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Sanguine Prince | Chapter 17: Unwelcome Insights (Second Draft)
🕑 Added 2026-01-05 01:16:30 +0000 UTCAngela was the first person he noticed fully, sitting at the head of a rectangular table that could seat six, her chair facing the wall to the left of the archway through which he’d entered. She was wearing a simple white shirt and a pair of blue breeches that matched her eyes, with her long brown hair tied back in an efficient bun. A look of deep amusement spread across her features as she spotted him, and she appeared to be on the brink of laughter.
The other three occupants he knew by face if not by name.
Jakob was seated in the chair next to Angela, facing toward Arcturus, though he’d forgone the armor in favor of a simple white shirt under his jacket, a pair of combat fatigues for pants, and no weapons in sight. In the next chair along sat the woman he’d knocked out, now absent her scanning lens, armor, or anything else she’d worn—instead dressed in a simple blue tank top and leggings, with her dark hair in a ponytail, and a pair of black travelling boots finishing her ensemble.
His eyes darted next to the pixie-cut girl with the blue hair, leaning against a counter behind Jakob and the ponytailed woman. Her arms were crossed over a black shirt, and she wore a pair of fashionably ripped dark jeans, tucked into another pair of black travelling boots with endless laces.
Her piercings were on full display as before, and she appeared to be chewing bubble gum of all things. Had it not been for the sheer mortification he felt in the moment, he might have laughed at how strangely normal she looked to him. In fact, he detected—now that he could actually look at her properly—clear Asian origins to her features.
That was interesting, but not what truly caught his attention.
That honor belonged to the final individual he spotted, who very much did not look like she belonged with Jakob’s group in the slightest.
She had piercing golden eyes and red hair down to her upper back, meticulously bound into an elegant ponytail that seemed both formal and functional in equal measure. When he looked at her, in fact, she seemed to stiffen, and the smattering of freckles on her cheekbones came into stark relief when she paled slightly.
Her attire was as unique as her eyes, with a cream-colored ruffled ascot blouse under a royal red overcoat—trimmed in silver along its edges—complete with two tails on the back. Her leggings matched her coat, with a pair of black knee-high leather boots laced to the tops, completing the look. Around her neck was a silver chain attached to a round medallion of the same color, inlaid with a beautiful emerald at its center.
His eyes dropped to her hips, where a dark arming belt around her waist held an elegant silver sword-hilt embossed with patterns and designs that seemed to resemble ivy. What was more, he could have sworn they were composed of paint with crushed emeralds inside of it, lending a faint shimmer and bourgeois elegance to the strange, bladeless hilt.
The crossguard was in a style Arcturus recognized, reminiscent of the longswords popularized in medieval Europe on Earth. Driven by curiosity, his eyes zeroed in on the fact that the crossguard itself ended in two wolf heads—each head gifted with shining topaz jewels for their eyes.
[Perception Check] unsuccessful!
“Hello? Arcturus?”
He blinked when he heard his name and turned to look at Angela, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “I asked how you’re feeling,” Angela continued, blue eyes both amused and mildly concerned as they focused on him.
“Oh. Yeah, I had a shower, and that helped me wake up, though I couldn’t find anything to clean my mouth with,” he responded and glanced at the others, all of whom were looking at him now with a quiet sense of what Arcturus could only describe as grim resignation.
“Uh, hello,” he said awkwardly to Jakob and his two companions, as well as the formally dressed redhead. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding earlier.”
[Charisma Check] successful!
“Misunderstanding,” Jakob repeated back to him, drawing Arcturus’ eyes.
After a moment, he nodded, albeit stiffly.
“Sure, kid. Misunderstanding is a fine way of putting it.”
Though there was still clear anger in Jakob’s eyes, it strangely seemed as if it wasn’t entirely directed at Arcturus, and instead that he was merely suffering it because he was the one currently in focus.
“Arcturus,” Angela interrupted, drawing his eyes from Jakob’s and back to her own. “Why are you in a towel?”
Arcturus blinked at her, and then felt embarrassment flare up again, tightening his grip on the towel’s knot and battling back the surge of immediate awkwardness that followed Angela’s question.
“Well, I went to have a shower, and I put my clothes in the drawer, but then I realized that they were dirty—so I couldn’t wear them, and all I had was the towel, so I came out here to find you to ask if my other clothes were okay to wear,” he explained with growing embarrassment, and took a breath when he finished.
Your smoothness never ceases to amaze.
Angela laughed in delight, and even Jakob and his companions seemed to relax some, with the blue-haired ‘goth’ girl flashing him a teasing smile when his eyes flitted towards her. Only the redhead seemed to be the exception, her fingers white with pressure as she gripped her biceps, arms crossed under her generous bust.
“Oh, don’t mind her, Arcturus,” Angela said, drawing his eyes away from the stony-faced woman and back to the shopkeeper. “She’s just moody because she thinks you’re an imposter.”
“Of COURSE he is!” the redhead exploded suddenly, unfolding her arms and gesturing sharply at Arcturus. “This is impossible, Alyerial! Impossible! Titus died twenty-three years ago! How could this child possibly be him?”
“I told you to call me Angela, Tylariel!” the weapons maker said, glaring at the redhead.
“As for the rest, who are these baseborn, precisely?” the redhead, Tylariel, demanded as she whirled on the shopkeeper and the recent arrivals. “Why are they here? You said they were your ‘employees’, yet they never do any work, and they seem to come and go at their leisure! What game are you playing, Alyerial?”
Arcturus expected to see Jakob and the others rounding on the redhead, given what he pretty clearly detected was some sort of insult in the use of ‘baseborn’, yet it was quite the opposite reaction: Jakob had a blank face as he looked between the two arguing women, and his two female companions seemed to try to shrink out of sight, with both of them very carefully looking towards whatever was immediately in front and beneath them, be it the table or the floor.
Anything, it seemed, but the redhead.
“I’m not playing any games, Tylariel,” Angela responded sharply, seemingly immune to whatever fear was afflicting the others. “I asked you here for your help, not to throw insults at—”
“Yes, I seem to recall your mad request!” the redhead interrupted again, throwing her arms up. “You think he’s Titus back from the dead, and you want me to train him as an Archon! Preposterous. Absurd!”
“You can deny it all you want, but look at him! He’s picture perfect. He even has the same jawline, for Highest’s sake! Anyone who’s seen Titus in person would recognize this kid as him, wrong age or not. He may be slightly sharper in the cheekbones, and a little taller, but it’s definitely him!”
[Intelligence Check] successful!
[Perception Check] successful!
Something seemed to click for Arcturus when Angela explained herself, remembering something one of his father’s old military colleagues had said about him being a taller, more finely-featured version of Arcturus Senior.
He’d only been young when it had happened, around fourteen years old, but he remembered his father’s look of fierce pride when he’d accepted the words. He remembered the older man placing his hand on his young shoulder and feeling safe in the firm, warm grip of his father. He had always believed his father had been a secret superhero when he’d been younger. What if the truth were something similar but different? Was it really so far-fetched? Nothing seemed to be, not any longer.
“My father,” Arcturus interjected with his embarrassment forgotten, cutting through Angela and Tylariel’s argument instantly. “You’re talking about my father.”
“Your father?” Angela asked, blinking.
“Yes,” Arcturus said more calmly than he felt. “My father. Arcturus Titus Valoura.”
The entire room fell silent in the aftermath of his words, with all five pairs of eyes fixed on him intently. It was as if his words had opened the vault to some hidden mystery, for even Tylariel suddenly looked more thoughtful than belligerent, though she had not lost her stubborn frown. Angela’s expression was more understanding, and her features softened as she regarded him, new awareness creeping into her eyes as she processed the information.
Jakob and his companions, for their part, looked both relieved and unsure at the same time, sharing glances between themselves with expressions of mild concern. In fact, it almost seemed as if his revelation had retroactively slotted some pieces they’d been missing into place, for the three of them appeared to be coming to some mutual realization that caused them all to relax considerably.
The concern was still there, but it now seemed replaced by personal worries, rather than external ones.
“What are your names?” Arcturus asked impulsively, looking between the three of them. “I know he's Jakob—” he said with a nod to the large man, “—because I heard his name used. I’d prefer to stop thinking of you as his companions, though, and actually put names to your faces.”
“Sumeko,” the blue-haired Asian girl responded after a half-second of consideration, and smiled at him as she said it, her brown eyes locked on him as if measuring him up.
“Jess,” the brunette replied, her smile tighter and more forced when she said it. “I’m Jess. Nice to meet you, Your Highness.”
“Nice to m— wait, what?” Arcturus asked, his brows furrowing. “That’s… are you making fun of me? I know the towel is sort of ridiculous, but that’s a bit rich.”
[Perception Check] unsuccessful!
“Oh no,” Jakob said, falling back against his chair with a hoarse laugh. “Oh, this is just perfect. He has no idea.”
“Arcturus?” Angela said, and drew his attention to her when she did. “What’s your full name?”
Arcturus opened his mouth to answer, then paused. He had almost repeated his first and last name once again, but caught himself. It had become his habit to ignore that he had a middle name for most of his life, because it sounded ludicrous.
With a sigh, he gave her his full name, grimacing as he did.
“Arcturus Regis Valoura.”
Angela’s smile was almost sad when he said it.
“Regis, huh? That’s your middle name?”
“Yes,” he grumbled. “My father gave it to me. I just thought it was embarrassing, so I never use it.”
“It’s not possible,” Tylariel said in a much quieter voice, now gripping her biceps even more tightly. “It’s just not possible. It can’t be.”
“Just because you wish it not to be true, sister, doesn’t mean it isn’t,” Angela said as she rounded back onto Tylariel. “Fate is not always kind, nor clear. You’ve heard him speak, and I know you can tell whether or not he’s lying.”
“It can’t be true. He must have been deceived, or—”
“Tylariel. Look at him. Look at his eyes, his hair. I know you can sense his potency, for Highest’s sake! You know it’s true. You know what he is, who he is.”
Arcturus frowned at them.
He wasn’t utterly ignorant; he knew they were acting as if he were an important person to their world, and given he now suspected his father had travelled from Terra to Earth at some point in the past, he also knew that they had very good reason to make that assumption. The revelation that offered concerning his ability to return home was definitely a positive, as well, though the fact they’d thought his father had died likely meant that finding out how Senior had done it would be… troublesome.
Of course, none of that changed the fact that he had no desire to be anyone important. From everything he’d heard about the world, important people on Terra—especially in the Empire—tended to end up dead much more often than the unimportant ones.
He’d take a simple existence over any kind of fame or responsibility, thank you very much.
That’s because you are simple, meathead.
[Intelligence Check] unsuccessful!
“I’m going to regret asking this,” Arcturus said while ignoring his snarky subconscious. “But can you please tell me who, or what, you think I am? The ‘Your Highness’ thing was a little harsh, but I’m guessing there’s a reason for the joke.”
His companions glanced among themselves after he asked the question, before four sets of eyes turned to regard Tylariel, as if it was her duty to enlighten him, despite her evident disdain. Arcturus would have preferred it to be Angela, but if it meant answers, he truthfully couldn’t have cared less about the source.
“If what you’ve said is true, and it isn’t an elaborate lie or some sort of massive delusion...” Tylariel began, her voice tight with discomfort for what she seemed to be about to reveal. “Then the only real answer is that you are not just an untrained Archon, or a lordling. You are, in the absence of your alleged father, the heir-apparent of a dynasty that helped found the very Empire we serve.”
“I’m… sorry?” Arcturus said with a rapid lift of his eyebrow. “I’m what?”
Order must be laughing his glowing ass off at this one. This is like a bad Fantasy trope, Gary Stu.
Tylariel scowled at him, but continued after a murmur of encouragement from Angela. “A Prince. Specifically, the Prince of the Valarian Kingdom. This Kingdom, and the Imperial Dominion it rules,” she clarified, her mouth twisted in distaste, as Arcturus’ eyes faintly widened.
“Put simply, Arcturus…” Angela said with a quiet smile, “...you may very well be the rightful Crown-Prince of Valaria.”
