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Chapter Text

“I’m Essa,” she says, smiling.

She sticks out a delicate hand like a typical prince-not-princess and Edgar snorts. He thought princesses were supposed to bend into a curtsy, all proper and shit. She’s still looking up at him, and still smiling. Infuriatingly.

Now that he’s standing toe to toe with her, he comes to the realization that Essa is tiny.

She’s a petite little thing with flouncing blonde hair and golden skin. Her blue eyes glitter from beneath wavy bangs and Edgar can tell she knows exactly how to flutter her eyelashes to get every Everboy to do what she wants.

Well, not him. No, sir.

And she would remind Edgar a little bit of Filip and his mother, but whereas Vanessa’s beauty had been cold and severe, Essa looked like the personification of all the sweets and chocolates that Edgar would stuff his face with when Vanessa wasn’t looking. His mother never cared about him anyway, so he’d been able to eat all the sweets he’d wanted to.

And he’d had no negative feelings towards this particular, if obscenely popular, princess, that last adjective tacked on because of the sheer volume of squealing from the Evergirls when she had stepped inside the auditorium, and the dark red blush on every single Everboy’s face.

No negative feelings, other than slight annoyance.

Right until Filip moans about having a huge, devastating crush on her. And that he wouldn’t help Edgar figure out how to get them home because Filip belonged here. Filip was destined to marry Essa and live happily ever fucking after in Camelot.

Edgar scowls. Stupid back-stabbing best friends and their stupid, insipid ideas of destiny and romance.

He’s wrenched back to the present when the little thing clears her throat. Edgar has to very nearly look straight down to meet her eyes. A vicious feeling of satisfaction courses through him when he realizes Essa has to crane her neck to match his gaze.

“So?” she prompts, “What’s your name?”

“Edgar,” he grunts. Irritated already with the girl who had warped Filip’s mind.

She hums in response, looking him up and down.

He feels sort of weird being under her scrutiny. Well, no shit. He wasn’t used to people even giving him a second glance.

“Could you get out of my way?”

Her pretty eyes widen.

Edgar doesn’t wait and shoves his way past, so far beyond irritated. Really edging into anger, if he’s being honest.

“It was nice meeting you!” She calls after him.

He ignores her and stomps down the stairs.

Let her think he hates her. Edgar does.

He sees only a flash of the hurt expression on Essa’s face as he leaves, although with the fact that he absolutely does not care if he hurt her feelings or not, it’s quite easy to brush off.

After he turns the corner, Essa frowns, pouting harder. He’d been so mean to her. And she can’t figure out why. So, right then and there, she decides that she doesn’t like him.

He was a jerk. A lumps forms in her throat and she curses her sensitivity. Father had always said she cried too easily.

Stupid princesses, Edgar thinks to himself as he stomps up the stairs to his dorm room. All the Good students at this even stupider school could go to hell. Edgar wouldn’t fall for their games, and he scowls harder. Even if Filip already had.

———

What does Edgar find out in the coming days?

That classes are a disaster.

The only one he likes is swordplay, because that didn’t involve any talking and he could stay as silent as he wanted. He also has a certain gift for it, which the other boys resented, but Edgar couldn’t care less. He’d survive long enough in this stupid school till he figured out a way to get him and Filip home. Back to Gavaldon.

And not Camelot.

Filip had already tried to switch uniforms with Edgar, twice. But each time blue rots to black on his svelte body, and black melts back into royal blue on Edgar’s own. But even if that particular path to happiness had vanished for Filip, the idiotic blond had decided he would try winning Essa’s heart anyway.

And loathe as Edgar is to admit it, Filip did possess a certain amount of charm that has clearly worked on Essa, if the way she blinks doe-like at Filip every now and then, is saying anything. But the next obstacle appears in Filip’s path to victory, because when they’re made to distinguish between Good and Evil in their forest groups…

Essa picks Edgar every time.

Chapter Text

The way Sophie scowls at the princess who walks in last, in a private fanfare of adoring choruses and blushing Everboys, makes Agatha cackle so loud that said princess blinks at her with big blue eyes, and tilts her head like Agatha is a fairy she’s never seen before.

That causes Agatha’s laughing to cease, point blank, and the two of them are left to stare at each other before Beatrix is yanking Blondie away and tittering in her ear about dresses or princes.

Agatha’s face heats up at the memory of it, though it had been seconds ago, that innocent gaze burned into her mind. Kiko is giving her a side-glance that’s painted in confusion. Agatha shrugs it off and turns her focus back forwards, fisting her hands in her lap, not really caring if she’s wrinkling the pink satin fabric.

She knows exactly which angle to turn her head so that that princess would land in her sights.

She also knows that Sophie is still trying to get her attention so that they could switch clothes. She opts to ignore her for now. Switching schools wasn’t the goal here. The goal was to get back home to Gavaldon. All these villains and princesses and princes be damned.

———

Princesses are surprisingly mean.

They’re standing by the girl’s bathroom because Essa and a couple of other girls had to go, and Beatrix calls her ugly to her face. Agatha is confused at first, because they’d just had a lesson on Good Deeds. But then she’s annoyed. Because she’d heard that enough her whole life, thank you very much, and she didn’t have to stand here and listen to Beatrix’s nagging. So she does just that.

She leaves.

She hears them tittering behind her and she wills her shoulders back down from where they want to come up and hunch around her ears. When she turns the corner, her scowl deepens. She’d get herself and Sophie out of this hellhole if it’s the last thing she did.

Luckily none of the Everboys seemed to appeal to Sophie, so Agatha thinks she still has a chance to convince Sophie that they were better off back home. Suddenly, the light sound of running feet starts approaching behind her, and when Agatha turns around, she comes face to face with Essa, who slows to a graceful stop right in front of her, dress floating like a luscious pink cloud around her slender legs.

Too close for comfort according to Agatha, but Essa seems fine with the closeness, if her not budging an inch means anything.

”Hi,” Essa says, apologetically. But for what, Agatha doesn’t understand.

“Hi?”

“Um, I just wanted to say sorry about Trix, she’s just not used to socializing properly,” Essa says, waving a dismissive hand.

Oh. Well.

“She sure has a lot of girls around her despite that.”

“That’s because she’s the prettiest,” Essa shrugs, matter-of-fact.

Agatha snorts. “I thought you were the prettiest.”

Essa’s eyes widen, and then she blushes and looks away in a surprising show of shyness. “Stop.”

Agatha raises her eyebrows. “I’m not flattering you. I thought everybody knew that.”

Essa shakes her head, still sheepishly smiling. “Agatha–”

Nobody’s ever said her name like that. So Agatha is at a loss for too many seconds.

“I’ve known Beatrix for a while and she likes to keep her circle small.” Essa sighs. “She keeps to her clique usually.”

Agatha nods, pursing her lips, still kind of annoyed. “Why’d she have to shit on me then?”

“She’s threatened, I think.”

Agatha would have spit out her drink if she’d had any in her mouth. “I’m sorry, by what?”

“You’re really tall and have beautiful eyes,” Essa shrugs. “You look like a model.” She then smiles warmly up at Agatha. “That’s probably it.”

Agatha hates that Essa has shut her up a total of twice now. She blinks at this tiny blonde princess in absolute shock.

“I’m not flattering you. I thought everybody knew that,” Essa says, imitating Agatha from before with a pixieish scrunch of her nose.

”Nobody says I’m pretty.”

”But everybody thinks it.”

“You’re the worst,” Agatha says, deadpan.

But Essa beams like it’s the best thing she’s heard all day.

“You wanna come up to my room later? Some of the girls want to do a semester opening party. To talk about classes and boys and stuff.”

“Is ‘Trix’ going to be there?” Agatha asks, sarcastically.

“I’ll stay by your side the whole time, don’t worry.”

“How’s that going to help?”

Essa shrugs again with a smile. “Trixie acts extra nice when I’m around.”

“Someone has a high opinion of themselves.”

“Comes with being the heir to Camelot.”

“Right. Sophie complained about that.”

Essa tilts her head to the side like a confused doe. “Who?”

“The blonde Never.”

Essa’s eyes widen. “Oh, the pretty one!”

Agatha nods, “Exactly.”

“She sticks out like a sore thumb,” Essa giggles.

“She thinks she should be over here.”

“In the school for Good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hmm,” Essa furrows her brows. “The School Master hasn’t made a mistake before.” As she’s thinking she glances at the clock beside them up on the wall and her eyes widen again. “Oh! We’re going to be late!” Essa grabs her hand and once again Agatha is so shocked she doesn’t oppose the contact, and lets Essa drag her to their next class, going the long way around, warm fingers intertwined with her own.

Agatha tries not to think about the fact that the other princess probably took the two of them this way to avoid the rest of the Evergirls.

———

It’s evening, more like edging into late night, and the Evergirls have been chatting and playing party games for a while when Essa takes Agatha by the hand for the second time that day and drags her to lay beside her on the floor, bottle in her other hand.

They’ve been staring up together at the vaulted ceiling for a couple minutes when Essa starts giggling beside her. Agatha turns her head to look at the other princess, their fingers still interlocked.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, but one look at Essa already has Agatha giggling in the second half of her sentence.

Jesus Christ, why was she acting this ditsy?

“I’m kind of drunk,” Essa confesses. And giggles harder. “This probably isn’t the best idea.”

“Have you ever had alcohol before?”

“Nope.”

“Then maybe you should take it slow,” Agatha advises.

Essa blows a raspberry. “Have you?”

“Occasionally. Enough to know my limits.”

“Oh, an expert,” Essa teases.

“More of an expert than you,” Agatha replies, and squeezes Essa’s hand once.

”I like that you’re comfortable,” Essa says suddenly, changing the subject.

Agatha purses her lips. ”Lying on the floor is surprisingly nice.”

”With holding my hand, I mean.”

“Oh—Well I—“

Essa turns pink. “I just never see you with the others—“

Agatha’s definitely a little buzzed. It’s the only excuse for the next words that leave her mouth. “You’re different.”

The other princess is silent for a moment, before she breaks their eye contact and blinks up at the ceiling. “You wanna get out of here?”

“As long as we leave the bottle.”

Essa frowns, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

“You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Essa rolls her eyes goodnaturedly. “Fine, Agatha. Just me and you. No bottle.”

Agatha doesn’t know why she rashes red down her neck. Her face feels hot.

It’s probably the alcohol. She hasn’t had any in a while.

Only Beatrix and Reena give them a second look as Essa pushes the ornate wooden door of her room open with her shoulder and the two of them tumble into the hall in a mess of pink tulle and sudden giggles.

The air is cooler outside, and the corridor is silent save for Essa’s whispered directions in the dark.

The torches had been put out because it was way past curfew, and frankly Agatha was a little worried about getting caught by the castle nymphs. But Essa doesn’t seem to share this worry because she guides them along the winding walkways with one hand on the wall and the other looped around Agatha’s elbow.

She’s warm and smells like a cupcake, so Agatha lets herself be led.

They make it to a room flooded with blue light, and Agatha catches sight of the moon outside lilac-paned windows, stretching from floor to ceiling. There’s a bench facing the outside, with two potted roses on either end, and Essa sits before gesturing to Agatha to do the same.

Essa lets out a breath like she’d been holding it in.

“Nice?”

Agatha looks out at their view. “Very nice.”

They don’t say anything more for five minutes.

Agatha feels a sudden, shocking surge of affection for this stranger, who she’s only known for a week, and yet with whom she was comfortable sitting in silence. Their shoulders brush, and Agatha shivers.

Essa’s head whips in her direction. “Are you cold?”

Agatha shakes her head vehemently. “No, no. Not cold.”

Essa smiles mischievously. “Then am I drawing you in with my unbelievable attractiveness?”

Agatha throws her head back and starts laughing so hard that her cheeks turn pink. “You’re so full of yourself,” she gasps when her head falls back forward.

Essa cheekily hooks her leg over Agatha’s thigh. “Don’t deny it, I saw you staring at me the moment I walked into this party.”

Agatha’s blush from laughter starts rapidly transforming into one of more dangerous proportions. She stutters out a giggle, “Uh, no.”

“Um, yes,” Essa teases, biting her lip and fluttering her eyelashes in an exaggerated show of flirtation. “Don’t try and resist the energy between us, baby.”

Agatha’s stupid breath catches in her stupid lungs when she accidentally meets Essa’s eyes.

Blue like oceans, with long dark lashes spread spidery above them, Agatha freezes, swallows and her focus flicks down to Essa’s mouth before guiltily jumping back up.

Her heart starts up a panicky rhythm in her chest, when the depth of Essa’s stare darkens…then suddenly lights back up again and Essa is falling away from her in a fit of giggles.

“I’m the queen,” she screams, jumping up and putting her hands on her hips. “I knew you’d fall for me eventually, princess. Such is the extent of my charms.”

Agatha only blinks up at her, and can’t ignore the new facade that Essa has clearly painted over herself. Glossy and peachy pink, Essa’s expression shines like a sparkling bell jar over a shameful secret. As soon as they had started drowning in the deep end, Essa had yanked them back into the shallows.

”Right,” Agatha nods, putting on her own air of indifference. “You win. I concede.”

”Yes, yes, yes,” Essa winks. She struts around in a picture-perfect display of feline femininity before dropping down to sit beside Agatha in a breathless slump. “So, what were we talking about?”

”Absolutely nothing.”

”My favorite topic,” Essa beams. “Speaking of which, have any boys in this neck of the woods caught your eye??” She wiggles her eyebrows for effect.

Agatha wrinkles her nose before she can think about lying. “No.”

Essa deflates. “Boo. Me neither.”

Agatha raises her eyebrows. “Really?”

”I don’t know. I thought you’d have some ideas.”

”So you could take my pick?”

”No, no. No way, I’m not like that,” Essa says, waving her hands desperately. “I was hoping you’d say a couple different princes.”

Agatha laughs, and Essa seems calmed by her casual air. ”Sorry to disappoint.”

”You know, there’s always like a group of guys that you think are cute, and then you have your favorite.”

”Right. Sure. I know all about that.”

”Ugh, I don’t know. Trixie doesn’t know either.”

Agatha thinks for a moment. ”Kiko mentioned Tristan or something?”

Essa is silent for a couple seconds. “I’ve known Tristan for a while,” she folds her arms over her chest and seems to be considering something. “Strangely, he’s always felt more like a girlfriend to me.”

Agatha raises her eyebrows. “Oh?”

”I don’t know. There’s an energy about her—uh, him.”

Agatha ignores the slip.

“What about Chaddick?”

Essa shakes her head. “He’s like my big brother. He likes to scare off anybody who shows interest in me,” she adds with a shake of the head and a fond smile.

Agatha sighs. “Do we have to find someone?”

Essa frowns. “Yep. Before the Snow Ball.”

”Are we allowed to find someone from the other school?”

Essa turns to look at Agatha like she’s crazy. “A Never?”

”Yeah?”

”The Snow Ball is for Evers only.”

“Says who.”

“Um, the rules?”

Agatha purses her lips. “Sounds stupid.”

Essa raises her hands in a show of placation. “Well, I didn’t write ‘em.”

”But I assume not a single Never would be caught dead at the Snow Ball.”

”Very true. Maybe that’s it.”

”Wait,” Agatha says, “Other than Sophie.”

Essa nods her head, “Riiiight. That Never girl.”

”My best friend,” Agatha adds.

Essa pouts.

“What?”

Essa doesn’t speak for a while, lips pressed together.

”Do you think we could become best friends?”

Agatha blinks at her, and her heart beats stubbornly harder like she’d just been proposed to or something, because that’s the tenderness and potency with which Essa asks her, hopeful, fragile blue stars in her eyes.

The two of them are definitely still a little drunk.

Agatha stares at her for longer, not saying anything, and this would be the point at which some regular old person would have run away, but Essa stays, not rushing her.

”I really like you,” Agatha says finally.

Essa smiles, elated, open and gorgeous, those stars still in her eyes. “I really like you too.”

“Do you think we already could be?” Agatha asks softly. Heart in her throat, kind of dizzy on the depth of emotion swirling around them. Their connection seems unreal, too strong for the length of time with which they’ve known each other.

“We’re best friends?” Essa asks, stars in her eyes.

Agatha hesitates, overwhelmed by the question. Then shrugs, attempting to dispel the vibrancy and color of the moment, looking down at her feet. “We should be, right?”

Essa beams, and throws her arms around Agatha’s shoulder. “Love of my life,” she giggles.

Agatha rashes red down to her chest, and curses the easy affection all the other princesses seemed to have been blessed with. Essa calls her the love of her life like it’s so easy to say.

Chapter Text

Tedros stumbles down the hallway, dead on his feet. His right hand is held out to support himself on the wall and he thanks god everybody’s already asleep because he’s so unsteady that if he loses the vertical support he’ll probably faceplant.

This is what he gets for training in the middle of the night. And then tripping and busting his wrist and ankle like an idiot.

It’s clear going for a good while before he abruptly runs into a warm body as soon as he turns the last corner.

He automatically holds the thinner figure by the shoulders to stop an already tipping body from falling over. And when he hears the alto voice gasp out a surprised “Oh!”, he recognizes her instantly.

It takes him a while to get the name out.

“—Agatha?”

She tenses underneath his hold, and gruffly shakes off his hands. They fall to his side, before he’s quickly putting the one back on the wall to steady himself.

“Tedros.”

”What are you doing out this late?” He asks, wincing as he adjusts his stance when he steps wrong.

He thinks he can see her accusing eyes even in the dark. They glint in the dim moonlight. “I could ask you the same.”

Tedros is unsettled by how much she dislikes him. “Training.”

“At night? Aren’t you already the best?” she quips, the strong sarcasm in her tone making him laugh softly, then wince again.

His head has started to pound so it takes a while for him to respond and he doesn’t have the sense to filter his words. ”I can always be better.”

Maybe he sounds sad because she doesn’t make fun of him, in the half-light she tilts her head. “Can’t stand on your own?”

“Messed up my ankle.”

”You should go to the nurse.”

”Can’t go now, I’ll lose points.”

Agatha is silent for a while, before she sighs, clearly irritated. “Follow me.”

”Where to?” He asks, confused.

“My room. I’ll bind your stupid ankle because you’re probably too stupid to do it yourself.”

He laughs again, likes the way she enunciates stupid for some reason, and nods. “Do I have a choice?”

”To be an idiot? Always. It’s one I think you choose often.” She takes him by the arm and makes him walk faster. “I don’t want to get caught, so practice hopping on one foot.”

”I was doing fine without you.”

”Sure you were.”

Tedros glances at her, and can make out the bridge of her nose and her long lashes in the dark. “What were you doing out?”

”Research,” she replies curtly.

“For?” He prompts.

“A school project.”

“I wasn’t aware we had any.”

“A special one for Professor Sader.”

She starts to seem annoyed by his questions, so he leaves the topic be.

Eventually they reach the girls wing, and while Agatha fiddles with her key, cursing and jamming it into the lock every which way, Tedros leans against the doorframe and closes his eyes.

A high-pitched feminine squeal makes them fly open, and in the dark, he catches the slender figure of a princess at the other end of the hall, about six doors away, vanish back into her room and slam the door behind her.

Agatha has frozen, her door swinging slowly open before them, and their eyes meet in equal parts horror and panic.

She woodenly walks inside and Tedros follows, shutting the door behind them and leaning backwards against the door, wincing for what seems the umpteenth time that night. ”Shit.”

Agatha rubs her temples with her fingers. ”It’s going to be all over school tomorrow.”

Tedros shrugs. “There’s still that thing about Chaddick and Reena going around.”

”It’s clearly not true though.”

”It also doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. Not for the Evers,” he reminds her.

She turns on him, glaring. “This is all your fault.” She leans down to light the candle beside her bed, and the new light washes them in a warm, buttery glow.

”Gee, thanks for your overwhelming empathy.”

”You looked pathetic. I grew up with a doctor for a mom. End of story.”

He smirks, and might only be a little drunk on her attitude. “Nurse me back to health then, princess.”

”Don’t call me that.”

”That’s what you are, though.”

”Should I call you a baby because that’s what you are?”

”Fine by me,” he fixes her with a lazy smile, head rolling to the side.

When she realizes what she’s said, she scowls. “You know that’s not what I meant. Your ankle probably isn’t even sprained.”

She glances down at his foot, and he shakes it from side to side, immediately hissing out in pain at his ill-advised mistake.

She scoffs at him, and drops to sit on her heels beside him. When she presses seemingly instantly onto that one spot on the inside, he almost yanks his foot away, cursing. “Jesus—”

But she holds him fast and gives him her second accusing stare of the night. “Did you walk on this?”

”At first, yeah,” he shrugs trying to lean forward and take back his foot, thank you very much. But she pushes him back with a hand on his chest, and his back hits the door again.

“You’re stupid,” she states.

”I prefer to think of it as persevering.”

”You broke your fucking ankle.”

His eyebrows raise. “No way.”

She stares at him. ”Yes way.”

”You can tell that from a touch?”

”It’s not hard. You’re nothing but muscle anyway.”

He grins. “Thanks.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re overworking yourself. It’s unhealthy.”

Tedros shrugs. “Eh. Can’t be helped.”

Agatha squints at him like he’s crazy. “You know what, I’m going to take care of this, and hope you learn your lesson.”

He gazes at her, thoroughly enchanted. “Have at it.”

She shakes her head, and fetches what he assumes are basic staples for a doctor’s daughter. She’s gentle from this step on, and though he can tell she’s unsettled by his staring, she doesn’t say anything, and wraps his ankle with no further comments.

Her fingers move deft and practiced, and Tedros relaxes for the first time in ages.

Chapter Text

Filip’s gaze turns murderous when Tedros of Camelot walks in, quite obviously because all the princesses in the auditorium swoon and dive for the chance to be in his sights.

Edgar looks the prince up and down, and smirks. “Pretty boy” might actually give Filip a run for his money. No wonder Edgar’s brother looked like the thing he would most like to do is kill Tedros in his sleep. Especially if Tedros was the most eligible prince in the Endless Woods, as the other princes whispered around him. That definitely would not work with the scope of Filip’s plans.

Edgar hadn’t been a part of the particularly sad, unmatched sword fight where Tedros had disarmed every single other Everboy, but even watching it had awakened a grudging sort of respect.

He’d been practicing fencing with Filip since his best friend had read that all princes should be able to wield a sword, so he was proud to say that he wasn’t half-bad with a blade either. He was even looking forward to their first swordplay lesson with Professor Espada.

———

It’s their third swordplay lesson of the week, when through chance, Edgar and Tedros are finally thrown in the ring together. Up until then, both of them had always fought somebody else.

When Tedros falls on his ass for the first time, sword skittering away on the marble, Edgar standing above him, the whole room goes dead silent. Edgar is the first to disarm their reigning champion. Meaning that the top spot in class was up for grabs, but only if Edgar managed to beat Tedros two out of three, which judging from the murderous look in crystal-blue eyes, had a very sly chance of happening again.

The circle of boys around them are all wearing wide eyes and slack-jawed stares. Tedros’ face gets progressively more and more pink as he stares up at Edgar, morphing rapidly from anger to embarrassment. To be quite honest, Edgar is shocked that he pulled it off at all, so his expression is no less surprised.

He stretches out a hand to help Tedros up, but the other prince just scowls and pushes himself up alone.

Edgar is nervous for the rest of the lesson, so unused to getting any sort of respect and awe, especially the grudging and wonder-filled kind that he was now receiving from the other princes. After all, he’d heard what they’d said about him the first minutes after he had arrived.

Too ugly to win a princess.

Scowls too much

Too scary to put a damsel in distress at ease.

Edgar scowls as he remembers it again. What did they know? Nobody but Tedros had gotten any attention from the girls of their school yet, so the other princes were no better off than him. Edgar hated the confidence with which they put down outsiders. Just because they came from various royal courts in the Endless Woods did not make them better heroes.

———

When Tedros comes up to him later, alone, eyes on the floor, brows furrowed, and asks if they could spar, occasionally or weekly, Edgar is so unnervingly flustered that he says yes without thinking. Nobody had ever willingly wanted to do anything with him since Filip. And Edgar is well aware that Filip’s little “outreach program” had started out as nothing but a good deed.

Sure, that good deed had eventually morphed into a true friendship. But Filip still had far from pure intentions.

Tedros on the other hand, doesn’t look like he could form an evil plot if his life depended on it.

Even though Edgar prides himself on not being affected by things like looks or measured charm, Christ that boy has pretty eyes. And those pretty eyes could probably get Edgar to murder a child. The fact that Filip hates Tedros is just a plus.

———

Through their sparring sessions, the easy camaraderie that comes with fighting each other until they're both hot and sweaty, changes frighteningly quickly into friendship, although Edgar is careful not to verbalize the fragile relationship they’ve cultivated, because time and time again, Tedros shows that although he craves physical touch like one starved of it for decades, the blond prince still shied away from intimacy like a dog kicked one too many times.

It’s a dreary November evening when they both find themselves in the library, looking after a reading assignment that they had received in the morning during History class. They’re at the end of an aisle, relatively far in the back. Ornate, onion-shaped lamps hang from the ceiling above them, casting a warm buttery glow onto the events transpiring.

“You know who you’re going to ask to the Snow Ball?” Tedros asks, as he slouches back against the wall that Edgar is currently leaning his shoulder against, book in his other hand.

The bookshelves reach up high on either side of them, stacked full with leather-bound volumes, and shield them from the view of any newcomers, should any newcomers wander this far back.

“No idea.”

Something in Edgar’s tone makes Tedros laugh. “I don’t either.”

Edgar scowls. “We’re not in the same boat, you ass. Whoever you ask is going to faint out of the sheer joy that you’ve deigned to look in their direction.”

“Come on, Edgar. Plenty of girls look in your direction.”

“Mm. In fear.”

Tedros smiles up at Edgar, eyes glinting. “Fear is alluring to a lot of people.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hm.”

The way Tedros hums his assent has Edgar briefly short-circuiting. He manages to murmur his follow-up question.

”Do you know anybody like that?”

Tedros shrugs. “I might.”

Edgar looks at him for a couple seconds, before shaking his head in annoyance. “No, nope. Not going to happen. Besides, I don’t even know who I want to ask.”

“I saw Kiko making pretty obvious eyes at you.”

Edgar shakes his head again. “Nope, she’s way too into Tristan. Besides, I think she’s too cutesy for me.” He then notices the time and pushes himself off the wall. “We need to get to class. It’s on the other side of the castle.”

“Maybe cutesy is exactly what you need,” Tedros says, slinging a bare arm over Edgar’s shoulders and dragging him towards the exit of the library. His tank top rides up his slim waist and Edgar can only swallow and train his eyes anywhere else.

”I don’t know what I need,” Edgar says, staring forwards, loathing the way Tedros’ scent fills his nose like a minty breeze.

Chapter Text

When Professor Dovey forces Essa and Edgar to sit next to each other during her class, Edgar resents both her reasons.

One, Essa talked too much with Beatrix and Reena. Although Edgar was eager for any chance to criticize the blonde princess, even he has to admit that Essa was more the silent yet gentle recipient of (mainly) Beatrix’s constant chatting.

Two, Edgar didn’t participate enough. Apparently. Which was bullshit. Edgar raised his hand occasionally. It wasn’t his fault that Dovey happened to never see him.

Professor Dovey’s solution to this was to seat both Edgar and Essa at the front of the room, right in the middle, equidistant from the door that led into the corridor on the right, and the windows that opened over the Blue Forest on the left.

Edgar is not the only one who is frowning. Essa has her mouth pulled into a (childish, if Edgar’s being freely critical) pout. She says nothing as she sits down next to him, smoothing her short skirt over her thighs. All this serves is to draw Edgar’s gaze down to pink silk and white lace fluttering over smooth, tan skin.

He yanks his eyes back up and scowls harder. He fucking hated her.

Essa leans forward to rest her elbows on the desk and her chin on her clasped hands as Dovey starts speaking. Edgar slouches back in his seat and does the same, spreading his legs into her space because he could, and draping one arm over the back of her seat, the other twirling his pencil in his hand.

Essa tenses, unnoticeable to the unobservant viewer, but Edgar is fucking observing, and can tell with absolute delight that it bothers the hell out of her.

Sure, she may act like a laid-back princess 99% of the time, but she was just as prim and proper as the rest of them, any sign of lewd or improper behavior could send her into hysterics.

He’s not really paying attention to the rest of the lesson, instead debating on the best ways to get him and Filip back to Gavaldon, when he suddenly feels Essa jerk beside him, and remain ramrod straight as Edgar catches the rest of what Professor Dovey is saying.

“—this co-ed project will be 25% of your grade, and there will be no switching desk partners. Good luck, and please come to me if you have any questions regarding choice of topic.”

“What the hell did she just say?” Edgar asks, thoroughly lost.

“We have to do a project together,” Essa says woodenly. “I. Have to do a project. With you.”

She says it like a death sentence and Edgar rolls his eyes. “Calm down, princess. I need good grades too, nobody wants to turn into a plant right?”

“Right,” Essa nods. “It won’t be that bad.” She turns to him, mouth in a thin line. “When do you have time to sit down together?”

“I have swordplay practice after school. How about after on the Chivalry balcony?”

“Sure,” she says slowly, clearly surprised at his compliance.

Edgar rolls his eyes again, and grunts as he gets to his feet, leaving her sitting there without another word. Let her be surprised. Edgar didn’t care about what she expected of him, or what she didn’t.

— — —

Edgar is so fucking sweaty after swordplay and it’s so hot that he yanks his school polo off, thoroughly fed-up. Chaddick had almost given him a run for his money, but Edgar had beaten him back at the last minute, winning the match and the tournament. A tournament which took place on Fridays, every week.

He is not looking forward to the rest of his Friday, which was to be spent in the presence of a princess Edgar wishes would just die already so Filip could move on and help Edgar get the hell out of these two schools.

But no. She remains stubbornly alive, and predictably on time exactly where they’d agreed to meet. She’s hugging her books to her chest, and the breeze blows her scent over to Edgar, vanilla sweet laced with cool mint. At least that wasn’t annoying about her. Something about her smell calms him down.

“Hi,” she says, mouth pursed as she looks him up and down. And because Edgar is staring back pretty hard, he notices the slight blush that rises to her cheeks. A smirk breaks across his face.

“Hey.”

She frowns. “What are you doing shirtless?”

“It’s hot.”

“That’s no reason to take your shirt off.”

Edgar smirk widens. “Does it bother you, princess?”

Essa huffs, ignores the comment, and turns her back on him. “Just follow me, there’s a table with benches around the corner.”

Edgar does, without another word because the blush is also visible on the back of her neck and that fills him with such satisfaction that in the moment he doesn’t mind being bossed around.

The work between them on the project runs surprisingly smoothly, the two of them working fluidly together and assigning tasks in unspoken agreement. They’re almost finished as the sun begins to set, and washes the balcony in a buttery, strawberry glow.

Edgar is shirtless but at least his sweat has evaporated and he doesn’t feel as hot as before. It was still too warm to put his polo shirt on again, and he also hated the thing with all his might. Hated all collared shirts actually.

Essa seems to have gotten used to it, and closes her notebook with a satisfied smile. “Great. We’re already almost done.”

“You’re not a procrastinator, huh?”

Essa shakes her head with a wrinkle of her button nose. “I hate it when tasks hang over my head. It makes me nervous and I can’t calm down until I do whatever it is I need to do.”

Edgar nods, and some of the hatred in his chest softens. “Understandable.”

Essa beams, seemingly forgetting herself. “I’m very happy right now.”

An unwilling smile breaks across his face in the face of her sunshine. “Good.”

When their eyes meet, both crinkled at the edges, they freeze, and Essa is suddenly staring at him like she’s never seen him before.

“Oh,” she smiles softly.

Edgar is shocked at the abrupt, gentle moment that is mitigated further by the indulgent sunlight, and scowls immediately as he remembers exactly who she is and what Filip is threatening him with in regards to her.

“When do we have to meet again?” he asks flatly.

She blinks at his sudden hostility, and then starts glaring also. “Whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

When he stands up, and she does as well, the distance between them remains small, and thrums with the energy of what was before, and the antagonism of now.

When she stabs a finger into the middle of his chest and opens her mouth to chew him out, Edgar watches her with vicious satisfaction.

“I don’t know why you’ve decided to hate me, but I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself for the duration of this project.” Her eyes are narrowed as she finishes speaking, glaring up at him in righteous indignation.

“Oh, I can keep it to myself. I can keep that and more to myself for such a pretentious, entitled princess,” he mocks.

“Asking for civility is entitled?”

“From you, everything is.”

She’s filled with more and more anger now. “You’re impossible,” she spits.

Edgar has never been happier. “Only to you.”

When the subtle, loaded implication of that statement hits both of them, Essa’s look of rage melts into a seductive simper.

“You saying you got a crush on me, pretty boy?”

Edgar flushes tomato red because he has never been called that before, before the color in his face bleaches out and now he’s the angry one. He’s taking unavoidable steps forward, which force Essa to back up until she hits a wall, and she’s looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. Even when his hands slam into the wall beside her head, she doesn’t flinch.

“Sounds like you’re the one with the fucking crush, princess.”

“And?” she retorts, eyes glinting dangerously. “Not like you’ll do anything about–”

He proves her wrong with a hard mouth on hers, cutting off her lilting voice, their kiss like a clap of thunder, with the power that silences them both. Her hands scramble across his bare chest before looping around his neck, golden fingers tangled in his hair. One of his arms loops around her waist and yanks her closer, pulling her body flush against his, something indescribable and burning in his lower stomach.

— — —

Edgar and Essa aren’t as prim and proper as an Ever couple should be. Far from it.

Beatrix can testify to that.

That stupidly tall punk has her shoved up against the wall, skirts bunched up around her waist. She whines, his mouth at her neck, her golden hands in his inky black hair, like Persephone and Hades.

Cheeks flushed, Essa lets out a stuttered gasp as Edgar’s hands wander further up her thighs.

Beatrix slams herself back around the corner, breathing hard. An act so dirty and wild, right there in the gleaming halls of Good castle. Beatrix’s face is flushed and she feels strange. How could they do something like this? How could they?

Nobody had even known they were together.

Was that why Professor Dovey had placed them on the same bench in Fairy Tale History? Beatrix curses herself. She should have seen it coming. No two people stared at each other that much if there wasn't anything going on between them.

Chapter Text

The energy changes between them after that night.

Not necessarily in a bad way. In an intimate, charged way. Agatha thinks she can sometimes see the electricity flickering across Essa‘s skin after they touch, and she feels it skittering across her own every time, leaving heat in its wake.

Essa continues calling her “love of my life”. Like it’s nothing. And Agatha keeps accepting it with a nervous fluttering of her lungs inside her ribs. Nobody has treated her with such unfiltered affection since Sophie.

When the aforementioned Sophie sees them together for the first time, and Agatha’s being more adoring towards Essa than Sophie would approve, out in the clearing, out in the open, Essa being even more obvious in her returned affections, braiding a strip of raven hair next to Agatha’s temple…Hot-pink stilettos march right on over.

Sophie stands there in front of them, hands planted on her hips, stance wide in those killer heels, fake-smile perfect on her glossed lips.

“Aggie, darling.”

But it’s not Agatha who responds first, because she feels oddly guilty.

Essa beams and springs to her feet. “You must be Sophie!”

Sophie eyes Essa with a disdain that only pretty girls aim at even prettier ones. And if Agatha’s being objectively honest, Essa might actually have Sophie beat in the looks department. But like hell she’s giving that away.

”And you are?”

Essa’s smile doesn’t fade, in fact she seems amused by Sophie’s slight hostility. “Essa of Camelot,” she glances towards the Nevers on the other side of the clearing. “How’s being at the School for Evil?”

Sophie wrinkles her nose, and seems to forget her antagonism. “Horrid. I don’t belong there.”

”You definitely stick out because you’re so beautiful.”

Agatha watches for the first time, her own eyes widening at the sight, that Sophie’s cheeks turn a deep vermillion. Agatha turns her head slowly to look at Essa, whose compliments seem to have a startling power of reducing their recipients to voodoo-spelled goo, due to the sheer sincerity of them.

And suddenly, Agatha’s the one who’s jealous, abruptly feeling sick and green in the middle of her chest, watching Essa watch Sophie flush and those green eyes flick away from Essa’s earnest expression.

“Yes, well…” Sophie begins, trying to bring back a casual air. “I hear the School Master doesn’t make mistakes.”

”Until he does,” Essa suggests, blue eyes glimmering like gemstones. And as Agatha’s gaze flick back and forth between the two angels that she considered her friends, she feels the ache of not-belonging. “Maybe this is the first time.”

Agatha hates the hope that ignites in Sophie’s eyes.

”You think Agatha and I should switch schools?”

Agatha freezes.

But her fear is swept away by Essa’s adamant shake of the head. “No, no. Not at all. I believe you and Agatha might both be princesses.”

Sophie’s eyebrows narrow. “Doesn’t there have to be one of each?”

”Maybe that was the mistake. He could have brought two Good students by accident.”

”That’s pretty radical thinking,” calls a voice from behind them, and soon enough Beatrix is sweeping into their circle of three, a thrum of Evergirls two paces behind her. She loops her arm around Essa’s elbow and flutters her eyelashes. “Shall I report you?”

Essa rolls her eyes good-naturedly and pats Beatrix’s arm with her other hand. “For crimes against…?”

”The irrefutable School Master.”

”And I suppose I will have to relinquish my Groom Room privileges?”

”You’re already too cute,” Beatrix says, tucking a stray curl behind Essa’s ear.

Agatha thinks she discovers the extent of Essa’s hold on Beatrix right in that moment. And almost smiles, but notices Reena’s forlorn expression in the group behind them, and there’s a pang in her chest like pity, but she cannot place the exact source of it.

She then looks back at Sophie, and realizes the extent of power that Sophie holds over her. Because when she sees the ardent longing in emerald eyes, she’s overtaken by the urge to give Sophie everything she wants.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Essa reprimands playfully, and the two of them, Essa and Beatrix, are such a picture of krass, idealized femininity that Agatha squeezes her own thin wrist in an attempt to bring herself back down.

But when Essa turns back to look at her, crinkles at the edges of her eyes and the sapphire sky inside them, Agatha melts.

”Sophie could come with us to the picnic, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Agatha blinks, unsure until she looks at Sophie’s beaming smile, then nods like the automaticity of a robot had taken over her movements.

”It’s going to be amazing,” Essa gushes, tugging a reluctant Beatrix with her and looping her free arm around Agatha’s elbow. She turns to call over her shoulder. “We’ll see you there, Sophie!”

Sophie looks suddenly overwhelmed at the prospect of spending time with actual Evers other than Agatha, but overcomes any hesitance quite quickly, and blows Essa a kiss.

Essa winks coquettishly before turning back around. When the three of them pass under the arch of the tunnel towards good, Essa glances at Agatha and Beatrix in turn. “She might be a princess, so we should rescue her, right?”

”You sound like a prince,” Beatrix chides.

Essa only smiles and shrugs. “In another life I might have been.”

Chapter Text

The boy’s doors at the end of Chivalry Hall are completely in the dark, due to the fact that curfew has long come and gone, and at the other end of the hall, equally shrouded in darkness, was Agatha, light on her feet as she tiptoed towards a room that she definitely shouldn’t be visiting.

She’s holding her clumps in one hand and the other is glowing faintly to light her way, but she can only see about a meter in front of herself, and she has the golden glow focused on the name plates besides the doors.

Agatha shakes her head even as she continues to move forward. She felt positively insane.

This was the most ridiculous thing she’s ever done since her squeaky conversation with him about dinner and duckling.

Agatha breathes out shakily, considers the option to turn tail and run. She wasn’t far from Tedros’ room. But there was still time and opportunity to turn back. Because even though she had vowed to hate him, ever since the Trial by Tale, something had changed between them.

Whereas the feeling before had been mutual dislike and annoyance, Tedros glances at her so often now that if Agatha looks over at him at any time, she will meet his eyes. Those pretty blue eyes that blink with such depth of emotion that it in turn raises a hot blush all across her cheeks and chest.

Now she’s visiting him, because he’d asked her to.

He had asked her to.

Right after Fairytale history, with a foreign expression on his face, tender lips quirked upwards in a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

And here she was, actually doing it.

When she finally reaches his door, after seemingly endless minutes of tip-toeing, she knocks very lightly on the wood, afraid that even the slightest sound will draw the nymphs to her location.

The door opens so quickly that Agatha almost falls forward, but she catches herself on the doorframe just in time.

When she turns her gaze upwards, she’s immediately met with the crinkled, smiling eyes of the bane of her existence.

“Hi,” Tedros says softly.

“Hi.”

“Come in?”

Agatha only nods gruffly, staring at her socked feet as she steps over the threshold.

Even after Tedros closes the door behind her, Agatha doesn’t turn around, cheeks flaming red for no apparent reason.

When Tedros circles around to stand in front of her, Agatha frowns harder.

“Hi?” Tedros says again, but this time it sounds more like a question.

Agatha forces her eyes to look into his. “Hi,” she responds, firmly.

There’s laughter at the corner of Tedros’ mouth and she hates him for it.

“You’re stupid,” she says.

His smile only widens. “Am I?”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“From you, it is one.”

Agatha blushes furiously, and shakes her head. “You’re insufferable.”

“Even better,” he says, stepping closer. They’re almost the same height, so their mouths come within inches of each other. “Can I kiss you? I really want to.”

“Oh, because you want something I should give it to you?” Agatha mocks, but her eyes betray her by skipping down to look at his lips, before flicking upwards into the annoyingly pleased gaze of one Tedros of Camelot.

“Maybe, if you want it too.”

Agatha places her hands on his chest, firmly intent on pushing him away, but her fingers curl to hold onto his collar, seemingly of their own volition. She glares at him, when his breathing deepens.

He expects her to kiss him.

She hates that he’s right, Agatha thinks, when her arms slide up to loop around his neck, her mouth pressing against his in a desperate way that she had far from expected from herself.

Agatha sucks in a surprised breath when the kiss causes her heart to start beating harder. Then faster, when his arms wrap around her waist, holding her tight to him like he never wants to let her go.

When they break apart, they’re both panting.

“I need to sit,” Agatha breathes.

Tedros nods immediately, and guides her to sit on his bed. He takes a seat beside her, and doesn’t say anything at first.

When the silence stretches on, Tedros purses his lips. Agatha can tell, because she’s been watching him, lips pressed firmly together, the adamant refusal to start the conversation deep in her bones.

“So…” he starts. “That was some kiss, huh?”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “Sure, you could say it like that.”

Tedros frowns. “Agatha.”

“What.”

“I’m serious.”

“Then you could say it in a more serious manner, no?”

Tedros sighs, as if she’s being the difficult one.

"Agatha, that kiss made me so happy."

Agatha blushes, despite her adamant refusal to do so. Her cheeks, unfortunately, never listened to her. "Made me happy too," she mutters.

She can see him beam from the corner of her eyes, and feels her blush creep down to her chest. She shakes her head.

“Agatha, you make me so happy.”

Agatha pauses, thinking. And can't help but frown, the floodgates of her anxiety opening at those six words.

“Do I?”

Tedros tilts his head, seemingly confused. But he answers nonetheless. “Yes.”

“Do you love me because of that?”

Tedros shakes his head. “You make me happy because I love you.”

“What if I stop making you happy?” Agatha asks, staring down at her hands, unable to stop the flood of worry welling up in her mind. “I need to make you happy all the time or else you’ll leave. That’s too much pressure–”

“Agatha, no. That’s not how it works–”

“Everybody says that, but then they all leave the second I stop giving them what I had been giving them, or I start saying no to anything they want–”

“Then those were bad friends.”

“How do I know you’re not–” Agatha swallows, breaking off her own words, the lump in her throat too large to ignore.

“Agatha,” Tedros says gently, “You need to stop worrying about the way I feel about you. Or about making me happy. You do that by existing.” He turns her face towards him with a hand at her jaw. “Besides, what if I want to make you happy?”

Agatha stares at him, brown eyes wide. The thought is so foreign, and so incomprehensible, that some tragic, all-encompassing emotion rises like a wave inside her, and she feels her eyes slowly start to shine... Then like a slow-motion catastrophe, the wetness spills over onto her cheeks and she sobs, head tipping forward.

Tedros scrambles forward immediately, taking her face more firmly into his hands, trying to meet her watery gaze. “Agatha—“

She can’t get any words out. She can only gasp and cry as he looks at her with more love in his eyes than she’s ever seen in her life.

His thumbs stroke across her cheeks in devastatingly gentle motions, and he tugs her closer, bringing her to sit in his lap as he hugs her tight.

“I can’t believe–” Agatha struggles to get out, but the rest of her words are drowned in her tears.

She keeps trying to speak, Tedros shushing her all the while, arms and chest so warm that she wants to curl up inside his heart and hide from the world forever.

“I can’t believe you love me,” she finally gets out, hiccuping through her sobs.

Tedros startles below her, and looks at her, gaze wide. When those blue eyes start to glisten, horror dawns in Agatha, her eyes dinner-plate wide too, just like the prince’s below her.

“Oh!” she gasps, looping her arms around his neck from where she sits sideways on his lap. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she begs, terrified that she’s somehow caused him sadness. She hugs him tight, willing his tears away, but his breath hitches beside her ear, and she feels wet droplets on her collarbone.

“Agatha,” he whispers, voice breaking on the syllables of her name. “Please tell me that’s not what you think of yourself.”

Agatha stiffens against him, then just hugs him tighter. Because she can’t speak, she can’t answer that question.

“Agatha,” Tedros says weakly, then swallows. “Agatha, look at me.”

Agatha doesn’t want to, but slowly, surely, her hold on him loosens, and she breaks away from him just enough that they’re looking at each other.

“Oh,” she says again, sniffling, touching a finger to his wet cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

When she meets his eyes, they’re shining just like hers. “Agatha. You are so easy to love.”

The pale princess sucks in a breath of surprise. “Tedros–”

“I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.”

“Tedros,” she repeats, shaking her head. It was too much.

“I was powerless against it.”

“Oh, god.”

“I will love you forever, because it’s so terribly easy to choose the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

Agatha starts crying again. But Tedros just presses their foreheads together and continues speaking.

“Your love makes me feel like the universe has never seen anything like it before.”

“Tedros, I love you,” Agatha says, voice breaking.

“I know,” Tedros replies gently, smiling. “Love doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about you."