Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

 

"Let's get started, alright?"

Soren sat on the bed, shoulders slumped lazily as his eyes glazed in thought. Raphael's words hung in the air, unanswered. 

The others had already left, unable to postpone it any longer, though Deimos had flashed a concerned look at Soren and almost stayed — if not for Atlas reminding him of his tasks.

At present, Soren seemed to be stuck in a dream-like state, where words rolled over him like gentle, lapping waves. He could not hear them.

It was strange.

The prince could not understand why he had such a reaction to the news — the possibility of truth. The dragging knowledge that mixed with excitement and fear, knowing that everything may come to light.

Damien's message had been clear, somebody who knew the truth would be in the Haze Kingdom, and most likely, Soren would encounter them. 

But why was it that a part of him didn't want to know the truth?

It was a sinking feeling, tugging at him stomach and wrapping around his throat. Soren felt as if he may cry, but he had no tears to shed. And cry for what?

He didn't know.

Nor did he understand. 

In truth, the mood swings were not uncommon in Soren's previous life. There were frequent moments when he'd feel his body become heavy as steel, painful and unmoving. When his emotions spiralled -- but what emotions, he did not know.

As if he were a broken machine malfunctioning, destined to remain that way. Until he was replaced, that is.

It came suddenly, unexpectedly. 

Soren was certain about everything. In what he wanted, in the descisions he chose. He would act as he pleased, and move as he wanted. That was a fact.

Hesitation was foreign, but ever so present.

His head hurt.

There was a soft sigh, though it didn't carry any traces of tiredness or impatience. A set of footsteps sounded, moving closer to the sitting prince. Then it stopped. 

"What's the matter, little prince?"

Soren didn't answer.

"All of a sudden, you've become like this. What a troublesome fellow you are." Yet, his tone was soothing and calm, like the twinkling night sky. "You promised me, Ren. That this plan would lead to success. And for that to happen, I need you present. Here, with me."

Soren still didn't answer.

"Tell me, what happened? It was after the letter -- did you not wish to learn of the truth, or find whatever it was you were looking for?"

At some point, Raphael had knelt in front of Soren, a knee resting on the ground while his dark gaze peered up at the lowered blue eyes, patiently. Not too close, but not too far. 

"Raphael," said Soren suddenly, slowly. "What if a truth you wanted to learn was a tragedy?"

Perhaps, in his memories, the very reason they disappeared made him fear remembering again.

Raphael blinked in surprise, and breathed steadily. "I'd learn about it anyway. Is there any benefit in being oblivious to the truth?"

"No."

"And there you have it, little prince. Don't you know the answer yourself?"

"Raphael."

"Yes?"

"Could you forgive a murderer?"

The question surprised even Soren himself as he suddenly flinched, furrowing his brows as his icy eyes turned confused. There were times he couldn't understand his own words or actions, or the simmering feelings in his stomach.

It was because of the original, Soren always assumed.

But the original never knew Raphael. Nor many of his new companions, appearing along the way.

"It doesn't matter if I forgive." said Raphael after a moment, though his eyes were clear as a cloudless sky. "It is, for what reason did they do that? What choice did they have? And... can they forgive themselves?"

"...and if they can't?"

"I think... that is an answer they have to discover themselves. There is a fine line between black and white that differs from every person, every situation. What is right isn't always moral, and what is wrong isn't always immoral."

Soren had been thinking about it all the time, faintly in his mind. If he and Raphael shared a past, one forgotten by them both, what sort of horrors could await in the memories he sought?

Raphael was a fool, a hippo that was irritating and bothersome, appearing at every corner. One he had no intention of involving himself with, despite the respect he held.

But the feeling of nostalgia burned in his stomach.

And the fear.

He really couldn't understand it.

"....." Soren closed his eyes, deeply exhaling as his snowy lashes fluttered vunerably. 

Soft, warm fingers danced across his skin, swiping against his eye gently. He snapped them back open, and Raphael jerked his hand back.

He spoke slowly, "I thought you were crying."

"I was not." said Soren coldly.

"Relax, little prince. It's good if you weren't, but if you have the need, don't hold back."

"I don't."

"Alright. Then don't."

Soren swallowed, and stood up, tugging the large bundles of cloth up with him as he shifted uncomfortably in the gown. "Sorry for holding you back. Let's go."

Raphael's knowing gaze bore into his back like burning obsidian. "Are you hiding something from me, Ren?"

Soren paused, frowning. "No."

But Soren was not the best liar, and Raphael could easily decipher the truth. 

"I want to trust you."

"Don't." was Soren's cold reply, slathering ice on everything. "And I won't in turn."

"That's a problem, then."

"What?"

"I want you to trust me, little prince." said Raphael leisurely, lips quirking into a casual smile. "And I also want to trust you."

'No.' Was what Soren would've said, at the beginning of this strange reincarnation. Without hesitation, in his typical cold-hearted tone that was blind to emotions.

In losing himself within those abyssal night eyes, Soren hesitated.

He turned away, opening the door. 

"You told me to trust you, Ren."

"...I said trust in my actions, not in me."

"Then I'll do what I like. You can't argue with that, when I'm simply copying what you do, right?" remarked Raphael, walking up to stand just behind.

Stubborn. 

"Let's go." said Soren again, the sunlight curls swaying lightly against the pale strips of cloth that covered his shoulders as he started forward without a word.

There were low murmurings down the hall, a sense of chaos that was waiting to happen. They'd taken too long, and the others had already begun their act. Raphael pulled papers out of...

Soren glanced back. 

Pulled papers out of... his bra? Dress? Chest? 

What?

Suddenly the tension burned away at Raphael's simple actions, as the protagonist flipped through the information normally. Oblivious to Soren's odd look, Raphael said, "That butler of yours sent information, summed up onto a single page. Several copies of them. We can spread them around, along with the information we stole from the King's chambers."

"I still can't believe there's such a fool who'd keep the information of his misdeeds." muttered Raphael with a shame of his head.

Then, noticing the stare that was both inquisitive and somewhat disturbed, Raphael tilted his chin back, the brushes of raven hair tickling his eyelashes. "What's the matter?"

"...the papers." 

"What about them?"

Soren's gaze dipped to his chest, outlined by the thin, fitted cloth but somewhat hidden by the single piece that strayed across his shoulder, held on by a delicate rose. 

"Oh." said Raphael, following the gaze. He wasn't ashamed at all when he said,  "There's no other space. I don't know why they can't put pockets in these things."

"....."

"Anyway." continued Raphael uncaringly, though a glint in his eye revealed the slight amusement he had at Soren's disbelief. "The most important part — the information — was found, quite easily too."

It seemed that this man, even with Soren's few and curt responses, could talk up a storm while playing a one man show. Or perhaps, Raphael only did so because he knew the other was listening in their silence.

"Do you find the dress comfortable, Ren?"

"No."

"Great." grinned Raphael, continuing to move through the empty halls. "I don't either."

"....."

"Soren." A voice suddenly called out, uncertain and low, dragging across Soren's ears like nail on a chalkboard. It wasn't that the voice was unpleasant — it was the memories linked to it that was. 

A tall man, dressed in all black elegance with silver chains, stood proudly with the pulsing aura of a royal. Slanted mint eyes, piercing and probing with swaying silvery hair, somewhere between pale gold and pure snow.

Soren hadn't seen this man since the awkward dinners at the palace, and he had not intended to after he left.

Soren paused and said curtly, "Your Majesty." 

The man's gazed raked his disguise. "...well, Vincent has informed me of the plan, so I shall say nothing of it. I am here tonight as the Haze King's guest."

"Guest?"

"There are times where for the sake of a Kingdom, one can not blindly turn away from atrocities. I disagree with that cowardly King, but unless I intend for a war, I could not deny him. Is that not what you, and the others, are here to do instead?"

It was a rare conversation from the King who spoke so few. Or perhaps, just possibly, the King was always talkative — simply not to his sons.

The conversation grew stagnant, and the air chilly. Similar to the situation with Vincent, only much more biting.

"You shouldn't expect your children to deal with all the messes." spoke Raphael suddenly, raising a brow impolitely as his wine-red lips curved. "Not even a greeting, a wonder of how he is, yet you expect him to follow through?"

The King narrowed his gaze. "I do not know who you are, but it is not of your business to interfere. This isn't about relationships, it is his duty."

The choices were not wrong, and the kingdom would indeed be better off without war. The King couldn't sneak out and leave his throne, wandering in another kingdom to try and uncover hidden schemes,

Despite that, Raphael felt somewhat irritated. Regardless of politics and logic, Soren had no obligation to this world or his family who treated him so coldly.

That was what Raphael believed. 

His chin raised slightly as he responded, night eyes deep and judging. "It's my every business. This is the man I need most in the world, and I don't allow harm to come to those under my protection."

Soren frowned. "Protection?"

"Wrong time to ruin the mood, little prince."

"...okay." Soren remained silent.

The King's pale green eyes — almost translucent and dreamy — flickered between the interaction, narrowing. "You wish to protect my son?"

"Well," said Raphael cooly, thoughtful. "He can protect himself, he is not one that needs protecting. I'll simply give him the support he needs."

A slight scoff, almost mocking. "Do as you please."

"I plan to, with or without your approval."

Having been frustrated by Raphael, the King glanced at Soren. "You have only one chance to make this plan succeed."

Soren's tone was chilling. "If it fails, and the world burns, do you think I'll care?" Questioning and cruel, carrying the mysterious drawl of Damien's words.

A plain confirmation, and a steady resolution. That Soren Rosenbaum, the fifth prince of the Qazia Kingdom, had long given up on society. 

A faint tug pulled at Soren's emotions.

Relief? Reluctance? Or a strange combination of both? It was hard to tell, but Soren felt as if he were starting to understand the original a little.

The King — his father — stared at him for a moment longer before striding past, lips drawn in a taut line and eyes indifferent. The encounter had passed as quickly as it had come.

Short, seemingly unimportant yet so full of rich thoughts that couldn't be overlooked.

Soren didn't look back, and neither did Raphael. The latter looked at Soren, instead.

"How do you feel?" asked the man.

"Normal." replied the other.

Raphael nodded slightly, and continued to walk without question. Soren appreciated the silence, the air that was relaxing and soothing despite the lack of words. It was only when they arrived near the entrance of the ball, that they spoke again. 

“Time to spread rumours, right, Ren?”

It would start off with small whispers, and lead to a grand finale. They couldn’t stand up in front of everybody and rain down the news at once — people were not good with abruptness, and often retaliated.

It would be a gradual progress through out the night, they had decided.

When they approached, a guard stopped them. 

“Pardon me, I require your name to allow you inside.” said the guard seriously, not a glimpse of happiness of his face.

Raphael blinked sweetly, and nodded. His tone seemed to raise a pitch higher,  but also lost some of its rugged texture, smoother and more flowing. “Yes, of course. I am attending with my brother, Atlas Rosenbaum, who is the representative of one of the special guests. There should be a plus by my name.”

The guard flicked through and nodded. “Understood. Then you have no need to give a name, your actions lie under your brother’s.”

Then, he peered at Soren. “And you?”

Unfortunately, Soren didn’t have Raphael’s strange, hidden talent of raising his voice and sounding slightly feminine. A beautiful girl who opened her mouth and… a deep, soothing but rough tone was heard… it may not pass the guards.

Raphael stepped forward with a smile. “This is a new guest, she intends to speak with the Haze King of new business. My brother has given me permission to allow her in, however, it may not have been listed yet.”

“Can she not reply on her own?”

“She’s terribly shy.” said Raphael, mocking the tone of a noble as a certain person glared from the side. “She speaks very little, but her ideas are expansive. If you’d rather not believe me, I may go speak to the his Majesty in your stead—“

“No, no.” said the guard hurriedly, unable to deny the confidence that leaked from Raphael’s words. “You may enter.”

Raphael smiled in thanks, stepping through the doors. Under his breath when the door shut once more, he heaved a sigh and muttered under his breath. “I’ll never get used to that.”

Soren listened. “To?”

“Pretending to speak like a sweet lady. For the disguise, I have to speak in a way that’s the opposite of my usual tone, and with this outfit… yeah, it’s not fun.”

“…oh.”

Soren scanned over the sight of the ballroom. The commoners would flock in the gardens, though a few mingled in the crowds, dressed as elegantly as they could. There were people twirling and spinning to the music, though it wasn’t many.

The ball would truly come to life later into the evening. And that would also be the best time to reveal everything.

“Hm.” muttered Raphael, standing beside him near the entrance, overlooking the entire room with his steady eyes. “The best way would be to attract attention first, to have people be fascinated to the point they’ll wonder if we’re right.”

Suddenly, he straightened and smiled lazily, holding out a gloved hand. 

“Shall we dance, little prince?’