Archive of Our Own

The clothes were the first problem.

Calian stood in the middle of Allan's office, drowning in his own shirt. The collar slipped past one shoulder. The sleeves hung past his fingertips like oversized gloves. His pants pooled around his ankles, and he had to hold up the waistband with both hands just to keep them from falling completely.

He looked like a child playing dress-up in his father's wardrobe.

Except he was a child now. A real one. About seven years old, maybe younger. His face had rounded out, losing the sharp edges of his teenage years. His black hair fell across his forehead in soft waves, and his red eyes—still sharp, still knowing—peered out from under his bangs with an expression of deep annoyance.

"This is inconvenient," Calian said. His voice was higher now, squeaky in a way that made him scowl even harder. "I can't reach anything."

Allan, seated behind his desk, watched him with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and genuine curiosity. "You've been like this for an hour. Any idea what caused it?"

"If I knew, I would have fixed it already." Calian tried to cross his arms. The sleeves flopped uselessly. He gave up. "I was testing a spell. Something went wrong. That's all I remember."

"A spell."

"Yes, Master. A spell." Calian lifted his chin, trying to look dignified. The effect was ruined by the collar slipping further down his shoulder. "I am not in the habit of randomly shrinking myself for entertainment."

Allan hummed. He stood up and walked to a cabinet, pulling out a small box. "I can adjust your clothes. Temporarily. Until we figure out how to reverse this."

Calian considered this. Then he nodded. "Do it."

The process took only a few minutes. Allan waved his hand, muttered something under his breath, and Calian's clothes shrank to fit his new body. The shirt sat properly on his shoulders. The sleeves ended at his wrists. The pants stayed up without him holding them.

Calian looked down at himself. Then he looked up at Allan.

"I look ridiculous."

"You look like a seven-year-old prince," Allan said. "Which is exactly what you are right now. So I'd say the clothes are appropriate."

Calian made a face. But he didn't argue.

Word spread quickly. It always did in the palace.

Arsene appeared at Allan's door within the hour, his eyes wide with barely contained excitement. The mage knelt down to Calian's eye level and spoke in a voice usually reserved for small animals and babies. "Your Highness, may I carry you?"

"No."

"Please? Just once?"

"No."

"You look so small. I promise I'll be careful."

Calian stared at him flatly. "I said no. My legs still work. My body is smaller, not broken."

Arsene looked genuinely wounded. He stepped back, muttering something about missed opportunities.

Ian came next. The attendant took one look at Calian and his face went through several complicated emotions—surprise, concern, and something that looked suspiciously like fondness.

"Your Highness," Ian said carefully, "if you need assistance walking—"

"I don't."

"Of course not. I merely thought—"

"You thought wrong." Calian marched past him toward the door. The march was less intimidating than usual, given his short legs and round cheeks, but the attitude was unmistakably his own. "I'm going back to Chermil Palace. Try to keep up."

Ian followed. So did Kyrie, who had appeared from somewhere and was now walking silently behind them. The knight didn't offer to carry Calian. He had learned his lesson from Arsene.

They reached the stairs. Calian stopped.

The steps loomed before him, each one nearly as tall as his entire leg. He could climb them. He wasn't helpless. But it would take time, and his smaller muscles would tire faster, and frankly, he didn't want to admit that this body had limits.

Allan appeared beside him. The archmage didn't say anything. He just held out his hand.

Calian looked at the hand. Then at Allan's face. Then back at the hand.

He took it.

They climbed the stairs together, Allan's long fingers wrapped around Calian's small palm. Neither of them mentioned it. Neither of them would ever mention it.

Ian, watching from behind, said nothing. But his eyes softened.

Chermil Palace appeared in the distance. Calian walked ahead, his small legs moving quickly to keep up with his usual pace. Ian followed a few steps behind, close enough to catch him if he fell.

Then Calian stopped.

Ahead of them, near the entrance, a familiar figure walked through the gates. Soft blue hair. Pale green eyes. A face that always looked slightly annoyed, even when it wasn't.

Plantz.

Calian's face lit up.

"Brother!" he shouted.

His voice was high and clear, cutting through the quiet afternoon air. He ran. His small legs pumped, his arms swung, and his shoes slapped against the stone path. He ran like he hadn't just refused everyone who offered to carry him. He ran like he wasn't tired at all.

Plantz turned.

He had heard the news from Valcanum—something about the third prince shrinking, something about a spell gone wrong. But hearing about it and seeing it were two different things.

The small creature barreling toward him had black hair, red eyes, and the shameless energy of someone who had never met a boundary he didn't immediately cross. It was Calian. Just smaller. Much smaller.

Plantz stopped walking. He didn't know why. Some instinct, maybe. Some part of him that refused to let the child run past.

Calian skidded to a halt in front of him. He looked up—way up—and beamed.

"Brother! Where were you?"

"Out," Plantz said.

"Out where?"

"Does it matter?"

Calian tilted his head. His cheeks were flushed from running. His hair was messy. He looked like a kitten that had just discovered the joy of sprinting down hallways. "I guess not. I missed you anyway."

Plantz said nothing. But he didn't walk away either.

Calian kept talking. "Master is trying to fix me. He says it might take a few days. Maybe longer. I don't mind, honestly. This body is annoying but also kind of fun. Everything is taller. Did you know that? From down here, everyone looks like a giant. Even Ian looks like a giant. That's weird, right?"

"You're rambling."

"I'm not rambling. I'm conversing. There's a difference."

Plantz raised one eyebrow. It was the same eyebrow he always raised when Calian said something ridiculous. But on his smaller face, Calian's answering grin looked softer somehow. More childish.

"Brother," Calian said.

"What."

"You're handsome."

Plantz blinked. "What?"

"I said you're handsome. Did you not hear me? I said—"

"I heard you." Plantz's ears turned pink. "Why are you saying that?"

"Because it's true." Calian nodded firmly. "Everyone will envy me. Having such a handsome older brother. I'm very lucky."

Plantz opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.

Calian took advantage of the silence.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Plantz's leg. His small fingers gripped the fabric of Plantz's pants. Then he raised his free hand, reaching up, palm open.

"Carry me," Calian said.

Behind him, Ian froze.

This was the same child who had refused Arsene. The same child who had insisted he could walk just fine. The same child who had climbed stairs holding Allan's hand only because he had no choice, and even then, he had done it with obvious reluctance.

Now here he was. Clinging to Plantz's leg. Raising his arms. Looking up with eyes that were wide and bright and absolutely shameless.

Ian's eye twitched.

And he realized, with dawning horror, that the third prince was taking full advantage of his situation. That he had refused everyone else's offers because he had been waiting for this specific person. That the puppy dog eyes and the clinging and the constant chatter were all calculated.

Calian's lower lip pushed out just slightly. His red eyes glistened. He looked pitiful. He looked adorable. He looked exactly like he knew what he was doing.

"Brother," Calian said softly, "please?"

Plantz stared down at him.

The silence stretched.

Then Plantz sighed. A long, deep, put-upon sigh. He knelt down, bringing himself to Calian's level. He looked at the small face, the messy hair, the hopeful eyes.

"Fine," he said.

He reached out and lifted Calian into his arms.

Calian squealed. Actually squealed. The sound was high and happy and completely undignified. He launched himself at Plantz, small arms wrapping around his neck, small body pressing against his chest.

Plantz stood up, one arm hooked under Calian's legs, the other supporting his back. Calian weighed almost nothing. Like holding a cat. A very loud, very demanding cat.

Calian kissed his brother on the cheek. A quick, wet kiss that echoed in the quiet courtyard.

"Thank you, brother," he said. "You're so nice. So kind. The best brother anyone could ask for."

"I'm not nice."

"You carried me. That's nice."

"I carried you because you wouldn't stop staring."

"That's still nice." Calian snuggled closer, his cheek pressing against Plantz's shoulder. "My brother is so nice and kind. Did I mention you smell really good?"

"...."

"Good. It bears repeating."

Plantz started walking toward the palace. Calian bounced slightly with each step, perfectly content, perfectly comfortable.

"You're heavier than you look," Plantz muttered.

"I am not heavy. You're just weak."

"I am not weak."

"Then stop complaining."

Plantz scowled. But he didn't put Calian down.

Calian, emboldened by his victory, kept talking. "Brother, can we eat after this? I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast, and that was hours ago. Now I'm a kid so I need more food." He grinned. "You won't let me eat alone, will you? I'm so small. I might fall and drop something. Actually, can you feed me? I think that would be safest."

Plantz stopped walking. He looked down at Calian with an expression that could freeze fire.

The black haired child felt the pause and looked up, his expression innocent. Too innocent.

"What did you say?" Plantz asked.

"I said can you feed me. Because I'm small. And—"

"I heard what you said." Plantz's voice was flat. "I was hoping I heard wrong."

"You didn't."

"You want me to feed you."

"Like a baby bird." Calian nodded. "Open wide and everything."

Plantz stared at him. Calian stared back.

"I will drop you," Plantz said slowly, "if you continue speaking like that."

"You won't."

"I will."

"You won't. You love me too much." Calian beamed. "But okay, I'll stop. Only because you asked nicely."

"I didn't ask nicely."

"You asked in your heart. I heard it."

Plantz started walking again, his jaw tight. Calian continued talking at top speed, switching topics every few seconds. About the weather. About the cats. About how Allan had shrunk his clothes and wasn't that impressive. About how Arsene had wanted to carry him but he had said no because only his brother was allowed to carry him.

Plantz muttered something under his breath. Calian caught it.

"Brother, did you just say I still bark well?"

The older didn't answer.

The now smaller prince gasped. He put a hand over his heart, his red eyes wide with fake offense. "How could you say that? Don't you know that kids get tired easily? I'm not barking. I'm communicating. There's a difference."

"There's no difference."

"You're so mean." Calian poked Plantz's cheek. "But I forgive you because you're carrying me. And because you're handsome. I already mentioned that, right? That you're handsome?"

"Several times."

A hum and a nod, "I want to make sure you remember."

Plantz sighed again. "If you keep talking, I will actually drop you."

Calian beamed. "Okay! But you have to promise to accompany me, brother. You can't just drop me and leave. That would be mean. And you're not mean. You're nice. Remember? I said so."

Green eye twitched.

Calian nuzzled into Plantz's neck, his small nose pressing against the soft skin there. "I love my brother," he murmured. "The best brother. My favorite brother."

For a fraction of a second—Plantz froze. His whole body went rigid, like a cat that had been unexpectedly petted.

Calian felt the tension and smiled against his skin. He didn't say anything. He just stayed there, warm and small and completely at ease.

Behind them, Ian watched.

He had seen many things in his years of service. He had seen battles and betrayals and secrets that would make lesser men weep. But he had never seen the second prince freeze like that.

Ian opened his mouth to say something.

But then—Calian turned his head. His red eyes met Ian's. For just a moment, the playful expression shifted—something sharper, more aware flickering beneath it. And very slowly, very deliberately, Calian raised one small finger to his lips.

Shh.

Then he turned back to Plantz and resumed his chatter, his voice rising in pitch and speed. "Brother, do you think Master will fix me soon? I hope not. I like this. You're very warm. Are you always this warm? You should carry me more often. Even when I'm big again. Can we make that a rule? Every morning, you carry me to breakfast. I think that's reasonable."

"No."

"Every other morning?"

"No."

"Once a week?"

"No."

"Brother, you're so difficult." Calian sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll settle for you feeding me today. And maybe tucking me in tonight. And reading me a story. Do you know any good stories? I like stories with dragons. Or knights. Or both. Do you have a favorite story, brother? Tell me."

Plantz's jaw tightened. "I'm not reading you a story."

"You will if you love me."

"I never said I loved you."

"You didn't have to. I can tell." Calian patted Plantz's cheek with his small hand. "Don't worry, brother. I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me."

Plantz's gaze had gone completely flat now. His grip on Calian tightened slightly, but he didn't argue.

Calian, sensing his advantage, pressed on. "Also, I want dessert. Two desserts. No, three. Because I'm small and I need energy to grow. That's science. You can't argue with science."

"That's not science."

"It is in this house."

"This isn't a house."

"It is now." Calian nodded firmly. "I've decided. We live here now. You and me and the cats. And Ian. Ian can live in the hallway."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Ian said dryly from behind.

"You're welcome." Calian waved without looking. "Brother, also I want new shoes. The ones I have are boring. Can we go shopping? Do you like shopping? I don't, but I'll go if you come with me. We can make it a brother outing. Just the two of us. It'll be fun."

Plantz walked faster.

Calian kept talking. "Brother, are you listening? Brother. Brother. Brother."

"I heard you."

"What did I say?"

"That you want new shoes."

"What else?"

"That you want dessert."

"What else?"

"That you want me to carry you forever."

"I didn't say forever. I said every morning. There's a difference." Calian patted Plantz's cheek again. "Pay attention, brother. Details matter."

The blue haired prince stopped walking. He looked down at the small creature in his arms—the shameless, scheming, utterly adorable creature who was currently batting his eyelashes like a professional.

"You're enjoying this," Plantz said.

Calian's smile widened. "Maybe."

"You're taking advantage."

"Definitely."

Plantz sighed. It was the longest sigh Calian had ever heard from him. Deep. Exhausted. Resigned.

"You're going to be insufferable until we fix this, aren't you."

Calian tilted his head. His red eyes sparkled. "Brother. I'm always insufferable. The only difference now is that I'm cuter."

Plantz had no response to that.

He kept walking. Calian kept talking. And Ian, following behind, watched the second prince's ears burn redder with every step.

Somehow, he had a feeling this was going to be a very long week.