CHAPTER 1
Keith stumbled into his room, barely managing to slam the door before his body collapsed beneath him.

Bright, haunting red flashed before his eyes. The prince flinched violently, smacking his head roughly against the timber behind him. His heart raced, chest heaving and vision blurred. It was then that he felt the hot liquid running down his face.

Screaming, his hands flew to his cheeks, rubbing vigorously with his palms. When his skin burned with the friction, he finally let them drop. It took a moment before he realised -

Oh.

Tears. Not blood.

He was crying.

The realisation left Keith drained, no longer lit with the fire of adrenaline. His heart felt heavy in his chest, his head throbbing dully. He leaned backward again, raising his head towards the gray stone ceiling.

His eyes felt heavy, but he knew from experience that if he stayed on the floor all night, he'd regret it later. As he moved to sit up, he placed his hands before him on the ground. He yelped at the sight, images of a different pair of hands - these were old and blood-stained - appearing in his mind.

Shuddering, the prince got to his feet. His steps were shaky as he stalked across the room to the large window, which sat above his desk. He pulled out his parchment, resolving to make another entry in his collection of letters which documented his... experiences. But when he stretched a wobbly hand towards the ink pottel, he found it empty.

Cursing, Keith braced himself against the desk. Could he really ask Pidge for another batch of ink? He had already bugged her about seven times in the past three days. On his latest visit, she had sighed exasperatedly and told him, "Whatever you need, Prince Emo," though he saw the affection in her amused eyes.

Keith managed a weak smile at the memory.

Deciding he would have to venture into the village, Keith snatched his cloak from where it was draped over his desk chair, and searched around the room for his satchel. His eyes scanned over his desk, past his elegant wardrobe, across his canopy bed and mahogany nightstand, before finally resting on his matching bookcase. There, sitting innocently atop several ancient and weathered leather-bound books, was his satchel. As Keith reached out to snatch it, the novels fell away, sinking into the shelf.

Alarmed, Keith retracted his hand as though he had been burned. A loud click resonated within the room before the whole bookcase swung forwards with a heavy groan. The prince barely managed to dart out of the way in time to avoid decapitation.

Dust clouded his vision, and he coughed, fanning his hand to clear the air. When at last the way was clear, Keith peered curiously into the space his bookcase had previously occupied. The whole thing had swung like a door to reveal a small circular chamber, built of the same stone as the rest of the castle, but somehow felt far less suffocating. As Keith stepped into the room, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders, as though he was finally doing something right for once.

"Oh shut up, Prince Emo," he muttered to himself quietly, shaking his head at the thought.

He moved purposefully forwards, shrieking embarrassingly as the bookcase swung back into place behind him. With a shiver, he scanned around; the entire room was laced with tangles of vines which seemed to sew themselves through cracks in the heavy stone. Tucked into the far side was a black desk, accompanied by a majestic-looking padded chair. Next to it, was what appeared to be a sort of cloak rack, though this one had hooks - or was it a stand of sorts? - further down the stem. Finally, Keith's eyes befell a small metal contraption on the floor before him. Bending down, he gave it a tug, finding it was a trapdoor which opened to a very dark and foreboding tunnel.

Throwing caution to the wind like a damn anime protagonist, Keith swung his satchel over his shoulder and lowered himself into the opening. Thankfully, there was a ladder secured to the wall, though the tunnel was rather narrow and climbing was awkward.

It took some time, but eventually Keith's toes touched hard ground. His eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, revealing an equally-narrow corridor. He hurried along, an extra spring in his step and a pang of adrenaline flooding his veins as a sense of adventure swept over him.

Though his elation was short-lived as he slammed face-first into cold stone. After he had recovered from the impact, he curiously padded both hands against the wall until a soft click echoed around him and the stone grumbled as it slid to the side.

Thoroughly dust-covered and panting, the prince emerged into daylight. Despite himself, a wide grin stretched across his lips as he took in the sight before him; he had escaped onto the castle grounds, the tunnel exit hidden away in a little corner of the castle, out of sight of the servants and other castle inhabitants.

Hastily, Keith slid the door back into place neatly. As soon as his fingers left its surface, the stone seemed to melt back into the wall, disguising itself like a chameleon. Keith only hoped he would be able to find it again upon his return.

The venture into the village was a short one, the castle being located fairly close. The prince only had to scale the high castle walls, clinging to the ivy vines, then pick his way through the ancient oaks on the other side, and cross the icy river that flowed south from the Great Mountains in the North. Thankfully, one of the previous generations of royals had constructed a sturdy stone footbridge not too far from the castle gates, which Keith gladly stepped across, throwing his hood up against the soft breeze.

When he at last made it to the busy streets of the village, he headed down the familiar route to the supplies shop he had frequented quite regularly in recent times. As he passed, villagers turned, taking in his eloquent cloak and posture, recognising him as the Prince of Marmora, Second Heir to the Throne, Son of the most cruel and tyrannical Monarchs their Kingdom had seen to date.

What a lovely title, he thought bitterly, pulling his cloak further around himself and switching routes, instead slipping down a narrow side-street.

The image of the villagers' wide, fearful eyes burned into his mind; the way their posture dropped, shoulders hunching, as they shied away from him. It stung. It hurt. A deep ache he was all-too-familiar with clutched at his heart. He hated what his parents had done - still continued to do­. How they treated other Kingdoms, their own people, their own sons. He hated them and everything they stood for. He hated the way he was roped in with them, seen as nothing more than a continuation of their tyranny. Their own venomous flesh and blood.

But could he blame those who saw him that way? Could he feel anger towards them for their judgement?

No, he couldn't. After all, it wasn't as though he ever did anything about it. Sure, he made every possible excuse to avoid taking part in their... practices, but it wasn't as though he really stood up to them. It wasn't as though he had ever voiced his opinion to anyone other than Pidge and his steadily growing pile of letters.

He was weak, he was a coward. He was nothing more than a scared little child hiding from the truth. From his responsibilities - to his people, and to himself.

As he came to the end of the side-street, he turned left, heading further into the heart of the village.

By the time he had finished purchasing the ink, Keith felt deflated. Thoughts were swirling in his mind, running rampant. The way the shopkeeper had avoided his eye, in spite of the many times Keith had visited the store over the few years when he had been allowed out of the castle without supervision, the way the man's hands shook ever so slightly as he bagged the ink, the way he answered the prince's attempts at conversation with a brief "Yes, your highness", or "No, your highness". It stung. It ached. Deep where he suspected the shredded remnants of his heart resided in his chest.

Those thoughts continued to hound him as he pulled his hooded cloak over himself once more and began his journey back. He tucked the paper bag containing the ink into his satchel as he rounded the corner into the side-street.

Suddenly, something thumped into his back. A split-second later, his hands hissed with pain. He'd smacked into the rough surface of the building to his right. From his position, Keith looked up to see a young and very obviously panicked boy running like a madman away from him. "Well that's a bit dramatic," the prince frowned, assuming the boy was running from him.

It was then that he heard angry shouts from behind him. "Stop, theif in the name of the crown!"

Keith felt his blood cool. Without turning around, he knew who was behind him. Knew who they worked for. And what they would do if they caught the poor kid.

The Royal Guards. His parents' Royal Guards. In an instant, he made up his mind. Time to take a fucking stand.

Keith took off at a sprint, using his knowledge of the village to manouver through side-streets and alleyways. As he ran, his legs burned and his lungs screamed, but his heart beat with a pace it never had before. He felt, for lack of a better word, alive.

He pushed on, a grin spreading across his face. As he rounded the last corner, he came to a complete stop in front of the fleeing teen.

In his fright, the kid slipped, falling on his ass. When he looked up, his face paled further. "I'm s-sorry, sir!" He spluttered, pushing to his feet with shaking hands. "I- I didn't mean to-"

But Keith ignored him, hearing the shouts once again. Before the guards could get close enough to recognise him, he grabbed the kid by the arm and took off again, winding back through the village in all directions, until finally the guards were off their tails.

"Holy mother of quiznak," Keith heaved, leaning against the wall of a building. They'd come to a rest in a narrow alley-way, both panting from the exposure. The prince turned to the teen. "What did you do?" he asked.

"Huh?" The kid looked up from where he was slumped on the ground, back against the wall of the opposite building.

"Why were the guards chasing you?" Keith ammended.

The teen frowned, seeming to deliberate for a moment. He peered into the prince's face, causing the royal to stiffen, shying away from his uncomfortably scrutinising glare.

Keith loosed a breath as the teen removed his eyes, seemingly having made up his mind.

"I'm part of a... certain group," the kid began cryptically. "Normally, I wouldn't be telling you this, but you did save my ass back there, so..." he trailed off, shooting Keith a quick grin.

"What group?" Keith prompted.

"A group of people who are done with the monarchs in Marmora. Who wish to see a time of peace and kindness in this kingdom. And who are willing to do something about it," A proud, almost patriotical smirk spread across his cheeks. "Some may call us rebels. But me? I call us the future."

Keith felt a pang of something race through his blood. That same something that burned like a hearth within him; when he discovered the chamber and tunnel, when he scaled the castle wall, when he chased the kid through the streets...

"Show me," he breathed, his voice light with that feeling.

The kid seemed taken aback. "What?"

"Show me," he repeated, firmer this time. "Show me this group - these rebels, the future. Show me what you can do, what you intend to do... the Marmora you want to see."

The kid cocked a brow. "Uh... you want me to take you to our base?"

"Yes."

"Why?" The kid suddenly brightened. "Do you want to join us? I mean, from what I've seen, you could probably keep up," he grinned.

Keith returned a ready smile. Perhaps he did.

Keith was surprised at how close the rebel base was to the castle. It was still within the midst of the village, but was only a few hundred metres from the castle gates. Although he supposed the distance could be excused by the fact that the base was underground, the only entrance a small drain tucked between two close-knit buildings.

The pair slid into the drain, sliding the metal lid across behind themselves. As they headed down the adjoining tunnel towards the base, Keith began to feel uneasy. Amidst all the action and shock at discovering the existence of a rebel group, he hadn't had a moment to think about what he was actually doing. The King and Queen would be livid if they discovered that he had so much as spoken to rebels. What if he joined them and was caught? Surely, they'd throw him in that dungeon and torture him. He would be nothing more than all those other-

"Hey, are you okay?"

Keith paused, turning his focus to the kid. He was probably around 15, a few years younger than Keith. And yet here he was, risking capture, torture... risking everything.

In that moment, the prince made up his mind.

No.

He had just been offered the opportunity he had been waiting for - he could finally do something, stand up for what he believed.

He would not run away. He would not be a coward anymore.

So he allowed his lips to spread in a toothy grin. "Yeah, I just... thank you."

"For what?"

"For bringing me here." Keith clarified, "For trusting me, even despite my royal blood."

The kid visibly paled. "Your royal WHAT?!"

The prince cursed.

"Shilah!" A gruff voice called down the tunnels. "Is that you?"

"Uh - I - uh... Yes, sir!" The kid - Shilah - stammered back, stepping shakily away from the prince beside him.

Before Keith could fully grasp what was happening, a muscled man rounded the corner. His face was covered with scars, his messy hair falling down his back in a single plait that was almost reminiscent of a rats tail.

The moment his eyes locked onto Keith, his body went rigid.

"You," he spat, eyes glaring into the prince's face. Faster than light, he had his sword in his hand, and was pointing it towards the two teens before him. "Blades!" He yelled, and on his words a dozen armed figures appeared at the man's side, hoods drawn up to hide their faces.

Keith was frozen into silence. Why had he thought this was a good idea?

"Prince Keith." The man hissed his name like it was an insult. Keith supposed it was. "Never had I dreamed I'd find a recluse like you in my base. Mommy and Daddy send you to do their dirty work for them? Or are you here on a suicide mission?"

"S-sir," Shilah stammered, "I -"

"Shut it," the man sneered, eyes sliding to the trembling teen. "I don't want to hear anything from a traitor. Especially one who sells us out to the Prince of Marmora!"

Shilah made a small whimpering noise, his face contorting in hurt. "Kolivan, I-"

"You dare use my name in front of him?" The man - Kolivan - seethed. "You know what happens to traitors, Shilah." He gestured to two rebels surrounding him and they stepped forward, seizing the teen by the arms.

The poor thing kicked and screamed as they began to drag him away. "No! Please! NO!"

Kolivan's voice was low - dark with disappointment and quiet wrath. "I put my faith in you, Shilah. I trusted you. The others warned me, said enlisting a foreign child was unwise. But I trusted you! And you let me down."

Shilah's cheeks were now damp with tears. "Sir! I'm sorry! I've never seen the prince before in my life! I swear! I would never conspire against you!"

But Kolivan turned his cold eyes to the rebels holding Shilah, and gave them a stiff nod. They tightened their grips, dragging the kid.

"Wait! Please," Keith pleaded. His voice wavered, though he tried to keep it strong. "He didn't know! I helped him escape the Royal Guards and he -!"

"What?" Kolivan interrupted. "You helped Shilah escape? How? Why?"

"The Guards were chasing me," Shilah cut in, still caught between the two rebels. "He jumped out in front of me and grabbed my hand and pulled me through the streets until they lost us."

Kolivan narrowed his eyes, sceptical. "And why did you do that, Prince?"

The rebels stopped hauling Shilah, though kept their firm hold on his arms.

Keith took a steadying breath. "Because I've seen what the King and Queen do to people," he began, voice hoarse with emotion. "I've been commanded to stand there and watch as they torture their victims; mentally, physically, emotionally... I've seen them do it. For years. And every time I leave those dungeons, I vomit on the stairs. I can hardly make it back to my room before I collapse.

"The King and Queen - my parents - are monsters. Nightmares. Ones I've had to live with for years. So when I saw a boy running, heard the shouts of the Guards, I made my decision. I did something, one small act of defiance towards my parents' tyranny. One act of rebellion."

Kolivan seemed a little touched, though barely impressed. "And how did you end up here?"

"Shilah admitted he was working with a rebel group," he answered. "Not explicitly, and he seemed to gauge whether he could trust me or not first," he added at the sharp look in Kolivan's eyes, "but what he told me inspired me. So I asked him to bring me to you."

Kolivan glared into the prince's eyes for an agonising second. Keith could feel the hairs raise on the back of his neck, his every nerve set on edge. He was sure it hadn't been enough, that he and Shilah would surely find a sword through their chests, but suddenly Kolivan turned to Shilah.

The boy all but withered beneath his gaze.

"Shilah... what you did was stupid. Foolish. Quiznak, you could have ruined our entire operation," he sighed through his nose, offering an almost-smile to the frightened boy. "But I believe in a Marmora without suffering, without violence. And I believe in learning from experience. I believe in you." He finished, gesturing for the rebels to let go.

Shilah beamed. "Thank you, Sir. I won't let you down."

Keith almost grinned himself, but suddenly that ancient glare was back on him.

"As for you, Prince, I still need to deliberate with my team. Your words... spoke to me. But there are risks." He paused. "You say you want to join us?"

Keith felt his stomach drop. "Yes," he replied. And he knew with every inch of his heart that he meant it.

"Very well," Kolivan hummed. "I will converse with my fellow rebels.

"Georgie, Tiana, Fletcher, Tristan, you four come with me. The rest of you stay here. Aislin, you're in charge. Make sure the prince doesn't have a change of heart; we can't have him running home to Mommy and Daddy just yet."

And was it Keith's imagination, or had the leader of the rebels just smiled at him?

~~~~

Heyo! Co-Author Lucidame here!

So I wrote this chapter (yay)! And I will probably be writing most of Keith's POV.

Since this is my first published work, and thus I am a total stranger to you all, I thought I might tell you a bit about me. (Actually, Jamie suggested it. Credit to her.)

So the facts: I'm 15, bisexual, and my pronouns are she/her. I'm a Taurus (which is usually fairly accurate to my personality if I'm honest) and an ENFP (if you know what that is) and I am a total fucking nerd. I'm a kiwi (as in I live in New Zealand, not that I am a kiwi fruit or NZ's national bird) and go to school with Jamie (Borntosingwithdrama). I love writing, and reading, and Voltron and Miraculous Ladybug and Anime and BBC Sherlock and Gravity Falls and Adventure Time and BTS (and probably millions of other things which I am forgetting right now).

But yes, if you are a fan of any of these things and would like to scream at someone about that then please let me know :)

I have an instagram and a tumblr of the same name (underappreciatedtree), so feel free to follow me on those! But I literally created them like three hours ago so don't expect too much just yet :D

I'm not really sure what else to say, and Jamie is nagging me to finish this so we can post in time for Keith's Birthday, so...

Until next time!
-underappreciatedtree <3