They left their alley and tried to fall back into the stream of society. Byleth’s shawl was again tight around his magnificent hair, but the damage had already been done. A crowd had clumped up around them, blocking any available exit. People whispered and pointed at Byleth. It was as if Trell and Forric didn’t exist.

Byleth blushed and melted under their attention. Even when he wasn’t trying to make a mad dash away from the Castle and his role as Prince, he was very rarely seen by the public. At least, not in ways that he could hear what they were saying about him. He would often sit on his throne next to his parents, but he was always far enough away that the hushed words of all the peasants were nothing more than a rumble to his ears. Then, he could hide all of those nerves behind a Princely smile and some makeup.

Now, he was… exposed. Forric and Trell seemed to melt into the background, both shooting glances back and forth but unable to do anything. They’d put their weapons into the bag Byleth had enchanted, and realistically, threatening an entire crowd wasn’t going to do anything but make a bigger fuss, now was it?

Byleth stood still, looking from face to face. He couldn’t bring himself to move. If he could reach the wand to cast a spell, if he could make them all forget… He couldn’t do magic on that scale. Not without his staff. And that was still locked up in his room in the Castle. He was expecting Trell to take him somewhere exciting after they got his gold! Somewhere on the outskirts of the Capital, where they could meet other people and he could get a new staff. Maybe it wouldn’t be as good, but it would have been functional…

Trell was next to him, and Forric was on his other side. He could still feel his heart pounding in his chest. His cheeks felt hot. Trell shoved forward into the crowd, knocking a small old lady out of the way, but by the time he had turned to grab Byleth and pull him along, he was met with a tall, intimidating man with the same armor that hugged Forric’s chest, though this set was complete. No exposed arms for the sake of looking cute.

Trell shuffled back. He looked into the alley to find a different route of escape, but came up empty. The alley simply led nowhere. It was used for garbage and nothing more.

More knights began to shove their way through the crowd, their glinting armor and overwhelming figures looming over even Forric as they made their approach. After a few more moments, Trell, Forric, and Byleth had clumped together, and the Imperial Knights had formed a perimeter around them. They’d have to fight their way out. Trell pulled at Byleth’s bag, ready to draw his knives, but Forric rested his hand on his and gave him a focused stare: a promise. Trell sneered, but withdrew his hand.

The knights looked subhuman beneath their sharp armor and ornate helmets: plated with metals Trell didn’t have the words for, and molded into the fierce visage of a dragon. Forric’s armor pieces had the matching sharp angles and characteristic reptilian features, but without his helmet and the other half of his armor, he appeared… small. Strikingly human.

The knight at the front, the one with warpaint adorning his armor, the blue looking like the splattered blood of a dragon across his helmet and chest, stepped forward. Trell shrunk back like an animal cornered, and Byleth still remained nearly stunned in place. Forric, however, puffed his chest and took a matching step forward.

The head knight turned back around at Forric’s step. At first, Trell was shocked, then, he breathed an uncomfortable sigh.

“Disband. To your homes, or face certain arrest,” the head knight barked. His knights turned on their heels and drew their swords to emphasize his point. Trell looked back to Forric, and drew Byleth closer to him, their bodies touching behind their day-old clothes.

Once the crowd was completely dispersed, the head knight turned back towards them, eyeing Byleth carefully. Trell tightened his grip on Byleth’s wrist. The knights fell out of formation and pulled in close, surrounding them even more tightly, yet there was little threatening about their posture. The head knight pointed two fingers to the air and flicked them both down, and the rest of the knights sheathed their swords. The head knight did, as well, once everyone else was disarmed.

“What are you lot doing?” the head knight asked, leaning over to scrutinize Byleth. Trell pushed Byleth behind him and sneered up at the head knight, who leaned back with both palms raised. Trell slid his hands around Byleth and into his bag.

“We’re just a lovely throuple going for a stroll. I thought that was obvious. This is my partner,” Trell said, brushing his right hand through Byleth’s hair, knocking the shawl back. His left arm was still wrapped tightly around Byleth’s hips, and, unbeknownst to the head knight, in Byleth’s enchanted bag. “That’s my partner’s partner. Every once and awhile, he and I… you know… But generally we just trade off who gets the night with this lovely minx.”

Byleth gave Trell an aghast look. Trell kept his eyes locked with the head knight’s.

“Ah, of course. Well, you’ll excuse us, I suppose, for assuming that the man who blew up a local inn using magic and happens to look exactly like the Prince and is accompanied by one of the Prince’s personal guards is the Prince. Our mistake.”

Forric grit his teeth.

“Go elsewhere, Venex. Your presence is neither warranted, nor is it requested.”

Venex, the head knight, broke into a broad smile.

“It’s good to see you, Forric. I look forward to catching up after we sort this problem out.”

“Yes, the two of you can catch up and have a joyous reunion. I wish you the happiest of times,” Trell snapped. Then, he drew his knife from Byleth’s bag and snapped it towards Venex’s throat. All of the knights making up the perimeter around them drew their swords and pointed them back. Venex nodded at Trell.

“Sheathe your swords, knights. This one will not pose a threat,” Venex said. The knights did as they were told. Trell nearly snarled. He brought his blade closer to Venex’s throat now. Close enough that metal was on flesh. No blood was drawn yet, though with a swift movement, he could have killed the knight.

“You’re right. I’ll be on my merry way as soon as you order your knights to stand down and let Byleth and I go.” One of the knights snatched Byleth’s bag from his arms. He looked back, still stunned in silence.

“Trell…” Forric tried, though there wasn’t any force behind it.

“No. You are not taking him back to the Castle. I will die for his safety.”

Venex raised an eyebrow, then crossed his arms.

“Forric. Warn him of what will happen if he doesn’t comply.”

Trell looked over at Forric, whose posture was a shivering mess. Forric, the bold and courageous person that had saved Trell at least twice in the last day and a half, was now a lump of insecurity that couldn’t even bother to meet Trell’s eyes.

“Trell. Please. It’s over. Give him your knife. If we just go, we’ll be spared. If you try anything, they will torture you for weeks. If you do not crack, they will find every single person you have ever loved and torture them in front of you. You’re fierce, but they have invented new ways of breaking people.”

Venex looked down at Trell, smugness wrapped on his sneer. Trell looked up at him, his face a conduit of the purest form of anger.

“Go on, Forric. Tell Byleth that you’re a coward and that you’ve failed him.” Trell took one last look at the men surrounding them, then spun his knife in his hand and handed the hilt to Venex. Venex attached it to his belt, then put his helmet back on.

“Thank you. Knights. We’re moving to the Castle. Formation eighteen. Now.”

The knights shuffled into a rectangle around them, with the somber Byleth dead in the center. Trell and Forric no longer flanked him. Trell made up the rear, and Forric was the front. Trell glared daggers, swords, spears, arrows, and every other sharp weapon into the back of Forric’s head.

In front of him, he heard Forric and Venex exchange a few words.

Trell wasn’t done. He would go with, to buy a few moments, but he wasn’t done.

He could snag the bag from the knight to his left, throw Byleth his wand, then rush away in the confusion that Byleth would generate magically. But no. Byleth seemed off. He hadn’t said a word since they’d been discovered, and Trell didn’t want to rely on him for an exit. He could… Drop a flask from his jacket and rush away with Byleth, then.

He could open the flask, and unleash that issue, and leave it for the knights to deal with… but the possibility that Byleth could be caught in the crossfire was too great. And, none of these plans left him an opportunity to take Forric away with them, just to chain him up and cut him into small, snivelling chunks of Imperial.

Trell was just about to formulate another plan, when several things happened, almost all at once: they reached the bottom of a large set of stairs, they rounded a corner into a small, secluded residential area, Venex flung his shield against the knight closest to him, then Forric stole that staggered knight’s shield, then bashed the next knight with it. Byleth let a snap of electricity from his fingertips race across the knight with his bag in hand, then snatched his bag back and drew his wand.

Venex turned back and threw Trell his knife before Trell even fully managed to comprehend what was happening. He was fast, to be sure, and his reflexes were nearly unmatched. But there was something to say about the finesse with which Forric and Venex moved--even the way Byleth moved with them! They had a fluidity that Trell was caught completely off-guard by.

If asked, that’s what he would insist slowed his reaction down: the sheer spectacle of the two of them (plus Byleth, who apparently had just been playing dumb for who knew how long, waiting for the right moment to spring into action). The truth, however, was much closer to a form of lust that he certainly wasn’t expecting.

Eventually, once he closed his hanging jaw, Trell joined in, taking heat from Byleth by striking the hilt of his knife against one of the soldiers nearest to him. Byleth followed by casting a nasty-looking flame onto the next knight, and the final one standing met a blow from Forric’s shield. The four men stood, chests heaving in air, then Venex looped his shield around the back of his shoulders and clapped. Loud.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” He took a step towards Byleth, pulled off his helmet, kneeled, and kissed his knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, my Prince. If you’d be so kind as to erase their memories…? Last time I had to pay nearly a year’s worth to ensure I wasn’t caught, and, well… I’d prefer to avoid that this time.” Byleth smirked, and pulled Venex to his feet.

“Of course, Ser Shand. But, I must say, the pleasure is all mine. You are certainly as charming as ever.” Byleth raised his wand, whispered something unintelligible, and a shower of sparkly mist rained over each knight, one by one. Trell felt his cheeks go hot. Byleth knew this man, too? Venex walked over, and extended his hand.

“You’ll pardon my little performance, I hope? Onlookers are so often desperate for blood, and I had to put on a show. That, and between Forric, Byleth, and I, we all generally knew the way the situation was going to go. I’m afraid you didn’t, and we couldn’t let you on until now.”

Trell stared down at Venex’s hand, but didn’t take it.

“Your reluctance to kill us is appreciated. Not much else of you is.”

That was a lie. Trell eyed him up and down. The man was like an amped-up Forric. He had darker skin, a stronger jaw, more striking eyes, a nicer haircut, more rippling muscles… not that Trell could quite see, as it was, but just from the way his neck looked, he was capable of filling in the blanks.

Still, he certainly wasn’t Trell’s type. Trell generally preferred his people smaller. Less… monstrously strong. And he certainly didn’t enjoy being lied to.

“Right. Well. My Prince, Forric, I’m sorry to say that this is hardly a social meeting that we must have. I got wind of you being spotted and was fortunate enough to be the one who caught up to you first--which is an issue in and of itself--but there is worse news to be had. This isn’t the place, however. I’ve a few options for us to meet where we won’t attract much attention--provided we aren’t wearing Imperial armor. There’s a brothel down the way, a tavern that I’m fond of nearby, a restaurant with private rooms, if only for the right cost, the Gracious Inn, the library…”

“Well, considering our previous experience with an Inn, I’d prefer to steer clear from that place,” Byleth said, pulling his shawl back over his head. It had come loose during the fight.

“I’m always happy to go to a tavern,” Trell mumbled. He didn’t think that Venex had heard, but Venex beamed and clasped his shoulder.

“Wonderful. Let’s get ourselves a private room there, then, so that we may speak frankly with one another. My Prince? Would you be so kind as to cast a glamour charm on us, sir?”

Byleth cleared his throat.

“I’d love to.” He cast one, and all four of them resembled peasants of the most lowly variety in the next blink.

Trell caught Forric looking at him from behind Venex. He said nothing, and averted his eyes as soon as they met. Trell narrowed his own, and stormed out of the residential nook behind them.

The tavern was functional, though it certainly lacked the grimy majesty of the Shapely Angel. It was much cleaner, more sparkly… The clientele were of softer faces, and the place even had stairs to a second floor. Byleth reached in his bag to produce the coin to give to Venex to order a private room, and, minutes after their arrival, the four of them found themselves in a private room, complete with an elongated table, fantastical banners adorning the walls, and a fireplace flickering in the corner. The cobblestone walls made the place feel cold, and uncaring, though it reminded Byleth a bit of the Castle. Forric, had he been asked, would have agreed. Trell had only ever seen the outside of the Castle. And it certainly looked like this, what with the pretentious banners and the hard-set stone, though this room had a deeper air of comfort than he could have ever imagined finding in the Castle.

Still, he kept his knives, now both firmly attached to his hips again, ready to move, should anyone unwelcome enter the room. Or, should Venex decide that he was here to bring harm to Byleth. For all he cared, Forric could be bashed into small bits. Or stabbed repeatedly. It would even be a show of sorts.

Funny to think they had shared a bed only hours ago.

Venex cleared his throat.