The Princes (dsmp royal au fanfic)

How the other flower dies

TW's, Abuse, stitching up wounds, depression, neglect, just a shitty family in general

Quackity could relate, he also was a prince with a less then perfect life.
His family clearly didn't like him, if they did why was he hurt right now? If they did why was he sitting in his room crying?
He had hot tears streaming down his face as he stitched up the last bit of his torn open arm, any swords master could tell it was a blade that had done it, maybe a particularly good one could tell it it was a long sword.
Either way, it was a deep cut, almost to the bone. And he was the only one who could help, his family just didn't care and had sent him off to his room after he gotten hurt. The bloody trail he had left, that maids were cleaning up, could tell you.
He didn't want to think about how he had gotten hurt, instead he muttered a flurry of cruses directed at his family for causing this.
He bit back a cry as he finished stitching up his arm. He sighed and wiped his eyes with his good arm before getting up to clean the blood that had dripped from his arm.
He hummed a small tune as he worked.
He finished and tried calming his nerves down, but it didn't help when he heard something loud fall somewhere behind his shut door and jumped so high you would think he was a rabbit. He glared at the door like it was the reason he had jumped, but he just face palmed and calmed himself down.
He laid down on his bed, unlike Tommy his sheets were black, but he did have a dark oak bed frame, he had some pictures on his dark blue walls that looked black due to the night sky peeking though his black curtains and closed window that was above his bed, and above his bedside table that was made of oak and had a bunch of small trinkets covering it. He also had a desk though it was made of dark oak that lined his wall and seemed to just tie the room together. Everything was dark, he was the prince of the so called 'Dark Kingdom' though so what else could you expect. He rubbed his fingers on his forehead in a circle motion, wincing at the pain from his left arm, the one he had just stitched up, but he continued to rub his head anyways.
The pain that was searing through his arm faded away in a few second and after a minute he decided to stop and instead he sprawled out on his bed, not bothering to change as he fell asleep.