°•°×тнє gιℓ∂є∂ ¢яσωη×°•°

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"Fold." Wilbur let out a long sigh as he tossed his cards down. In the few weeks that Wilbur had spent recovering, Quackity had taught him numerous card games. Most of them involved gambling, so they often found themselves with a table full of poker chips, or jewels, or snacks and sweets. Anything that they felt like using that day.

"One more round?" Quackity grinned. "Hey, who knows, maybe you'll win this time?" The ravenette picked up the cards and started shuffling them while Wilbur lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and letting out a large cloud of the grey smoke.

"I doubt that," he said after a long moment. "You've been playing poker for longer than I ever have. I—" Wilbur was interrupted by a loud knock on his door. The two exchanged a look, but Wilbur slowly got up and walked over to his bedroom door. "Tommy?" He blinked in surprise.

"Dad said to get ready...we...we're going into the town soon." There was a guilty look in his eyes, but the brunette brushed it off and gave a small nod. He didn't allow himself to question his Father's request aloud.

"Why are you going into the town?" Quackity stood up from his chair as soon as the door was shut.

"I don't know...I'm not sure that I really want to find out, but I don't have a choice." The Prince sunk back down into the wooden chair.

"You do have a choice, Wil."

"No," he huffed. "Quackity, I don't." Wilbur took another long drag of the cigarette and smudged it out in the ashtray. "My arse is on the line here, Q. You've gotta realise that my Father runs things a certain way."

"I do realise! I've been here for nearly two months now!" Quackity shook his head irritably, grabbing the bottle of vodka only to set it back down without taking a sip. "Look, whatever it is that your Father is planning, it's not good. I don't want another incident like last time to happen."

"I won't let myself be taken off guard this time." Wilbur gently laid his hand over Quackity's.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

If only that promise was an easy one to keep.

°•°×°•°

Wilbur gazed around at the town as they passed through, he'd never seen it in the daylight. The townsfolk seemed wary of them, the look in his Father's eyes told him that this was supposedly a good thing. How could that be a good thing? He scowled, holding his head high as some of the people gave him an odd look.

He knew they were looking at his wings, whether it was the delicate jewellery that decorated them or just his wings themselves. It used to bother him when people stared at him, but he had grown accustomed to it. With Quackity's help, of course.

There was something odd about today but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. The townspeople were gathered in groups, staring at them—which wasn't too out of place, but the look in their eyes was something he'd never thought that he would witness. Cold fear. Not of the King, but for the Prince.

For me? What the hell is happening...?

Suddenly hands grabbed onto his arms and wings, shoving him forwards into the crown of people gathered in the townsquare. Wilbur tried to fight against the restricting grip, flailing around as he looked around at the townspeople helplessly. He tried to cry out, just say something, but the words got stuck in his throat and almost made him choke and gag as he so desperately tried to speak.

Wilbur let out a weak whimper as they threw him down onto a patch of cold pavement. He shakily raised his head, blinking rapidly to clear the dizziness from his head. As soon as he looked up, someone grabbed his hair, forcing him to look at them. He met the cold blue eyes of his Father.