I’ll make you proud!” promised the Vulpix.

They were gone just as quickly as they had arrived, only a meager dust cloud left in their wake. Ricinus was left blinking at the empty space, wondering what it was that compelled him to say those things. After all, a prince would never.

He was also left wondering why doing so healed the pounding of his heart, the ringing in his ears, the tightening of his chest, and the aching of his paws all at once. Not only was he relieved to see the children run off while still beaming, he was energized. The rest of the path did not matter; bring on the aristocrats!

However, before Ricinus could take another step, his gaze fell back to the piece of art still in his ribbons. Ears flicking, Ricinus examined the details closely…

…and tore the artwork to pieces without a second thought.

A moment later he was back on pace towards his destination, tail raised high.

The remaining climb came easy. Energy that had no right to be there surfaced and propelled him forward. Before Ricinus knew it the familiar chill of the upper tunnels nipped at his fur, slowing him down. With how close he was to the surface, a breeze was to be expected. Meanwhile, his personal chambers were insulated quite well, maintaining a consistent, lingering warmth at all hours of the day.

It was no secret that there were…inconsistencies to how some areas of the Oriole filtered heat. He had been to the lower levels; it was awful. But that was just how the place was designed. And unfortunately, pushing himself to care would have to come another day. His room was right there.

His ribbons drooped down so low that they dragged along on the rocky floor. The relief that came with setting his eyes on that heavy, wooden door was promptly flattened by the notion that he would have to open it—an action that only seemed to be getting more arduous as the days carried on. Tomorrow would unquestionably be worse.

Oh, and there was that question again: How long am I going to be doing this?

How long would Ricinus have to run and hide from nosy pokemon that wanted to know his secrets? When would he once again get to look upon his door with fondness as opposed to exasperation?

Only time would tell, was what he kept reminding himself. Give it a week—maybe two. Knowing the current state of affairs, Ricinus would likely be out of the public eye soon enough. He just needed to wait.

Princes don’t become kings overnight, after all.

As he reached out with a ribbon, stopping before grasping the door’s handle, something flickered out of the corner of his eye. Something white.

Quickly, Ricinus righted himself and spun on whatever it was, glaring. Someone had followed him this far…!

It was, to Ricinus’ surprise, that Vulpix from earlier. His friend was missing, as was his saddle bag, but there was no doubt that the child from earlier and the one standing meekly in the middle of the hallway were the same pokemon. Whatever his intentions were, Ricinus could not determine them from his expression. Not that it mattered.

“What do you want now?” Ricinus scolded. Though as soon as the words left his mouth it all became clear. The Vulpix, in his excitement, ran after Ricinus to tell him something he forgot, and in the process witnessed the aftermath of a shredded gift.

Guilt rushed to his heart as soon as the thought entered his mind, even if Ricinus held no remorse for his action. The child would get to receive a reality check, after all, as unintended as it was.

If that were all it was, a challenging but necessary conversation might have followed. Yet the Vulpix’s response threw that prospect into jeopardy.

“I’m looking for a real royal,” said the Vulpix plainly. “Have you seen one?”

Ricinus was taken aback. “…What?”

Suddenly, the world spun faster than Ricinus could follow. One second he was trying to comprehend the situation in front of him, the next he was being slammed into the door hard enough for his squeals to reverberate through the whole hallway. His vision went black…and red.

The dizziness and confusion had only begun to subside once a snide bout of laughter tickled his ears. He could feel a hot breath on his neck.

“Heh…hello again.”

Through slitted eyes, Ricinus was face-to-face with a sneering Zoroark. The Sylveon struggled to turn his head, what with those sharp claws pinning him in place, one small thrust away from burrowing into flesh. He needed to stop moving, even if his body was fighting against every inclination to do so.

Ricinus gasped, “Lord…Canary.” It came out instinctually, as though he somehow knew this would happen.

The Zoroark’s grip loosened a tiny bit. “I’m surprised you remember me,” he said derisively. “Must have left quite the impression.”

And that was the problem. Ricinus was unsure of what could have caused this, or if it was all a joke. One risky glance out of the corner of his eye confirmed that the Vulpix was nowhere to be seen. This was a trap, and Ricinus needed to treat it as such.

“What do you want?” Ricinus whispered.

Canary showed his teeth. They were…sharper than Ricinus remembered. “Is that any way to talk to your superior? You work for me, in case you forgot?”

Ricinus said nothing, instead deciding to focus his widened eyes on the dark type.

That grin of Canary’s slowly morphed into one of discontent, and his claws tightened around Ricinus’ neck, constricting him to the point of restricting his airflow.

Too…strong…ahh…can’t…

The world was growing darker. Colors mixed and blurred. Regardless of what Lord Canary wanted, he would be remiss to attain it through Ricinus’ death. Which begged the question, what did he want?

Just as all seemed lost, color faded back to the world, air flowed freely, and Ricinus collapsed on the ground, coughing and wheezing. His head was still spinning; why did Canary…?

It was all moving too quickly. Ricinus looked up to see the Zoroark crouched over him, chuckling from what Ricinus could only assume was a very funny joke.

Then, Canary whispered, “I know what you are. I know what you really are.”

Ricinus’ throat stung. Tears were welling in his eyes, making it difficult to determine what Canary’s true intentions were through foggy vision. But what he said did not alleviate Ricinus’ rapidly beating heart.

He could have been referring to…a variety of things—none of them good.

“What…are you talking about?” Ricinus managed.

“I did some digging, you know,” Canary started. “After your little stunt, it got me curious: what really makes you a prince, hm?”

I’m going to kill whoever started this rumor, Ricinus promised internally.

Canary continued. “It’s your lineage, right? The lineage that, from what I understand, can’t even be confirmed. You say you’re a prince, but I don’t see any of your relatives listed in any existing documents.”

Ricinus’ next response needed to be considered carefully. It was no coincidence that his records were notably stark. How he even came to be known as royalty in the first place was a story so buried in the past that Ricinus almost forgot it, himself. What he did know, though, is that he did not begin life as a prince.

And that…that was the problem.

“Secrecy…” the Sylveon muttered. “It’s to protect…”

Canary narrowed his eyes. “You know that isn’t true,” he stated. “Not that I care.” He leaned forward, his eyes wide with suspense. “That’s not the only thing I know about you. It’s going to be hard to form a future lineage without any heirs, hm? Flower boy.”

Flower boy…

Ricinus tasted bile on his tongue. It had been a long time since he had been called that. Most would not dare utter it at a prince out of fear of losing their own tongues. But Canary knew things. The bastard was crafty—a trickster. He would not say it unless he knew he could get away with it.

It bounced around inside the Sylveon’s skull many times over. There was only one way Canary could have known it to be true: he had been spying on Ricinus, as well as stalking him. And the Zoroark called him a flower boy…

Ricinus was reminded of the story that inspired the insult in the first place. Back during the war, there were horror stories of an effeminate male pokemon of nondescript species that carried a flower basket. He would lure other, unsuspecting males from their posts with promises of flowers and comfort before killing them.

From what Ricinus could recall, the idea was that any male weak enough to fall for the lure was no soldier worth keeping on duty. They were branded as similarly effeminate, spineless, frail, and cowardly: a flower boy. No one wanted to be a flower boy.

Ricinus was no coward.

So, he asked again, “What do you want?”

A sinister aura seemed to radiate around the Zoroark—a darkness to further obfuscate his intentions, and highlight just how pale white his fangs were. Ricinus felt something brush against his cheek, tender yet malicious. The sensation disgusted him enough to make him flinch.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Canary asked rhetorically. “Not every mon gets to be royalty in this world. But you?” Canary chuckled. “You have everyone convinced. All you have to do is not screw it up.”

Or get caught, Ricinus added internally. He could see where this was going, and he knew not to risk anything here.

Canary rested his chin on his claw and said, condescendingly, “Oh, wouldn’t that be tragic. Everything you’ve built, crumbling down because you’ve been perusing the flower garden. What a shame.”

There was some envy in his tone, Ricinus could tell. Other aristocrats spoke like this to Ricinus all the time. It was obvious; Canary wanted what he could not have.

“You believe you are better?” Ricinus challenged.

Canary’s expression tightened. “I believe I’m owed much more than a second-hand leadership position in some dusty caves.” He pointed to himself. “I deserve more. After all, why not? I’ve worked hard, played the right cards…and now I have you.” He scoffed. “I mean, you’re not exactly the King of Hearts I was hoping for, but you’re close enough.”

The Sylveon glared harshly. “I’m not your pawn, Canary.”

“Would you prefer that everyone in the Oriole know about your little affairs?” the Zoroark wondered. “Or your little lies? Or how about…the fact that you’re not much of a hero either?”

Immediately, it all started to make sense. Ricinus’ eyes widened as he feverishly looked at Canary and realized…that Canary had already made him into a game piece.

Why, of all pokemon, was Ricinus the one invited to procure a valuable, quintessential artifact? Because he was trusted and deemed worthy? If that were true, he likely would have at least met The Count once before.

No…it was because Ricinus could be used.

A shallow breath was all Ricinus could manage. “It was you…” he uttered. “You spread those lies…” How could he have fallen for such a trap?

Canary twirled a finger in the air—a proverbial thread only just then becoming visible. A thread that seemed to snake down to the floor then back up to Ricinus, coiling around his limbs. Imperceptible, but capable of puppeting a mon just the same.

“I have big plans for you, my prince,” Canary said, rising to his feet. “Big, BIG plans.”

A scowl formed on Ricinus’ muzzle, peeling back his lips to unveil sharp fangs of his own. There were scarce words that could detail the ways that Canary was being torn to shreds within Ricinus’ mind at that moment, but the young prince had an inclination that this little problem would not be solved immediately. For now, he needed time to think—to figure everything out. Best to get this over with.

“And what are those ‘plans,’ exactly?” Ricinus asked. “This is an awful lot of blackmail you dug up; more than you needed, if you ask me.” Was constructing one of those lies himself really all that necessary?

Reaching back over his shoulder, Canary plunged a claw into his mane and pulled out a leatherbound journal, complete with a lock and tassel. He wiggled it around in the air, tauntingly. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Tsk tsk tsk.”

The journal was back within Canary’s mane a moment later. Ricinus was mourning its absence already, despite knowing next to nothing of its purpose.

“For now,” Canary grinned, “the first step needs to be completed. And for that to happen, The Count’s plans need to come to fruition.”

“The first step…?”

A finger was pointed at Ricinus. “Every prince needs a castle, don’t they?”

Not like this.

Ricinus awkwardly rose into a sitting position. He grumbled, “And you need me because I am…royalty.”

Canary nodded. “In the eyes of the common pokemon, yes. Don’t let it go to your head, though. You might deliver all of the speeches, but I-” he tapped himself on the chest, “-hold all of the cards.”

Did Ricinus hear that correctly? His ears flicked, the last word Canary spoke twirling like a tornado in his eardrums. Of all things, power was what Canary wanted? That was it?

He realized that he should have been either quaking out of fear or vibrating with rage at that moment, but instead Ricinus was just slightly peeved and somewhat relieved. After all, he would not be getting exploited so heavily had his status as a prince been put into question.

Simply put, Canary was a fool. His plan of putting Ricinus on the throne so he could puppet him from the shadows was full of holes. None of which Ricinus could adequately pinpoint at that moment; his mind was still racing.

He just knew. Somewhere down the line, Canary would fail to keep things under control and Ricinus would come out on top.

…Or he would drag Ricinus down with him.

That was the thought that caused Ricinus to finally start shaking. If Canary failed, the chances that it would all blow up in Ricinus’ face were high. The thread was wrapped around both Ricinus and Canary’s limbs, and the only way to cut one loose would be to silence the other for good.

“Fine,” Ricinus conceded, his shoulders dropping. “I’ll comply. Will you leave me alone now?”

Much to Ricinus’ chagrin, Canary wagged his finger. “Ah ah ah,” he jeered, “we haven’t even gotten started yet. Believe it or not, I didn’t just come here to laugh at you. I brought an opportunity.”

Opportunity? Already?

Almost impressive, he hated to admit. Ricinus raised an eyebrow.

Canary explained himself: “Direct orders from The Count. You—not me—will walk right into Kebia Castle and confirm if they’ve got a human in there. Then come back and report your findings.”

“…”

Visible confusion swam to the Sylveon’s face. It seemed Ricinus was not the only one being made to look like a fool.

“A human…?” Ricinus repeated. How he restrained his laughter was a miracle. “You must be joking.”

For the first time during their conversation, Canary outright frowned. “If only,” he said. “But that’s what The Count told me. And you wouldn’t want to go against his wishes, would you? We need to be on his good side if we want this to work.”

Well, Canary was right about one thing. Being in The Count’s good graces was a priority of Ricinus’. Usually he would just accomplish that through his own means, though. The fact that Canary was beginning to use “we” as though Ricinus was even willing made the fairy type’s ribbons writhe with rage.

“And you expect me to just walk right in?” Something that Ricinus had admittedly been wanting to do for…all of his life. This was ridiculous—why did it have to happen like this?

Canary’s sneer returned. “Yes. I. Do.” Once again, he reached into his mane and pulled out a thin, teal piece of cloth before handing it to Ricinus. “Do it quick enough and they won’t even know you were there.”

Ricinus’ eyes fell on the cloth, scrutinizing it for all it was worth. Which, to his estimate, was not very much. Simple as it appeared, however, Ricinus understood its purpose. He would be expected to wear it so less questions would be asked.

Of course, Ricinus was doubtful that the cloth would be enough of a shield—explaining why haste was so important. He took it in his ribbons, staring at it for a few moments, then looked back up at Canary with a grimace.

“You’re setting me up for failure,” Ricinus said bluntly.

Canary chortled. If Ricinus’ statement mattered then it did not go acknowledged. “You’re looking for a Dewott,” he explained. “Name starts with an ‘O’ and he wears a purple scarf. All you need is confirmation.”

This was getting more absurd by the second. “I thought I was looking for- …nevermind. I don’t believe asking him directly will lead to many results.”

“Which is why you’re not going to.” Canary pulled yet another item—a pamphlet—out of his bottomless mane. “You’re smart, you know about humans. Get his name, make him admit things regular pokemon wouldn’t know, get out. Stay inconspicuous.”

Ricinus took the pamphlet, as well. He flipped through its pages and examined its contents, quickly realizing that the words were completely illegible; it was written in a language he could not read, but was vaguely familiar as an ancient human language.

Although, “ancient” was not the right word to describe this pamphlet. It had clearly been water damaged and seen better days, yet the design was colorful. Modern by today’s standards. Ugly, stylized Aipom-like creatures bared their sinister teeth on every page, positioned right next to varying sizes of script. Had Ricinus been in a better state of mind, he might have interpreted it as “friendly.”

For the longest time, Ricinus had known humans to be this incredibly old and highly advanced race that had gone extinct by way of their own hubris centuries in the past. The idea that one of them was hiding among pokemon, masquerading as a Dewott of all things, made Ricinus uneasy. It made no sense.

But he got the idea. He knew enough about humans to ask the right questions—Canary and his demands be damned. If Ricinus was going to do this, he would do it for himself and he would do it right.

Ricinus cleared his throat. “Fine, then,” he said. “This almost sounds too easy. Plus-” despite everything, Ricinus smirked, “-I would love to get a proper look at my future castle.”

“Getting cocky now, are we?” Canary questioned, meeting the smirk with his own. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. If you screw up we’ll all suffer for it.” There was plenty of confidence in his banter, but every word was laced with an undercurrent of authority. One mistake was all it would take to get on Canary’s bad side…

“I don’t intend to make a fool of myself, Canary.”

The Zoroark stared down at Ricinus for a moment, likely gauging how genuine he was being, his face seeming stuck between a foolish smile and a wrathful glower. Whether or not he found what he was looking for, Ricinus was not sure. Regardless, Canary pulled yet another object from his mane: a plain looking seed.

“This isn’t about making a fool of yourself, my prince. One wrong move and it’s all over. They can read your fucking mind over there, and their torture methods would make Crane melt into a puddle.” Canary held the seed in front of his eye, as though he were analyzing Ricinus through it. “This? This is a Reviser Seed. One bite and you’ll be left laughing until you choke on your own tongue. Should be enough to block out any psychic interference, too. Anything goes wrong, and you end it right there. Got it?”

Ricinus blinked. This marked the first time he had ever laid eyes on a Reviser Seed in his life. They were in short supply. In previous attempts to manufacture working Reviver Seeds by way of reverse engineering, the results were predictably disastrous for any who tried. Mystery Dungeons were simply too difficult to parse—as they worked under nonsensical logic.

With how the mistake had been described to Ricinus once, he interpreted it as a cautionary tale: some forces of the world were best left out of his control. But that didn’t mean that some failures were completely useless—like here.

Dying by raucous laughter was close to the worst possible way Ricinus could think to go. And while it would be effective, he was no trained assassin or spy. In other words, he would not be using it.

“Give it to me,” Ricinus demanded, disgusted at the mere notion of having to carry such a cruel weapon. “Like I said, I don’t intend to make a fool of myself.”

Canary’s expression shifted once more to a sneer. “You better not,” he snarled. “You work for me now and you’ll do anything and everything I say. No questions, or you’ll see your reputation in the trash before you can argue.”

Deliberately, he leaned down and extended a claw to Ricinus’ cheek, brushing against it. Ricinus attempted to shirk away, but his back met the wall quicker than he would have liked. Shivers wracked his form.

“And you better come back. Understand?”

Damn creep! I’m not ready to spend the rest of my life like this!

Ricinus was a prince, a master of the game board. Only…pawns were treated like this.

But what choice did he have? The public would never accept a homosexual for a ruler. They wanted royalty—real royalty, that was capable of producing heirs. The kind of royalty from before the war. Add on to that a perceived manipulation of events to make himself seem more heroic and Ricinus was trapped.

This was not how this was supposed to go! This was not what Ricinus wanted! It…wasn’t fair!

“Don’t touch me…!” Ricinus uttered through gritted teeth.

“Hm? What was that?” Canary’s claw brushed past Ricinus’ ear, as he was seemingly delighted by the Sylveon’s reaction.

“I said don’t touch me!”

SLAM!

Within an instant, Canary’s form had fizzled from Ricinus’ view, and in his place was a clawed fist lodged in the stone wall. That familiar shade of tarnished white, washed out red, and dusty black comforted a stunned Ricinus, who was still backed up against the wall and reeling from the impact.

Laughter reverberated throughout the hallway, as if the walls themselves were making fun of Ricinus’ plight. Canary was nowhere to be seen.

It was not until the laughter petered out that Ricinus finally steadied his breath; each exhale was shallow but level. Sweat coated his back. His tail hurt from being crushed at an awkward angle, only noticeable once Ricinus toppled forward from exhaustion.

Ricinus wasn’t certain if it was an illusion or not anymore, but he didn’t care. He thrust himself into Aven’s arms the second the Lycanroc met his gaze.

“A-Aven…” the Sylveon muttered, lip quivering.

“You alright, Riz?” came Aven’s voice, deep and rumbly. He smelled of powder, soot, and sweat—a scent only Aven could use to soothe. His arms were firm and strong, yet were soft as pillows in that moment.

Ricinus wailed a muffled screech into his arms. “No! No no no! Everything is going wrong!”

Aven’s claws were like rough sandpaper rubbing on Ricinus’ back, and that was preferable to the cold stone wall. “…He’s gone now,” Aven said. “I got you.”

But for how long? When would be the next time Canary would pop up and make a ridiculous demand? How bad could it get?

“I…I don’t know what to do, Aven,” Ricinus whispered hoarsely. “He knows…”

Like the sweetheart he was, Aven gingerly leaned down and nuzzled Ricinus’ ear. His hot breath sent a tingle down the fairy’s spine. “Hey…we’ll get through this. I’m here.”

Yes, there was that. Ricinus had Aven. A shining light in the endless sea of darkness ahead of him. A warmth spread through Ricinus’ body, reminding him that yes, he would not have to traverse this mess alone. There was hope.

Ricinus tore his teary eyes from Aven’s arms and met the Midnight Lycanroc’s gaze. “I don’t…want to…can’t…live in a world without you,” he breathed.

“I ain’t going anywhere,” Aven stated, his eyes filled with authenticity. No signs of his feral side, either.

And that was good. Ricinus needed that. But while Aven was a lot of things—to Ricinus—he was not a strategist. The actual problem solving would come down to Ricinus himself.

After letting out a sigh, content with the knowledge that he would not have to tackle this alone, Ricinus declared, “We have to leave again. This time for Kebia.”

“…You’re doing what he wants?”

Ricinus nodded. “For now, yes. I need time to figure this out.”

“Alright.” Aven didn’t argue. Not that he ever did.

A low chuckle then resounded from the wolf, followed by the sound of coins jingling. In one of his claws was a small coin purse. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Nabbed this earlier.”

Again with the pickpocketing. Ricinus found himself giggling; even after the last job left them with more than enough money Aven still fell back into old habits. At least their ride to Kebia would be covered, as well as any food they needed.

Ricinus melted into Aven’s arms. While he typically refrained from expecting Aven to treat him like royalty and carry him everywhere, his room was right there…and an exception was never out of the question.

“Tomorrow, then,” Ricinus mumbled blissfully.

Aven did not even need to be asked. Before Ricinus knew it, he was being picked up and carried out of the hallway, bridal style.

“Tomorrow.”