Cross awoke on a gentle dawn. Or so it seemed, with the early morning breeze brushing past his cheek like the touch of a kiss.

  Then, abruptly, he remembered he had left his windows unlocked, not open, and reached for his knife with his vision still blurry with sleep.

  A snort. Cross’ urgent action stilled; then, priorities shifted, he turned to the vague silhouette next to his infrequently used wooden table. Or— on it? His eyes took a while to come into focus. There was Killer, head tilted back, legs crossed and hands twiddling with an unbloodied knife. The sun hadn’t even risen yet.

  “Killer?” His voice was still rugged with sleep.

  Killer had no pupils, but the slight tilt of his head this way made it clear he was glancing at him. His knife flew from his fingers; it landed in the bed headboard.

  Killer never missed, so at least Nightmare did not want him dead. Small comfort.

  “Good morning to you,’ Cross murmured. Perhaps Nightmare wanted to bring him back, and then take his life. Small mercies. He was always so unpredictable.

  “Gotta admit, you’re the last one I expected to marry out of all of us,” Killer said idly. There was humour in his words, but Cross did not forget how Killer’s humour also approved of bloodshed and carnage.

  “So it’s reached you guys too?” Cross said wearily. He had hoped otherwise. “Please tell me Boss doesn’t want my head.”

  “Unfortunately, no. That would make things much easier,” Killer said dryly. “Instead, you have a new mission, Cross.”

  Cross blinked. Killer got off the table and walked closer.

  “I’m marrying Boss’ mortal enemy. He’s not— angry?”

  Killer reached behind him and extracted the knife from its place in the wood. “Oh, he is. Couldn’t tell if he was upset you were marrying his enemy or that his twin was marrying you.”

  At that, Cross frowned. He’d been exaggerating his word choice, but he hadn’t realised they were actually foes. “They’re enemies? Actually?”

  Killer’s dripping eyes had no pupils but even then Cross could tell he was giving him a look . “Cross, you’re marrying the only person in the world who can harm Boss. Permanently, anyway.”

  Cross blinked again. “Boss can get hurt?”

  His knife stuck under his chin, before Killer removed it. “So can you.”

  Cross swallowed the grimace (it was habit by now, masking everything) and moved on to more important (more safe) discussions. “So, what does—” His voice caught in his ribs, pulling at them uncomfortably. “What does Boss want?”

  “You to kill his twin,” He said casually. “Or injure him.”

  The instruction took time to sink in. But it made sense. “Ah. Like an assassin?

  No, it didn’t make sense. Dream was an Immortal, probably a God like Nightmare, and Cross was just unlucky. It made sense, for Nightmare. Otherwise, it was simply senseless.

  Killer shook his head. “No. Wait, first. No hurry; Boss wants it to hurt. He doesn’t care how long— well, try not to take decades,” He added dryly. “But you don’t have to do it in the first week or month. Build trust.”

  “So, what I did with CORE Frisk?” Because that too had been a necessary step to get his foot into the doors of discussions Nightmare wanted in on. “He wants me to be a spy?” But something told him Dream would be harder to convince.

  “Something like that. But,” And his eyes were definitely on Cross, staring through him. Cross remembered that the person before him was Nightmare’s favoured, his foremost right-hand man. His gaze was like a shadow of his. “You should know you can’t let him know who you are, right?”

  Which identity was he talking about? Cross wondered faintly. Cross, Royal Guard? Cross, of XKingdom? Cross, of the Council Guard? Then the breath in his throat turned to stone. Oh.

  Cross, Nightmare’s spy. Cross, Nightmare’s.

  “I’m not stupid, Killer.” His voice had inexplicably gotten lower. “I know he can’t find out who I am.

  “Boss suspects,” And his voice was quiet, a shadow of Nightmare’s quiet fury sometimes. “That he already knows. That that’s why he chose you, to find whatever information he can about Boss.”

  Cross froze. Was that why? His spine was icy, his breath swelled in his throat. No, surely not. Had he been too careless?

  “You must make him forget,” Killer murmured. “Even if he knows, if you are… good enough of a friend,” And there was a snort. “A husband, a companion, a bed-warmer,” And the urge to punch Killer arose in him, a feeling familiar every time he saw him. “If you are good enough, he may forget it. Do whatever it takes for him to overlook it.”

  Cross looked upon him, simultaneously unnerved and disbelieving. “Are you sure? A few kisses here and there can assuage the suspicions of a God?”

  “According to Nightmare, yes.” Killer laugh was biting, but it was light for him. “Dream, apparently, has a very soft heart. Oh, and Nightmare said he’ll kill you if you fall in love with him for real.”

  Cross’s mouth, slowly, gaped at him. Dream, in light silks and donned with gold rings? Dream, with that terrifying smile and laugh and— “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  “Then I’ll be going back. Don’t expect us to contact you, you’ll be on your own for a long time.” Cross had expected that would be the case, but the loss of guidance still worried him. Killer seemed to have nothing left to say, making his way back to the window and unlatching it to take his leave.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “By the way,” He cast a look his way, a leg out already. Cross raised an eyebrow. “Nice ring, Criss-Cross.”

  With a sharp Killer-like giggle, he was gone from the window and Cross automatically rose to close it. When he went back to bed with the new weight of the added instruction, he realised Killer’s eyes had stained his bedsheets. He let out a sigh.

  CORE Frisk was exceedingly gentle with him as they went through the procedure of what was to come. Dream had sent letters, this time on paper instead of the melodramatics of words burned into the walls.

  There was no need to. The date was burned into his head anyway.

  It seemed he considered delivering the letters visit enough, for he added in the very first letter that he would not step foot in the Council’s halls nor the land it stood on again.

  There would be no wedding in their land. Dream had insisted on it; on the day, there would be a carriage sent for him, and he would be married in Dream’s home (though he had refused to specify where that was, exactly). There would be no need for celebration on their end; he would not be offended if they treated it with the air of a funeral, he had remarked in his letter. No need for such worries on their end, though they were free to celebrate if they so wished.

  The date of their marriage was exactly one week after the month they would have their victory.

  The follow-up letters consisted of simple clarifications. He would not be expected to dress in wedding robes or any fancy attire before he departed. He would only need arrive alone.

  A very strange person, it seemed. Surely, if he had been infatuated enough with someone to bargain war victory in exchange for their hand in marriage, would he not hold great interest in ensuring their wedding would be grand and proper? How strange that he would be so disinterested in even the simplest of such details. But perhaps Dream was so infatuated with him that he was willing to indulge him even if he showed up in shorts.

  But each addition only made Cross more anxious. They seemed only a confirmation that Dream held no desire for him, that this marriage was a mere farce for him to gain exclusive access to one of Nightmare’s spies. That would explain his disinterest very well indeed.

  At least with Nightmare he knew what to expect, what to do. If he wanted him to spy, he knew how to keep a low profile and listen intently under the guise of not listening at all. If he wanted him to kill, he knew how to without leaving a drop of blood. Even if Nightmare’s power was immense, as long as he followed his orders and didn’t turn traitor he wouldn’t be faced with the brunt of it. He had no such safety with Dream.

  Perhaps they would behave similarly. They were twins, after all. But Dream did not seem the type to want outright carnage; with his clean, light silks and golden gleaming eyes, he seemed to favour a different style than Nightmare’s dark refinement. Would Dream put up the pretense of love to lure him into a false sense of security? Or was his tastes different from his twin’s solely with appearance, would he gut him the moment he crossed into his home solely for his loyalties to Nightmare?

  The thought made him want to remove the ring. But he didn’t.

  If it had been Nightmare, and the ring a gift from him, it would have been suicide to remove.

  CORE Frisk had offered to organise some sort of celebration, but Cross had turned it down. He would leave on the day itself and that was it. Kindly, Undyne had excused him from what patrol duties he had till the date of the wedding. After that, well, he would no longer be of the Council’s Guard.

  So he still had weeks left with nothing to do.

  CORE Frisk let him stew in silence, rereading the letters but not really taking any of the words in. He noted that every one was addressed to the Council, nothing to him.

  It took a while longer to find his words.

  “Can I be alone, CORE?”

  They had reached over to pat his shoulder, but had gotten to their feet too. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

  Cross was grateful for them. Grateful for their information, grateful for their now-absence.

  Had he not been one of Nightmare’s, perhaps he would’ve thought of CORE Frisk as a friend.

  It was strange. Before, when it was almost certain they would all be defeated, he had felt guilt faintly. But now that they were all safe the guilt had nearly swallowed him whole, that he had been swaying them towards defeat all this while.

  It did not loosen as the days passed. Somehow, the marriage did not feel like penance in the slightest.

  A month later, they had indeed regained their frontlines and been blessed with victory after victory. He heard of rumours from passing by other Guards of how those battles had been won: the sun had burned them alive, one had said. The earth itself had swallowed them, another spoke. The sun blinded them. They were found hanging from trees, in unburied graves.

  Ah, the power of a God. He’s really terrifying, they had murmured.

  Then Undyne had happened upon them once and scolded them for mentioning it in the presence of his betrothed. That was the end of the rumours around him.

  Undyne had looked at him, the air awkward, and it was Cross who first broke it when he turned away.

  He had been counting down the days, but once it was the week of, he suddenly could not bear to anymore. Perhaps it would be less of something to dread if he put up the pretense of celebration, allowed them to treat it as such.

  But he wouldn’t. That was the end of it, even as there were attempts to introduce intricate traditions or offer fabric samples to him to make robes. That was the end of it. Three more days. Two. CORE Frisk was at his door, and it struck him: perhaps this would be the last time he would see them.

  The carriage would be arriving some time past dawn, but before the afternoon. Though he had rejected any and all wedding arrangements (and CORE Frisk’s voice was no more disdainful than the one in his head, perhaps less so) the Council would still be giving him parting gifts. They would be loaded onto the carriage with him.

  Cross had scarcely begun to reject when CORE Frisk held up a hand to stop him. “I know, Cross. You don’t want it to even resemble a wedding. But these aren’t wedding gifts. You know how it’s customary for any who leave the Guard honourably to receive a token for their service?”

  That broke through the monotony of awaiting the day, if only to give CORE Frisk a look. He punched their arm lightly, and that made them draw a tight smile.

  “Cross, they aren’t wedding gifts. They’re gifts for a Guard, leaving our service. See how the presents will differ?” Cross should be exasperated, but somehow because it was CORE Frisk he wasn’t. “I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen to you after.” And just like the humour melted from Cross’ face. “I’m just saying, that if there’s a dagger or two hidden in your presents, it’d be yours even beyond our borders.”

  Cross paused. Then, his eyes slowly fell back on CORE Frisk’s.

  CORE Frisk’s smile was just about perceptible. It dug into his chest like the edge of a knife.

  Tomorrow, he would be heading off. He looked at CORE Frisk, and his throat was tight. There was usually no safety to have when in the presence of a God. None at all.

  Cross reached for CORE Frisk and pulled them into a tight hug.

  But the moment could not last, and the day of the wedding arrived.