Chapter 16: I Brought You Food

A few hours after Basil nearly destroyed half of his suite, the Queen had called several maids to clean up the shattered remains of the ruined furniture. They moved quietly through the room, replacing broken decorations, gathering shattered glass, and rearranging furniture that had been knocked out of place during his outburst. Fresh flowers replaced the ones he had destroyed. A new lamp sat where the old one had shattered.

Basil lay flat on his back on the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling while the servants worked in hushed silence around him. His swollen knuckles throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache from where he had struck the wardrobe.

That psychopath.

Who did he think he was to threaten him like that?

Just a few minutes ago, the street rat had been playing the role of the saintly, accommodating brother. When that manipulation act failed, he had immediately resorted to threats. Did he honestly think Basil would sit quietly and allow himself to be treated like some prisoner?

Real prince or not, if that piece of shit ever tried anything funny, Basil would show him exactly how many dirty tricks someone could learn growing up inside a palace. Darius might have royal authority now, but Basil had experience. The thought soothed him slightly.

Eventually, the maids finished restoring the room. Queen Jane stepped closer to the bed, watching him with worried eyes.

"Basil," she said softly, "try to get some rest. We’ll talk later." He didn’t answer.

After a long pause, she sighed and left with the servants. The door clicked shut, but Basil didn’t take his eyes off the ceiling.

What was he supposed to do now?

He wasn’t staying here anymore.

That much was certain. There was no chance he would remain in this palace while that arrogant bastard waved his new authority over his head day after day. But before he could plan a proper escape, he needed answers.

He needed to find out who his real father was. Since his real mother, was long dead, there was no one else he could ask. He needed to know the man who had unknowingly fathered him. Did the man even know Basil existed?

He needed to pay a visit to Linda, the woman responsible for everything. After getting his answers, he could decide his next move.

For now, though, he desperately needed a bath. He needed to wash away the humiliation and the stifling, dirty feeling that prick had brought into his space.

With a groan, he rose from the bed and headed toward the bathroom. He stripped along the way, dropping his clothes carelessly across the floor before reaching the marble bathroom. A large tub dominated the room.

He turned the handles and filled it with cool water before stepping in. A low groan of satisfaction escaped him as the refreshing chill eased the soreness in his swollen hands and soothed his overheated body.

As his aching muscles gradually relaxed, he sank deeper into the bath.

He had no idea how much time passed.

Eventually, the water lost its coolness and became merely lukewarm. His fingers had begun to wrinkle, and his body felt heavy with relaxation. Reluctantly, he climbed out.

Without bothering to dry himself, he grabbed a towel for his hair and wandered into the sitting room connected to his suite completely naked. His full-length mirror stood beside the window. Basil stopped in front of it and began drying his damp hair. Seriously, he didn’t even know why he kept that massive mirror out here instead of in his bedroom.

"I should move that," he muttered.

His reflection stared back at him. He frowned.

He had definitely lost weight. His ribs were almost showing, all because he kept rejecting his meals. Everyone probably assumed it was because he was devastated over losing his status. That wasn’t entirely wrong.

But it wasn’t the real reason either. The real reason was much pettier and much harder to explain. He refused to touch those meals because of how he was now being served. The very moment the servants found out he wasn’t their real prince, his meals stopped arriving on heated carts. They immediately started serving his lunch on metal trays and regular plates meant for the staff.

It was obvious they were trying to tell him that he was no longer above them.

The only times he might be served like royalty were during breakfast and dinner, when the royal family dined together and no servant would dare try anything under the King’s and Queen’s watchful eyes. Unfortunately, for the past three weeks, the King and Queen had spent most of their time at the hospital with their real son.

This meant Basil kept getting served like a beggar, and he refused to give them the satisfaction of eating it. Instead, he often waited until the middle of the night to sneak down to the kitchens and dish out food for himself after the staff had gone to sleep.

But those wicked devils must have found out, because they stopped leaving leftovers behind. Even the refrigerators seemed suspiciously bare, forcing Basil to survive on snacks and canned sodas from his mini-bar.

Those bastards were just waiting for his official eviction.

A sharp, firm knock suddenly interrupted his thoughts, followed immediately by a familiar voice. "Big brother," Darius called out, his tone mockingly smooth. "I brought you some food." Basil immediately scowled.

What was that psychopath planning now?

"Go away, you piece of shit." Surely that would work. This time, he had locked the door.

There was no way he would allow random people to keep barging into his private space.

"Come on, big brother," Darius called again. "Open up. You have to eat something. Starving yourself isn’t going to solve anything."

What the fuck was wrong with that lunatic?

Basil rolled his eyes and resumed drying his hair. If he ignored him long enough, the moron would eventually leave, or so he thought.

Several moments later, Basil was still standing before the mirror when he suddenly sensed another presence behind him.

His stomach dropped. Slowly, he glanced up.

Their eyes met through the mirror. Basil froze.

For one horrifying second, his brain refused to process what he was seeing. Darius. Inside.

Looking directly at him. Every ounce of blood in Basil’s body seemed to rush into his face.

The fool immediately raised both hands.

"In my defense," he said, "this is not what I thought I’d be walking into."

Basil couldn’t believe his ears. Undiluted rage erupted in his chest, shattering his paralysis.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Instead of leaving, Darius simply spun around to face the door, as if that somehow fixed everything.

What the fuck was wrong with this dude?

Basil bolted into his bedroom. He yanked open drawers, dragged on the first clothes he could find, and nearly strangled himself trying to pull a shirt over his head.

Seriously. What was happening to his life?

Ever since that sick dude arrived, reality had completely stopped making sense. The man was either insane, unbelievably stupid, or operating according to rules nobody else understood.

Several minutes later, Basil emerged fully dressed and still vibrating with humiliation.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. "Do you have some kind of brain damage?"

Darius finally turned around with a bright, ridiculous smile. Then he pointed proudly toward the serving cart. "I brought you food."