THE KING IS DEAD

03

III. The Boy
° • ♚♛♜♝♞ • °

❝YOUR HIGHNESS.❞
*ృ༅*. 𝕾𝖆𝖎𝖉 hedgehog turned his head upon the calling of his title, and upon meeting eyes with the Sir Shadow Lancelot, he stopped.

Sonic hated—despised, loathed—how terrible his heart skipped, his stomach flipped, and his lungs tripped.

He damned Shadow for being this beautiful.

He damned himself for falling in the first place.

"Yeah?" His aching hands were quivering and he was trying not to grimace in his agony; trying not to show his irritation, his thinning patience.

"You are wounded," the dark knight said, stating the obvious. "And that is not the direction of the infirmary."

Sonic felt his cheeks ripen. Was he really going the wrong way? Or, the better question: Why was the palace unnecessarily enormous and labyrinthine? Who decided that this was a brilliant idea?

"With your permission, I would like assist you, my Prince."

"Please."

The knight bowed, then nodded his head in the correct direction, leading the way. Sonic followed, silent. He ignored all the gasps and wide eyes as servants passed him, startled by the state of his hands.

Of course, their whispers could not be ignored.

Oh the poor Prince, they were saying. He has harmed himself in his grief.

Sonic was wise not to correct them, as much as he wanted to. He resorted to scoffing quietly to himself.

After all, for his plan to work, he needed gossip and lies. For his plan to work, there could be no mistakes.

Let them believe he was grieving his father's death, and not because his dumb brother wore the crown.

Sonic smirked down at the floor. The floor smirked back.

"Here we are, my Prince."

Sonic skidded, for he had almost ran into the back of Shadow. Which would have been both elating and embarrassing for them both. But, for a moment, Sonic wondered how warm and soft Shadow might be, should they brush against one another, or embrace . . .

. . . His cheeks ripened again. Damn them.

But Sonic was all right with it this time. He realized that this was fine.

Shadow was a beautiful distraction.

And Sonic wanted a distraction.

"Thanks." Quiet, mumbled; but not ungrateful.

"Of course." Another polite bow, a left hand—since when the heck was Shadow was left-handed?—to his chest. "Be well."

"Yeah, same to you."

Shadow nodded his head once, then took his leave. Clink-clink went the silver armor he adorned. It shimmered as a stroke of sunlight kissed the visor.