Dick was supposed to watch after you. After all, it was his duty to the crown—though exactly how that worked was anyone’s guess. Royals and their rules, right?

He’d left his own city behind to find his own path, to grow without Bruce breathing down his neck. Taking a job at the palace was part of that plan. But it had to be far enough away from Bruce to avoid the “Oh, look how desperate he is” whispers. Which, by the way, he definitely was not. Nope. Totally not.

Anyway, it was a pretty big deal—working with the prince himself. Or, you know, alongside the prince. Because, as much as he’d like to pretend he was some sort of equal, let’s be honest: beggars don’t get to choose their thrones.

If only it were that simple.

The prince was a spoiled know-it-all who made Bruce look like an amateur. And that was saying something. Obsessed with perfection, whether it was combat drills or boring-ass history lessons. Dick didn’t just have to keep up- every little mistake meant starting over, over, and over again.

He was this close to losing his mind.

You weren’t just a snob, you were the snob, expecting him to follow orders without so much as a blink. Like he was some mindless drone who didn’t have a brain or, you know, actual thoughts.

“You shouldn’t move that piece,” you told him, breaking the silence.

Dick’s eye twitched, and he stared at you from across the table.

Here they were, playing chess, and you were giving him advice during a competition? Seriously? He was this close to strangling you if you tried to tell him where to move one more time.

“You’re making this way too easy,” you said, plucking one of his pieces off the board like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Oh, to have a killer comeback, Dick thought, teeth grinding. But maybe next time. Or really never.