Quackity POV:

Rounding the corner hurriedly, Quackity almost slammed into someone.

Coming face to face with those soft brown eyes, he felt a sudden chill down his spine and stepped back, trying to control his expression.

Wilbur mustn't have seen, because he smiled good-naturedly and spoke. "Woah there, don't barrel me over!"

Quackity opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Seconds ago, the only thing he'd felt was anger. He'd known exactly what he wanted to say to this man.

But now his thoughts failed him, and his anger melted in the shock of seeing him so soon.

"I- sorry." Quackity forced out.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. "You alright? Still shaken up?" He says sympathetically.

Oh, right, the other attempt on his life. He had all but forgotten about it in all that had happened.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Did you catch them?"

Wilbur frowned and shook his head. "Nah, nowhere to be found." He placed a hand on the prince's shoulder and Quackity tensed. "But don't worry, I've told the guards now, so they'll be searching the castle as we speak. They'll be caught, I promise."

Quackity shrugged him off and nodded. "Right. Thanks. I'm uh, I'm going to my room. I'll see you later." He said as if it were true.

"Ok," Wilbur said softly. "Get some rest."

For a brief second Quackity wished he'd never seen those stupid letters, that he could go back in time and be on that roof with Wilbur again, watching the sun rise.

But that wasn't possible. And it wasn't real.

Wilbur gallantly got out of his way. "Well, I won't block your path any longer your highness." He said, starting to leave. He paused and gave the prince a strange look, but quickly turned away.

Quackitys could have sworn his eyes were glistening.

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Wilbur POV:

The prince hadn't drunk the wine yet.

He'd been kidding himself to just assume Quackity would drink that wine, especially without a helping hand.

Had he even ever thought he would? Maybe not. Maybe that's why he did it.

Because now Quackity was still very much alive and Wilbur was faced with the reality that he'd have to kill him in person.

It was always going to come to this, really, and he should have realized it sooner.

He thought about going and grabbing the money first but decided against it. He already felt repulsed by the idea of collecting it.

Which sucked because he loved money and this was totally ruining it for him.

He wouldn't go straight to the prince's door. There would probably be extra security there now the castle was aware of the other killer.

So he'd have to go the hard way.

Wilbur raced back to his own room, stuffing stuff back into his satchel. Only after he'd stripped the room of any trace of himself was he satisfied.

He patted his pockets and realized he didn't have his knife. Shit.

It must have fallen out of his pocket somewhere. He'd check the library.

Spinning through the overly large doors and down the spiraling walls of books, he spotted it on the ground, half kicked under a shelf.

Bending down to pick it up, he saw something under the dusty shelves.

It was a very thick, very old book titled:

Album of the Royal Family; Volume 17

He opened it and flicked through. It must have been the most recent one because Quackity and his mother were in it.

He noticed, however, when looking at the family tree, that Schlatt wasn't there...

What had the prince said? Something about not even knowing his uncle until his mother's sickness?

There was something strange about Quackitys mother too, something familiar.

He abruptly snapped the book shut. He needn't look now.

Even so, he was curious enough to keep pouring over it, but instead, he just left it there to collect dust.

Grabbing his blade, he picked himself off the floor and left.

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Wilbur looked up at the wall. It was beginning to get late, so he stuck to the newly casted shadows just like the day he'd arrived.

And just like that day, he dug into the grooves of the wall and hoisted himself up.

It took longer this time, however, because the wall was both bigger and better built.

From his perch halfway up, he could see most of the castle and its grounds.

He spotted the royal carriage returning through the gates. That must be Tubbo and Angelica returning.

He eventually reached the top, and hastily pulled his scarf and hood up. He lifted himself up onto the windowsill, took a deep breath, and slipped inside.

Quackity POV:

He tried to sleep.

It wouldn't come.

So instead he got out of his large bed and paced.

Up and down and up and down and around.

His room was pretty vast, so it supplied him with ample space to complete his circuit.

The same things kept echoing around his head.

Why did Wilbur save him those times? Just to get him to trust him? And he had. Like an absolute idiot, he'd trusted him completely.

Why hadn't he killed him yet?

Why had he gone along with all the things they'd done? The sparring, the piano, the riding, the wishing well, the sneaking out and going to the village...

The rooftop the night before...

Quackity felt that deep down, he knew why. But he could never bring himself to say it.

What would he do now? What was next?

His coronation was in a day.

Well, if he even survived until then, he thought dryly.

And that brought him to another revelation he hadn't had time to fully process.

Schlatt was alive. The bastard.

He totally called it.

And to have him killed?? To be fair, he wasn't all that surprised, but why? So he could take the throne he'd already had?

And besides, he wasn't even the only one in line...

His blood ran cold. Tubbo.

Schlatt wouldn't have him killed as well...right? Surely not. His own son?

With at least two- as far as he knew- killers on the loose, he needed to make sure. He had to find him.

He checked his pocket watch quickly. Tubbo would be home by now-

But that didn't matter because all of a sudden there was a knife pressed against his throat.

He stopped, feeling the presence behind him shift closer and breathe down his neck.

Somewhere in his brain, he wondered who it was, since he'd been so popular in the assassin industry, but his heart was pounding so hard he barely noticed.

He closed his eyes and waited apprehensively.

But the knife wasn't moving. It was still firmly at his throat, mind you, but it was yet to draw any bloodshed.

Quackitys wrist snapped up and he grabbed the hand attached to the dagger and twisted, turning around to face his attacker.

And of course, as fate would have it, those soft brown eyes were now facing his.

And they flinched upon eye contact.

As soon as this moment of weakness arose, the prince took advantage of it by pushing away, stumbling backward.

Quackity glared at the man in front of him. "No need to cover that pretty face, Wilbur!" He spat mockingly.

Wilbur's shoulders dropped and he threw down his hood. "Alright. So, you caught me." He bit back, gripping his dagger so hard Quackity could see his knuckles turning white.

He sighed and looked up at Quackity with a conflicted expression.
"Just, don't make this harder than it already is."

Quackity scoffed. "You'll have to fight for the right to kill me you bitch." He said, leaping onto the bed and wrestling his axe off the wall.

A flicker of a smile played on Wilburs' lips. "I shouldn't have expected anything less from you."

Quackity didn't respond, launching across the room and meeting Wilbur's blade with his own.

Although Quackity would never back down, he knew he couldn't win this fight.

He grit his teeth and channeled all his anger toward staying alive.

He was angry at Wilbur for deceiving him, angry at Schlatt for sending someone to kill him, angry at this castle, this country, this stupid world. And most of all, angry that he couldn't even bring himself to put a scratch on the other.

And he noticed frustratingly that neither could Wilbur.

So, it was their weapons that fought instead.

They pushed each other back and forth until with a simultaneous stab, they came face to face, body to body, breathing heavily.

"I have to kill you," Wilbur said quietly, with an anguished expression that made Quackity even angrier.

"So do it." He snarled, glaring into Wilbur's eyes intensely. "Fucking go through with it you coward!"

He grabbed Wilbur's wrist and lifted the knife roughly to his own throat. "What's stopping you huh?" He said aggressively, tears of emotion pricking his eyes.

"I- I can't." Wilbur finally forced out, wrestling his wrist out of Quackitys grip and throwing the blade to the ground with a clatter.

Quackity got up close, looking up at Wilbur with a practiced cold gaze, barely controlled.

"Why. Fucking say it."

"You know why."

Quackity screwed his eyes closed and looked away. "Just tell me."

There was a short pause.

Wilbur placed his hands on the sides of Quackitys face and lifted it gently.

"Because, I love you?"