Work Text:
“I must say,” George spoke lowly, “I expected better of you, Dream.”
The kingdom’s greatest thief, currently down on his knees with his hands bound by heavy chains, glanced up at the King through loose strands of dirty blonde hair. He was flanked on all sides by guards in heavy armor with their weapons aimed at his throat. To the common eye it may have seemed excessive, but the thief had escaped the royal guards’ grasp more than once, and they weren’t keen on repeating the act.
“That’s because your standards are too high to be met, your Highness,” Dream replied, words practically dripping with sarcasm like the red droplets gathering on the marble floor. There was a grin on his face, teeth stained red by the blood slowly dripping out of his nose, a purple bruise blooming over the bridge. A low murmur rose from the various spectators around the throne room, who had been there before the doors had been thrown open and the thief had been dragged in by his wrists. Lords and Lady’s from noble houses around the Kingdom, who looked appalled by the blood and dirt the thief was coated in, had shuffled to the side to clear the center of the room, giving George an easy view down upon the prisoner from the raised seat of his throne. He was still in the same pose as he had been in before, one leg slung over the other and an elbow propped up on the armrest, resting his head on his palm.
“I have my reasons,” George spoke. “Not all of us like to roam the woods looking for wealth like a dog.”
“Oh, get off your high horse,” Dream replied, his smile turning into a grimace. “Some dirt between your teeth will do you good.”
George didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth before a boot connected with the thief’s stomach, a cut-off wheeze escaping his lips.
“You should watch your mouth before I kick your teeth in,” the guard holding Dream’s chains threatened, pulling the thief’s head up by his hair to look him in the eyes. Despite the painful grip, the smug grin had returned to Dream’s face, and his eyes were locked on the King, completely ignoring the guard.
“Sam,” George simply said, voice monotone, and the guard rose back to his full height, back straight. He didn’t release his grip. The King rose from his seat with a sigh, stepping away from the throne to stand at the edge of the raised part of the floor, looking down on the prisoner, eyes hard like a judge in court. “I feel like this has been going on long enough,” he spoke, letting his voice carry to all corners of the room. “Let’s put an end to these games once and for all.” He let his gaze drift to one of the other guards and gave them a short nod. The knight in question bowed his head in return, unsheathing the blade at their side with a foreboding sound and stepped forwards. Sam pulled the prisoner forwards so his neck was laid bare as George turned around, ready to sit back down and watch the scene unfold when Dream’s voice reached his ears.
“I call a Death’s Wager,” the thief said. All murmuring ceased as soon as the words left his mouth. Even George paused, repeating the words in his head. He slowly turned around, catching the thief’s eyes, which were looking straight back at him despite the uncomfortable angle.
“And what would you wager?” George returned the second part of the unspoken protocol, jaw aching from the strain he felt just from saying the words. Dream lifted his head, pushing back against the hand that was holding him down.
“A hunt,” he said, “between me and anyone you choose within this room. If they don’t kill me before I reach the End’s Gate, you leave me be for the rest of my life.”
“Your Highness,” George’s advisor spoke hurriedly, making their presence known again from when they had slunk into the shadows. “There is no need to honor this request. It would be best to execute this filth as soon as possible-”
George raised a hand, cutting off the flow of words. “And why,” he started, “should I not just kill you right here? I have no need for any more of your pretentious games.”
“We both know that’s not quite the truth,” Dream said, tilting his head mockingly to the side. “Why the need for dishonesty, your Highness? Surely nobody would go against your will no matter the reason behind it?”
George’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The murmurs picked up again, hesitant, quiet, but easily heard in the echoing chamber. George didn’t dare look away from the thief, keeping his gaze locked in his own.
“I’ve heard your side of the Wager,” he said after a moment of thought, “let me make mine.” The smile on Dream’s face widened a bit, clearly pleased with the reaction he got. “You will leave this castle with nothing. No equipment, no supplies, nothing except the clothes on your back, and then maybe I’ll consider it.”
“Oh, come on,” Dream drawled, grin not faltering the slightest bit. “That hardly seems fair.”
“I don’t think you’re in any place to be preaching about fair play,” George replied.
“Or are you simply too scared of losing that you stack the odds in your favor,” Dream continued as if George hadn’t spoken at all. “Are you not confident in the skill of your guard? Or would you rather keep your ego intact long enough to justify your right to rule?”
A heavy silence filled the room. Every eye was trained on the King, on the subtle shift of his expression and body language to reveal what kind of emotions the threat pulled to the surface, but George remained completely stoic as he stepped down from the throne, face as cold as the marble beneath his boots.
“I don’t need,” he spoke slowly and low, putting emphasis on every word, “to prove my reign to a filthy lowlife like you.”
He came to a halt in front of the kneeling thief, whose eyes were narrowed, grin becoming a bit strained.
“However-” he continued, “-it would be a pleasure seeing the life drain from your eyes.” With a flick of the wrist he dismissed the guards, leisurely making his way back to the throne. “Put him in the dungeons,” he ordered, unbothered by the eyes boring into his back. There was the rattle of chains and armor, a grunt of “Move it,” and then the doors closed, the sound echoing off the walls. The silence that followed felt like it could shatter like glass if anybody so much as breathed the wrong way, and people hurriedly filtered out of the room through the side doors as George took his place upon the throne, drumming on the armrest with the fingers of one hand.
“My King,” his advisor spoke, faltering when George shot them a look. “Your Highness, there is no need for this. I promise you nobody in the room would spill but a word about any of it, I would make sure of it.”
But that was it, wasn’t it? How eager would one of the nobles be, to slip a whisper in passing to someone else, who would pass it on and so forth, and soon all of the Kingdom would know how their King didn’t honor a Death’s Wager. By sending Dream to the dungeons instead of executing him right then and there, the King might as well have written a contract and signed it with his scrawling calligraphy and royal stamp.
“No,” he said. His advisor wisely kept their mouth shut, not daring to argue with such a definitive answer. “Don’t bother.”
Even without the Wager in place, Dream wouldn’t last one night in the dungeons, disappearing without a trace before the morning sun even made itself known like he had done many times before.
Only this time, George would make sure he wouldn’t make it far.
When the morning sun cast its rays over the horizon, turning the spires of the castle golden, a blue clad figure slinked through the city streets. The King was without his crown and robe, dressed in what he considered an outfit that would not make him stand out too much from the townsfolk while still regaining a sense of regalness. He made his way towards the western part of the city, where most of the craftsmen dabbling in the less finer art were located. Woodworkers, butchers, blacksmiths, the likes. It was only because of the smoke rising from a thick stone chimney that George knew where he was going.
The forge was being stoked by a male figure, a leather apron streaked with soot strapped to his front and cotton sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There was a thin layer of sweat building on his forehead, cheeks rosy from the warmth of the cinders.
“Are you the owner of this establishment?” George asked as he made his way over. The figure looked in his direction for a moment, eyes skimming over George before he pulled down on a lever, the fire brightening from the oxygen it was fed.
“That’d be my dad, but I can help you out fine if you need something,” the man said. He released the lever to stand closer to George, leaning on the short cobblestone wall that separated them and gave the King an expectant look.
“I’m looking for a hunter,” George said. “I was told one lived here.”
The man’s eyes widened a bit, eyebrows lifting up. He didn’t look surprised, just eager and slightly intrigued before his shoulders slumped. “That’d be me,” he said. “But I’m not taking any jobs right now, sorry.”
“Price won’t be an issue,” George said, unwilling to back down so soon.
“Look man, I wish I could help, really, but I’m not going to be able to leave this place. There’s no way we’ll make it through spring if I don’t help out here at the forge until my dad recovers.”
“Name your price,” George challenged. The smith gave him a look like he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
“Seriously? Can you not take no for an answer? Unless you’re paying enough to get rid of a two month tax debt, you can get the hell out of my face.”
George reached for his satchel, not even bothering to count the money as he placed a bag of coins on the wall. “This enough?” The man stared at the bag like George just performed a miracle in front of him, mouth hanging slightly open. It would have made for a funny sight if George wasn’t in such a hurry. “I said, is this enough?” George repeated, shaking the smith out of his stupor. He pulled the bag towards himself, opening it to take a look inside.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled. “Yeah, that- that’ll do it. Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He took the bag in his arms and disappeared into the house, leaving George alone in the morning cold. It only took a few moments before voices started to filter out through the thin walls, the one of the man mingling with two others before the door opened again and the man poked his head out.
“When do you want to go?” he asked hurriedly.
“Now,” George replied.
The man faltered for a second. “Now?”
“Now,” George repeated. He was slowly beginning to lose his patience, and he wasn’t afraid to show it, crossing his arms and giving the man a look. “Unless there’s an issue with that?”
“No! No no no, no problem,” the smith told him. “Just give me five minutes to get my gear, and then we’ll be off.”
He disappeared again, shutting the door a little too harsh as it made the frame rattle. Actually, the entire house gave off a shudder, and George briefly wondered about its structural integrity before it opened again, revealing a somewhat older man with a cane. He leaned on it heavily as he stepped out, locking eyes with George. The King raised his eyebrows in silent question, and the man sighed before he started painstakingly making his way towards him.
“My son is a skilled huntsman,” he spoke. “Don’t try and undermine him, because you won’t live to tell the tale.” George has heard many a threats layered behind words spoken aloud. This time however, the venom was not hidden behind honeyed words or honored titles, but as clear as ink on parchment. It also wasn’t venom, but caution laced with worry, so openly displayed it took George aback for a moment before he pulled himself back into careful indifference.
“There’s only one I want dead, and it’s not your son,” he said.
“Good,” the man said. “Because you will regret it otherwise.” He gave George a far too gentle smile for the words it accompanied before he turned around and wandered back inside, all the while George was too stricken to respond.
By the time the sun had revealed itself fully, George and the hunter were stepping out of the tall gates that surrounded the city. They were headed northeast, and when George inquired why they were heading this direction the hunter only gave him a knowing grin and told him, “Just trust in the one who has been doing this for a while now.” When George didn’t prod any further, the hunter spoke up again. “The name’s Sapnap, by the way.”
“I didn’t ask for your name.”
George just caught the disgruntled face Sapnap made as he turned around. He was lucky they weren’t within the castle walls, or he would have been thrown out the second he decided to show his disdain so explicitly. Nevertheless, George pushed on, walking with such determined strides Sapnap had to catch up with him.
“Do you know their name? It’ll help to track them down faster.”
George didn’t get how a name would be of any help, and as much confidence as he had in his own abilities, he’s not the one with experience of hunting down a person. Game maybe, if he had his hunting dogs, but not people.
“Dream,” George answered. Sapnap paused for a moment before rushing to catch up again.
“Dream?” he asked. “The Nightmare Thief?”
Now it was George’s turn to pause. “Nightmare thief?”
Sapnap shrugged. “Everyone says they’re such a good thief they can steal your bad dreams away. Bit too high of a praise in my opinion, but oh well.”
Not a chosen name, then, but a given one. How did Dream wear it, like a title bestowed upon him that would rival one of a King, or a weight on his shoulders, bearing down with expectations?
Not unlike a King either, George’s mind whispered. He quickly discarded the thought.
Nightmare thief. His guard had never called him that, only Dream or that thief, and on very few occasions simply him, if George’s temper was already running high and they didn’t want to suffer the repercussions of being the one to deliver the news. If there was one thing Dream was good at, it was giving George sleepless nights. How often he would be close to drifting off before that smug face resurfaced and taunted him until he got out of bed to roam the halls, hoping to distract himself so he could cast the thief from his mind and let him rest?
“What did he steal from you that you’re so hung up on catching him?” Sapnap asked.
George adjusted his pack and sped up his pace, led on solely by grim determination. “My patience.”
The town Sapnap led them to housed a way of life George had not encountered before. A crowd of townspeople had gathered in the square, surrounding an open space where several people were dancing in pairs, led by a small band of musicians on a wooden platform that could barely be called a stage.
One of these people would be the one George was looking for.
Dream would most likely be using the chaos as a way to hide. Unfortunately for him, Dream’s image had burned itself into George’s memory, and it only took a few minutes for his eyes to fall on a suspiciously familiar figure. The height, the build, the gloved hands. Oh, George would recognize him anywhere.
The only thing he had on him, from what George could see, was a gray cloak that hung around his shoulders that didn’t even reach his ankles, obviously not his own. George almost missed the emerald green he had come to expect lingering in the shadows.
Carefully making his way through the crowd, he slipped the ornate dagger he carried on his belt out of its sheath, carrying it low by his side. Dream had moved to the edge of the crowd, watching the people dancing. George stopped behind him, ready to strike when a hand grasped his wrist.
“I must say,” Dream said, quietly enough to only be heard by one. “You never fail to surprise me, your Highness.”
“Anyone I choose,” George repeated Dream’s own words back at him. “To hunt you down.”
Dream laughed. “I wonder how long you’ll last until you go crawling back to your palace.”
“Any reason you’re not being dragged back as we speak?” George had seen the guards stationed at every side of the gates, the way their eyes lingered over every single person entering or exiting.
“What, you think I just show myself to anyone?” For the first time since they had started talking, Dream looked at George, revealing the same face that haunted the King’s thoughts during dark times. “Your guards were kind enough to relieve me of my mask.” The hand that held George’s wrist gripped a little tighter, and he strained to hold onto the blade. “No one knows your face around here,” Dream whispered. “The guards would be on you in seconds.”
The warning did not go unnoticed, that if George were to draw a weapon and strike Dream down, he would be arrested on the spot. He would have no way to prove his status; after all, who believed anyone if they were to call out they were actually the King in disguise? It would be humiliating, and sure to taint his reputation even years later. The overzealous King, who went out hunting for a thief only because he accepted a Wager. Here he had no crown, no power, and no way to gain it.
“Let’s do something better with our time tonight,” Dream said. “A dance, perhaps?”
“No,” was George’s quick answer.
“Oh come on, humor me.”
“I can think of many other ways to spend my evening, and they don’t include you.”
George didn’t like the smile that made itself known on Dream’s face. “Do you now? Care to enlighten me?”
“No.”
“Then I suppose we’ll have to settle for this.” With confident strides, Dream stepped into the circle, dragging George in behind him. Unwilling to make a scene where so many would see, George reluctantly took his place and rested his hand on Dream’s waist, forcing the other to follow his lead. Dream didn’t seem particularly disturbed with his role, and soon enough they were swept away in the flow of music and people.
“We’re quite similar, if you think about it,” Dream continued. “Nobody knows your face, nor do they know mine.”
“We,” George said, “are nothing alike.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, your Highness.” Dream sped up their pace, hoping to catch George off guard, but the King kept up easily. “You hide yourself away behind marble and silk, I choose the night and the shadows. And we are selfish, to a degree.” Dream shifted his hold so neither of them were in a leading role, their chests were half pressed together, feet stepping so close that a single misstep from either one would lead them to topple over. Dream leaned in, breath fanning the side of George’s face as he looked past his head. “Ditch the hunter,” he spoke right into his ear, “and I might consider letting you walk away with your dignity intact. Need I remind you, you are the only one allowed to hunt me.”
“I will be the only one putting a knife in your chest, if that puts you at ease,” George said. Dream’s hand slid from its place on his shoulder to the base of his neck, a hint of steel grazing his skin. “I’m not breaking any rules.”
“I don’t think you’re in any place to be making demands,” Dream said like he had George with his knees on marble. “Ditch him, it’s only fair.”
“If this is your attempt at making a convincing argument, I’m afraid you didn’t quite succeed,” George said, refusing to acknowledge the blade hovering by his throat, continuing to spin them around at the same speed Dream had put them at.
“I don’t think I need to,” Dream said with a smile that could be heard. “You like me too much to share.”
“Do I now? Then what is the reason you asked for only one to hunt you, if not for the feeling of having my eyes solely on you.”
“The same reason you came,” Dream whispered. “Perhaps I don’t want to share either.”
“I never took you for an honest man,” George said.
He could feel Dream smile against him. “Do you fear my words that much, your Highness, that you would not entertain the idea of truth?”
“I have no need for any of your words, whether I trust them or not.”
“And if I were to tell you something right now, would you believe me?”
“No better way to find out other than to try.”
Dream laughed at that. “If you say so, Your Highness. I will be looking forward to the next time we see each other again.”
It was late at night when George found Sapnap again, splayed out on his cot in the room they had rented for the night. The hunter was out cold, contently dozing away whilst George laid awake on the stiff mattress, running his fingers over the coarse covers while his mind drifted off, not to sleep, but other places some would call nightmares anyway. After the moon had watched him lay in stillness for many hours, George finally stood up and gathered his things. He wouldn’t get everything out of the service he paid for, but the hunter could keep the money; it’s not as if George would need it.
When he turned around, he found Sapnap watching him intently from the other side of the room.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” George said, voice lacking any sense of apology.
“I’m a hunter,” Sapnap mumbled, revealing no intent of getting up. “Being aware of my surroundings is kind of my job.”
“Not anymore,” George said. “You’re free to go, I’m continuing this by myself.”
“Ah,” Sapnap said, the simple noise holding far too much understanding for a single syllable. He turned over in his cot, pulling the blankets over his shoulders. “Have fun, then. Try not to die.”
They didn’t share any more words before George stepped out of the room and into the night, the hunter’s compass weighing heavily in his pocket.
It didn’t take him long to figure out how it worked. If you spoke someone’s name, the needle would sway from its constant north to whatever direction the target resided. The compass led him into the forest, off the path and into the wilderness. And, to George’s intrigue, away from the Gate.
He found Dream again within another set of city walls, wandering the busy market with a sense of leisure not typically found within the criminally outlawed. George followed in his footsteps, occasionally pausing to let his eyes wander over the various wares splayed out for sale. He stopped by a stall carrying varying sets of jewelry, letting his own curiosity take over for a second. After a few long moments, he was ready to carry on when he caught the eyes of the woman behind the stall by accident. Her face was weathered by age and kindness, and the smile she showed him wasn’t lacking any of it. He returned it the best he could, not just the mask he would put on for honor’s sake.
“Anything catch your eye, young man?” she asked.
“I was just looking, thank you,” George replied. “They’re all wonderful.”
Her smile grew a little brighter. “Why thank you, sir. If I can help you with anything, let me know.” She shuffled off towards the two girls who had wandered up to the other side of the stall, hands intertwined and pointing out some of the wares on display, whispering quietly amongst themselves.
“See anything you like, your Highness?” another voice asked, closer and quieter.
George didn’t spare as much as a glance at the tall figure beside him. “I did,” he said. “I was enjoying my day a lot more before I got robbed of the sun.”
“The sun?” Dream whistled. “I fear that might be too high a praise even for me.” The thief reached forward and plucked a necklace off the table, holding it up to George’s neck. The last time Dream’s hands were anywhere near his throat they held a blade. George didn’t let himself be bothered by it. “Jade fits you quite well, your Highness.”
George placed a hand on Dream’s and pushed it away, just so it wasn’t hovering so close to his face. Standing this close together without the threat of metal gave him the time to really take in everything about Dream, most importantly, how his eyes reflected the same shade of green as the necklace he was holding.
The next time he saw Dream, there was no-one around. The room was completely empty, save for him and the thief, who was perched on the windowsill with one of his legs dangling outside.
“Good night,” he greeted when George sat up in his bed, looking as relaxed as one could. When George reached for the sword by his bed, he found nothing. That would explain why Dream seemed so at peace, at least.
“What do you want?” he asked tiredly. He’d half the mind to turn over and go back to sleep again, but something told him Dream probably didn’t come all this way to leave him alone even if he asked him to.
“Can’t I share my night with someone else?” Dream asked. “The moon looks lovely right now, if you wanted to come and take a look.”
“No thanks. I much prefer spending my nights in solitude.”
“Oh, come on now,” Dream mused. He rested his head against the window frame. His hair glowed silver in the moonlight. “Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy my nightly visits. I thought we had moved past telling lies.”
Another set of memories George’s mind liked to linger on, no matter how hard he tried to cast them aside.
“If it would put you at ease,” Dream continued, “I quite enjoyed spending our time together.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have better things to do,” George said.
“Any time with you is time well spent, Your Highness,” Dream said.
“So much you would risk your life for it?”
Dream smiled, much in the same way he’d done when he’d been forced to kneel before George’s throne. The only thing missing was the blood on his teeth. “Have I ever done anything else?”
George squinted at the words. “I don’t believe you.”
“I may be much in your eyes, but I’m not a liar.”
The way Dream sighed, it must have been clear by the look on George’s face he wasn’t ready to believe those words either.
“A bit of a shame, but I’m sure we’ll get another chance,” Dream said. He turned his back to George, getting ready to jump. Would he be fast enough to dodge the knife George had hidden under his pillow?
“It’s under your bed, by the way,” Dream said, and disappeared into the night before George got the chance to find out.
Their song and dance continued, with Dream taking the leading role and leaving George to follow in his footsteps. Dream would find himself surrounded by prying eyes, and George would spend his time catching up. The way they never got any closer to the Gate, you’d think the thief was dancing with death instead.
Discarding the beckoning call of the compass’ needle, George stepped off the path and headed for the Gate instead.
George was a king, Dream was a thief without much, even less after his Wager, and not soon after George found himself looking down upon the thief, no marble floors or prying eyes, with his blade to Dream’s throat like his guards had who had waited for his word to strike. How was it any different, to be the one bringing the blade down to end a life rather than ordering someone else to do it for you?
“You shouldn’t have come,” Dream said softly, as if the wastes surrounding them would carry his words to all corners of it. The shadow of the Gate, long and dark in the setting sun, just barely grazed the top of his head.
“What makes you think you have any right in telling me what to do?” George replied.
The barest of smiles graced Dream’s lips, his eyes shutting with a sense of acceptance as he leaned his head back against the ground. The dagger skimmed his neck as he swallowed.
“Because you don’t hate me as much as you think you do.”
George slowly put more of his body weight onto the dagger, watching the skin dent where his blade rested. One push, one single slip, and it would all be gone. The taunting words, the smug look, the way he smiled and the touch that lingered even when he had long pulled away.
Everything. Gone.
“It’s okay,” Dream said softly. “I don’t hate you too.”
George had spent many nights fantasizing about this moment, of watching Dream die with his knife lodged in his skull or poison burning him from the inside out. The feeling of his bow in his hand as an arrow pierced his heart, or watching the ground turn red from his bleeding body. Or perhaps it’s Dream, looking down on him with the same kind of satisfaction while George bleeds himself dry, a sinister smile that never looked quite right being the last thing he’ll ever see. Never in a million nights did it go like this, with Dream at his fingertips and accepting whatever fate George would bestow upon him in either life or death.
And in the end, George was exactly what Dream said he was.
Selfish.
“Come back with me,” George whispered, as if there were someone around them who would hear him, as if the words were so treacherous that even thinking them was poison. “If I kill you, will you come back with me?”
Dream opened his eyes to look back at him. “That’s not how this goes.”
“Trust me,” George whispered, his voice barely reaching past his lips. “Let me kill you, and come back with me.”
And Dream, always Dream, looked at him like he’d never wanted to do anything else.
Barely two weeks had passed when the King returned to his throne. Not many even knew he was missing from it in the first place. Once again dressed in silk and gold, George sat on his throne and waited as the day went by, longing for the time he would be able to retire his crown and retreat to the safety of his bedchambers. And when the sun had finally set, he trailed up the spiraling staircase to his tower and into the quiet comfort of privacy.
Almost.
From the window came a voice that haunted both his waking and sleeping hours. “I was wondering what was taking you so long.”
“There’s a perfectly usable staircase right there, you know,” George said as Dream pulled himself through the window, depositing himself on the ground under it.
“Too much of a hassle,” he answered. “Besides, this is the path I’m more familiar with.”
“Are you confessing to watching me sleep?” George asked as he unclipped the cape from around his neck. “That might get you thrown in the dungeons.”
“It might, but I think I’ll take my chances,” Dream said as George moved to the buttons of his waistcoat. “His royal Highness can be forgiving at times.”
“You certainly sound sure of it.”
“He hasn’t given me any reason to be doubtful.”
George shrugged off the piece of clothing, finding Dream’s eyes still lingering on his body. “Do you mind?”
Dream’s lips curled up into a lazy grin. “No.”
George sighed, opting to turn his back to the thief instead. It didn’t take long before he felt the weight of the crown being lifted from his head.
“How does your neck not cramp, this thing’s heavy,” Dream said.
George smiled ruefully. “You learn to live with it.”
Now in his sleep attire, he sat down on his bed. Dream still held the crown in his hands. Maybe if he held it long enough, he would feel all the weight it carried. Or maybe that was only reserved for George.
“Come here,” he said instead. Even without his crown, Dream still listened.
“I might steal your heart if you’re not careful,” Dream said as he wandered closer to the edge. George smiled, hooking an arm around Dream’s waist to pull him down onto the bed with him.
“You might want to steal my dreams first,” George said.
Dream smiled as well, all soft with no blood. Only for him. “If you ask, your Highness, maybe I will.”