Chapter Text
Nico presses both hands against the carriage window, fogging the glass with excitement.
“Look, Toto!” he gasps. “There is a full moon tonight!”
Above them, the moon hangs enormous and silver over the dark road.
Toto lifts his gaze briefly from the opposite seat and offers a small smile. The child has no idea this journey is not an adventure.
To Nico, it is exciting: a new palace, new duchy, new people.
To Toto, it feels more like delivering a sacrifice.
“You should rest, my lord,” the beta says gently.
Nico obeys surprisingly quickly, climbing back onto the seat beside him and curling into Toto’s side beneath a heavy blanket.
The carriage rocks softly around them.
“How many days are left?”
“Two.”
Nico nods.
“I miss my mum and dad.”
Toto closes his eyes briefly. He pulls Nico a little closer against his chest.
“I know.”
“Do you think they miss me too?”
The question nearly destroys him.
“Yes,” Toto lies softly. “Very much.”
A necessary lie. A merciful one.
Because Nico is five and the road is long. Toto cannot survive a crying child tonight when he barely manages not to cry himself.
Nico yawns sleepily.
“Will Mercedes be scary?”
Toto strokes his blond hair away from his forehead.
“No,” he says quietly. “I think… you will like it there.”
That, at least, might be true.
In the palace of Mercedes, Anthony Hamilton is trying to locate his son. A difficult task on most days.
“Lord Lewis went that way!”
“No, that way!”
“He stole a pie from the kitchens!”
Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose.
Six servants sprint through the corridors after the future Duke while somewhere in the distance a child laughs like a tiny demon escaping justice.
Eventually, Anthony finds him hidden terribly behind a grey velvet curtain. Two small shoes remain visible underneath.
Anthony crosses his arms.
“Lewis.”
Silence. Anthony sighs.
“I can see your feet.”
A pause.
“Oh.”
The curtain moves aside reluctantly, revealing Lewis with crumbs around his mouth.
Anthony narrows his eyes. Growing children truly are terrifying.
Anthony bends slightly to fix the collar of Lewis’ shirt.
“Go get dressed properly. Visitors are arriving soon.”
Lewis groans immediately.
“I hate formal clothes.”
“I know.”
“The pants are too tight.”
“Obey.”
Without assistance from servants, Lewis changes into proper clothing upstairs, though half the buttons end up wrong the first time.
By the time he returns, Anthony waits near the entrance hall.
“Who is coming?” Lewis asks.
“Lord Nico Rosberg.”
“Where is he from?”
“Ferrari.”
Lewis nods despite having absolutely no idea what Ferrari actually is beyond: far away and politically important.
“Why is he visiting?”
Anthony hesitates for half a second. There is no easy answer for a child.
“He is here for you.”
Lewis blinks.
“For me?”
“He will be staying with us for some time. He is your age.”
Lewis straightens instantly.
“Really? Like… someone to play with?”
The excitement in his voice lands harder than Anthony expected.
Lewis has cousins. Tutors. Servants. But none of them are truly his friends. Palaces are lonely places for children.
Anthony chuckles softly and pets Lewis’ curls.
“Yes,” he says. “Something like that.”
Lewis starts bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet.
“When are they arriving?”
“Any minute now.”
And right then, as if summoned, the sound of carriage wheels echoes outside.
Lewis stares attentively.
A servant opens the door. Cold winter air rushes inside.
First, a tall beta climbs down from the carriage.
Lewis frowns immediately.
That is not a child.
Then another figure appears behind him.
Blond. Small. Wrapped in deep Ferrari red.
Nico looks exhausted from the journey but curious enough to keep glancing around at everything.
Lewis feels something strange immediately. Interest. Recognition.
Like finding the beginning of a story before understanding it.
The adults exchange bows and greetings and start walking toward the main salon.
“Lord Nico,” Anthony says warmly. “How was your journey?”
“Long,” Nico replies honestly.
Toto looks apologetic already.
Anthony smiles slightly.
“I am sure you both wish to rest. Chambers have already been prepared—”
Lewis stops listening entirely. Because Nico is falling behind the group, distracted by enormous ceilings and painted walls and flickering chandeliers. Rosberg Palace suddenly feels tiny in comparison.
Lewis slows until they walk side by side behind the adults.
“I can show you around,” he offers proudly.
Nico looks over immediately and nods.
“I am starving.”
Lewis grins instantly.
“One of our cooks makes the best pastries in the kingdom.”
Nico’s eyes widen slightly.
“Can we ask for some?”
Lewis looks scandalized.
“Ask?”
Nico blinks.
“Yes?”
Lewis leans closer mischievously.
“Why ask when you can steal?”
Something shifts instantly in Nico’s face. Not rebellion exactly; curiosity. Nico has always been well behaved. Careful.
But Lewis speaks about trouble like it is magic. Temptation.
Nico smiles slowly.
“Lead the way, Lord Hamilton.”
Lewis immediately grabs Nico’s hand and drags him through the corridors at full speed.
Nico laughs breathlessly while trying not to trip over expensive rugs.
“Won’t Duke Anthony get angry?”
“Only if he finds out,” Lewis replies confidently. “Trust me. He is completely clueless.”
They sneak downstairs through servant passages Lewis clearly knows too well for a five-year-old noble.
At one corner, Lewis suddenly throws an arm out across Nico’s chest dramatically. Nico startles.
“What?”
“The cook.”
A beta woman passes carrying soup trays without noticing them pressed against the wall.
Once the hallway clears, they continue moving.
Lewis pushes open the kitchen door carefully. Warmth floods over them instantly. Bread, flour, sugar, butter. The ingredients for trouble.
The kitchen feels alive compared to the polished silence upstairs. Cooks move everywhere shouting instructions while trays slide in and out of ovens.
Nobody notices two tiny nobles sneaking beneath tables.
Lewis points triumphantly toward a baking dish near the window: Pastries. Golden. Sugared. Perfect.
Nico’s stomach roars. Lewis chuckles.
“Operation begins.”
“What operation?”
Lewis looks offended.
“You cannot rob kitchens without strategy.”
Lewis crawls beneath one table while Nico follows, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“Okay,” Lewis explains seriously. “I distract. You steal.”
“How do you distract?”
Lewis grins. Nico immediately realizes that is a terrible sign.
A second later, Lewis stands up suddenly and yells:
“Fire!”
The kitchen explodes into chaos.
Someone screams. Someone drops a bag of flour that explodes like a grenade.
“There is no fire!” a maid yells furiously.
During the confusion, Nico grabs as many pastries as his little arms can carry.
“Lewis!” he hisses.
Lewis appears through the flour cloud and sprints back toward him laughing wildly.
“Run!”
They race through corridors while cooks shout behind them.
Nico laughs so hard he can barely breathe.
By the time they finally collapse behind a staircase hidden from sight, both are panting.
Nico proudly opens his jacket like a treasure chest. Pastries tucked inside.
Lewis stares at him in disbelief.
“You are good at this.”
“Obviously.”
Nico bursts laughing again.
Real laughing. Carefree.
Lewis watches him for a second, smiling softly without understanding why his chest suddenly feels warm.
Then Nico hands him a pastry. Sugar dusts both their fingers immediately.
“We will have much fun,” Lewis promises.
Nico believes him immediately.