Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

The priority would be meeting up with Raphael and Brioc — wherever those fools had wandered off to after Soren's capture.

In the castle, most likely. Seeing as Erlen had been instructed to break Soren out, the others would've been searching for information. If things went accordingly with Alvara, there was a large aspect of the plan which relied on that mysterious fox.

Why was such a major role applied to somebody not even there?

Because Damien was the most trustworthy person — in both the novel Soren had read, and in the prince's own judgement. 

He wandered through the halls thinking such thoughts, following the maid who'd he instructed to lead him secretly to the room with uniforms. As she ushered the few servants wandering in the area, he glanced back. 

Erlen looked around, confliction in his amber eyes which darted around. Walking around so freely — was this really a stealth mission?

As if noticing the confusion, Soren asked, "What?"

"Well..." Erlen frowned, stepping forward as he said in a hushed tone, "Shouldn't we be more cautious?"

"Yeah."

"Then?"

"Too much work."

The main point was that they weren't caught. Regardless, the Haze King likely knew of their involvement and that Soren had escaped from the cell. It wasn't a matter of sneaking around and hiding; it was a matter of not being known.

With the few words, he stepped into a dim room, and Erlen, after a moment of hesitation, stepped through after him. 

It was a small, dusty room, which was far too compact to hold everything it did. Rows of clothing cramped together on thin hangers, jammed against the wall tightly. 

The servants' quarters. 

A few seats were neatly pushed into a crumbling wooden table, and a stack of paper sat quietly. 

It was clean, but its worn furniture and cramped space made it feel anything but. The Haze King cared only for himself. His servants were another thing he overlooked. 

Yet they stayed. 

Perhaps because they had nowhere else to go, or that they had no choice anymore. Running away from a position under the King was a risky move, because he'd either not care at all, or destroy them for daring to escape. 

Soren reached out and pulled off a simple, black attire that was formal and proper, though lacking the clean nobility his clothes often radiated. 

The ball would be held that evening and occur for several days. It was the last day that would be the peak of excitement, standing so high it could only crash once toppled.

This wouldn't be the disguise they'd wear for the ball, however. But that part of the plan relied on Damien, and it was something to be revealed later. 

"Step outside, and knock if somebody comes." said Soren smoothly as the maid nodded, stepping outside. 

Erlen glanced at her. "Is she completely under your control?"

"It'll fade soon."

He yanked at his robe, folding it into a pile before tugging on the slim white shirt, pulling over the night-coloured jacket which had signs of wear in the corners. When he pulled off his pants, Erlen finally reacted.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

Soren frowned, continuing to tug off his pants. "Changing."

"What?"

"Are you stupid?" said Soren, shaking his head as he pulled on the matching black pants, straightening his collar as he stifled a yawn. "We're going to find the others."

"Where?"

"He'll be near the King's quarters."

"Who?"

"The hippo." said Soren calmly, as if it explained everything. Which it didn't. Not at all.

Erlen's confusion only deepened. "The what?"

"Hurry up." said Soren, ignoring the conversation entirely. "They might leave."

"And go where?" 

"Don't know."

"....." Regardless of his little brother's confusing antics, Erlen obliged and hastily pulled over the clothes, uncomfortably tugging at the collar. He typically dressed casually for a noble, and these slim-fit suits were anything of the sort. 

Soren squinted at his fiery hair, then traced his finger over one of his own drifting silvery locks. Conspicuous colours, they were.

He scanned the room, searching for any means of disguise hidden between boxes or behind clothes. 

'Put a bag over my head?'

That was a foolish thought. One that would be less obvious than their striking hair colours, however. His mind spun -- he'd read plenty of situations similar and experienced such himself during the apocalypse. 

Then, he paused at a small metal pot that sat quietly on a low shelf, paint cracking at the edges. He walked over and swirled it. Heavy. There was liquid inside of it. 

Once the lid was removed, the faint scent of diluted caffeine wafted.

A solution. 

When Erlen turned his head around, ready to leave, he witnessed Soren standing, head bent low as he raised the pot over his head. A few items of black clothing had been tossed to the ground as some sort of protector, and the trickle of coffee flowed. 

It tangled into the snowy locks, mixing and blending. Soren would occasionally pause, ruffle his hair to blend in the colour more before continuing the slow pour. 

By the end, the clothes on the floor were a sopping mess, and the prince stood quietly with his head lowered, dripping in muddy stains of brown. 

Without a word, Erlen spun around and rummaged through the cabinets, finally finding a small towel. He tossed it at Soren. 

"Tsk... what the hell are you doing?"

Soren rubbed his head roughly with a frown. The scent was strong and lingering, but not enough to be a severe distraction. His gaze roamed over Erlen, and the other felt an unmistakable threat of danger.

The stare was piercing, and Erlen felt terrified. 

"Your hair. Shave it."

"No!"

Erlen threw his hands over his head in protection, horrified at the prospect. Soren was unsatisfied and shook his head. Red hair couldn't be dyed so easily. Shaving it was the only option.

However, Erlen seemed to have no intentions of cooperating. How troublesome, really.

Then, a knock sounded on the door. Light and careful. 

Erlen and Soren glanced at each other before darting off to their respective hiding spots they had chosen when they surveyed the room earlier. The possibility of an intruder always existed, and they were prepared for it. 

When the door creaked open, there was nobody in sight. Erlen had hastily shoved the wet clothes under a shelf during his escape, and the metal had been knocked over as if it had been accidentally spilled.

If one didn't look carefully, nothing seemed to be out of ordinary. A simple spill, that was all. 

However, the person at the entrance stood with their hands on their hips and a wide, sly smile on their face. Their violet eyes curved.

"Don't I have brilliant timing~?" said the clear voice that carried a persisting trace of mischievousness.

Nobody exited their hiding spot, and Brioc peered around. 

"It's a little rude, you know? Especially you, Renren. I can forgive Leny since we're not good friends yet, but not you."

"...Leny?" Disbelief and disgust at the word. Another victim of Brioc's unfortunate nickname schemes.

At a response, Brioc grinned. "Well Leny, you're pretty responsive, aren't you?"

"Tsk, stop calling me that, Haze Prince." said Erlen in a low growl, ducking out from the bundle of clothes he had merged himself with. 

"And don't call me that, Leny." smiled Brioc chillingly. 

Soren stood up from where he was pressed against the floor silently, melting into the ground. If only, he wished. Melting into the floor didn't seem like the worse option, not when trouble stood right before him in the form of an odd, bickering pair. 

Brioc waved at him, a twinkle in his eyes. "You're alive~"

"...unfortunately." said Soren slowly, glancing around. "Raphael?"

"Oh~ Raphy. You're wondering where he is?" The spreading smile on Brioc's face told Soren that the magician was full of unusual thoughts. "Really~?"

"...where is he?"

"I've no clue." said Brioc with a helpless shrug. "He wandered off earlier, said he'd be searching for information."

After Soren's capture, something had changed about Raphael's aura that even Brioc didn't dare to provoke. Simmering and dangerous, carrying an air of despair that radiated out of every orifice. 

What Brioc didn't know was that Raphael had been accustomed to losing people. Yet watching Soren alone, dragged away by guards before his eyes — it brought back all those memories he'd almost forgotten. 

Being used to it did not mean he accepted it.

Another companion, lost.

Brioc had originally thought of interfering, of asking questions and being the bother he always was and loved, but even the magician knew how to read a mood. 

It wasn't a time to provoke, when Raphael's emotions were pulled so taut they'd snap at any moment. 

And then he ended by these doors, with a missing Raphael long gone.

The clouded eyes of the maid had given it away, standing out the door without a word. While Brioc wasn't aware of the exact reason for the hypnotism, he knew Soren was a curious creature of fascinating wonders.

In other words, anything peculiar that happened in the next few days would be blamed on Soren.

The prince's blue eyes narrowed in thought. 

Raphael was responsible, and would follow the duties given to him if he believed they would lead to success. He'd assured Soren of it in accepting the mission. 

"I know where he is."

Brioc blinked in surprise. "Oh? Where?"

"He'll be around the King's quarters." Soren had thought so earlier, and even more so now. If Raphael went off on his own without Brioc, then he could only be following the tasks given by Soren.

"Makes sense~ Let's go find him then."

Erlen frowned at Brioc. "Can we really trust him?"

Soren's reply was curt. "More than I trust you."

"...got it."

His youngest brother was different now. Erlen allowed that fact to wander from his mind at times, but occasionally he'd get a rude reminder. An adventure and time nobody knew of, with people none of the princes could decipher. 

Soren was living his own life now. Free from the bounds of tiresome royalty. 

Brioc stared at him and tilted his head, a mocking smile almost. "What's the matter, Leny? Is that really surprising?"

Soren's past wasn't spoken, but Brioc could understand the situation at the castle, judging by the other prince's reactions. It was intolerable to imagine what sort of loneliness had existed within those suffocating walls of gold.

Brioc was crazy, but Soren was somebody he'd accepted as a friend. Somebody who stood out, bright even in the chaos of life, and the magician was mesmerized by that.

So towards Erlen, he harboured slight dislike. Erlen's hatred of the Haze King, which painfully reflected onto Brioc himself, only made their tension deeper. 

Erlen scowled. "Mind your own business, magician."

Despite the dislike that seeped into his tone, he'd stopped calling Brioc by the 'Haze Prince' title as asked. Brioc paused for a moment.

Then, a black cloth flew across the room and slapped Erlen in the face.

"Ow, what the hell!" 

Soren stood in the doorway, impatient. "Cover your hair." 

Grumbling, Erlen did as he told and then looked at Brioc, still dressed in robes. "And what of him?"

"Nothing. Play the servant, and he'll play the guest. I'll find Raphael alone."

"What? Oh definitely not—"

"Follow the plan." said Soren calmly, though his tone carried a biting edge. "Or do nothing at all."

Erlen and Brioc were both needed to cause chaos, to set the castle on flames. Quite literally. With the help of Deimos who had stowed away in the Haze Kingdom at an earlier time, a grand spetacle could be made.

One in which illusion and reality blurred together to create a beautiful mess.

"We'll make a move tomorrow night." said Soren. "Be ready."

Leaving the pair behind, Soren walked off, straightening his clothes as his hair was mostly dry -- or at least, enough that he wouldn't leave a trail of coffee in his wake. 

It had turned the brilliant snowy locks into a hazy muddy colour. The splotches were uneven, darker in some areas and still peaking white in others, but it didn't matter. From a glance, he looked like a typical servant, so long as he kept his eyes lowered. 

For a while, he walked around through floors, slinking in the corners of the room, pressed against the wall in his lazy steps.

Until he remembered, finally, that he had no idea where he was.

And the direction was an issue.

He passed another row of doors when several footsteps suddenly echoed down the hallway. Soren shifted his gaze to make his icy eyes less vivid, darting from door to door. 

There were voices from the opposite direction as well.

With several people, it was possible for him to be caught, unable to escape. He wasn’t one to harm a normal civilian if it wasn’t necessary.

‘Annoying.’

He’d just have to keep as invisible of an identity as possible if they tried to talk to him, figured Soren.

But as he steadied his resolve, a door swung open behind him. Something wrapped around his arm — strong, unrelenting and familiar. There was a sharp pull as his body lurched back, and the subtle thud of the door echoed down the hallway.

Within the door, agains the wooden oak, Soren heard the low breathing faint in the quiet air, felt the hand wrapped around his mouth to silence him.

Perhaps in his surprise, Soren remained still.

The footsteps faded, and a deep chuckle vibrated beside his ears. “Hey, little prince. I found you.”

Soren pushed the hand away, stepping from the door with a frown. “Erlen found me.”

“Did I or did I not just save you from being caught?”

“I could’ve handled it.”

“Ungrateful.” said Raphael.

“Unneeded.” replied Soren.

Raphael stared at him for several moments, drinking in his sight. The white hair that was now sprinkled with spots of light brown, and sharp, indifferent eyes of arctic blue. Alive. In once piece.

He sighed in relief. Moving over to a cabinet, he rummaged through and pulled out several medical items.

“Sit down, I’ll apply the ointment on your back for you.”

Soren squinted, eliciting a helpless sigh from Raphael. “Come on, little prince. It’ll help with the bruising.”

For some reason, Raphael felt as if Soren was looking at him a little more strangely than usual. Without the same prickling curiosity, but the sort of look that made him feel like the other had a question to ask. 

Finally, Soren walked over.

“Lie down, and lift up your shirt slightly.”

Soren obliged. The pale curves and muscles on his back were decorated in various colours of blue and red trailing down his spine. When the cold ointment touched his back, he shivered slightly in surprise.

Raphael was meticulous and incredibly cautious, delicately rubbing the cream over the bruises with light hands to provide the least discomfort possible.

After the initial surprise, Soren had relaxed on the bed, enjoying the cold that danced along his back. It was quiet, not a word being said. Despite that, it was strangely comfortable.

Raphael lowered his gaze as it roamed, the dark bruises and cuts making him still occasionally. For a ‘fragile’ prince, Soren really took a beating. The protagonist laughed to himself — really, the only person who called this fool weak was the person himself.

“Why are you so desperate to throw yourself into danger?”

“I’m not.”

“What a liar, Ren.”

Soren scowled and moved to get up, only for a hand to press onto his back. He shivered at the sudden pressure. “…what?”

“I’m not done yet. Stay still, alright?”

“…..”

Raphael continued until every bruise was covered or wrapped neatly in a bandage, carefully tending to each wound. However, when he was done, Soren found that the weight on his back didn’t lessen.

“…hey, hippo. Get off.”

But Raphael was still. Finally, after thinking of twenty ways to kill Raphael in his mind, he heard a low, shuddering voice that made Soren unable to think anymore.

“Thank you, Ren.”

Thank you for coming back.