A/N: Everyone speaks French in this chapter, but idk how to write that in a way that isn't horribly confusing. Also:UNIMPORTANT. You can get everything in this chapter from the other explanations. 

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February 19th

Hugo glanced up from his textbooks as the bathroom door swung open and his roommate stepped out, clearing his throat to demand Hugo's attention. "How do I look?" He was dressed in khaki pants and a dark buttoned-up shirt, a red tie falling over his chest.

Hugo looked his anxious friend up and down before shaking his head in mock-disappointment. "Considering that you're worth seventy billion dollars? I'm unimpressed." He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, struggling to maintain a poker face.

Alex scowled. "I hate you so much." They both knew he was only joking, but he displayed a look of fierce annoyance as he stepped back into the small bathroom that they shared with the dorm next door. 

Hugo grinned as he hopped up from his chair, following him to the sink. He leaned against the open doorway as he watched Alex desperately try to get his messy hair to lie smooth. "Dude, I was just kidding. You look fine. Clara is going to love you."

"You underestimate my ability to be awkward and make people uncomfortable," Alex responded with a sigh of resignation.

"You know, as a prince, you're supposed to be good at this type of thing," Hugo answered. "You grew up with, like, tutors and stuff." 

"What type of tutors do you think I had?" Alex rolled his eyes. 

Hugo chuckled as he returned to his desk. It was safe to say that Alex was an interesting person to share a dorm room with, considering he was second in line for the French throne. Hugo had met him at Sorbonne's orientation upon finding out that they were assigned to each other, as the college had a strict rule that no one, not even a prince, was allowed to live off-campus. At first, he had been starstruck by Alex's title, until he discovered that his new friend was both terribly awkward and extremely helpless. Hugo had to teach him how to make instant macaroni, and he had also been forced to suffer through watching Alex flirt with girls. Somewhere along the way, Alex had managed to make Hugo into his best friend, an arrangement that Hugo rather liked because, for all his weirdness, Alex was actually a rather kind person.

Alex stepped back out of the bathroom, grabbing his keys and wallet off his nightstand and shoving them into his pockets as he prepared to leave on his date. Hugo had just resumed reading his textbook when there was a swift knock on their door. Hugo figured it was probably the boys from across the hall, or maybe the floor supervisor, and didn't bother to look up as Alex answered it.

"Hey, Mr. Deschamps," Alex said, his voice tinged with surprise. 

"Alex." Hugo stood at the sound of his father's voice. "I need to see Hugo." The man made eye contact with his son and stepped inside the room, brushing past Alex. Of all the people the two boys had ever met, Hugo's father was the only one who didn't seem bothered by Alex's title. He had never even referred  to him as 'Your Highness.'

"Dad, what are you-" Hugo's question was cut short by his dad's answer.

"Enzo has been hospitalized. I drove here to tell you in person, but we need to get back."

Hugo's eyes went wide as his face paled. The bottom of his stomach seemed to fall out, but he tried to remain calm. He didn't know how bad it was and there wasn't time to panic. "Let's go," he responded, walking towards the door. If he had to miss school, then he could email his professors from his home. Alex could be trusted to feed the fish while he was gone. But, if Enzo was sick, then Hugo was going to be there. 

Hugo's father was calm as they walked down the hallway, down the stairs, down the street. Hugo was not, but he knew better than to ask a million questions. Everything would be explained when they got to the car. 

However, you can imagine his surprise when he opened the passenger door to see the faces of three children sitting in the back seat, one of whom was supposed to be hospitalized. "Enzo!" He exclaimed. "But- but Dad said—"

"Sorry about that, Hu," his father was climbing into the driver's side. "I had to get you out of the dorm without alerting Alex or having you ask a million questions."

Hugo was incensed as he turned to him angrily. "Why on earth would you lie to me about that?"

"Keep your voice down and get in the car," his father said, turning the key in the ignition. "I'll explain everything, but I need you to trust that I'm both honest and not crazy."

Hugo tried to calm down as he buckled his seatbelt. "Explain, please." For goodness sake, it was nine o'clock at night. Why on earth would his father have driven over three hours with his siblings to pick him up? Furthermore, why was Charlotte not protesting? That was unlike her. Enzo probably wouldn't have complained under any circumstances, and Victor probably couldn't be bothered to argue about it. But, Charlotte was like Hugo. She made herself heard, yet right now she was sitting quietly, looking out into the dark Parisian sky with eyes full of worry. 

The car began to move. "What do you know of the Illean royal family?" His father asked, still annoyingly calm, still not taking his eyes off the road. 

Admittedly, Hugo knew very little of Illean royalty. "Just that France is finally entering peace talks with their king. King..." He struggled to remember the name of the Illean leader. He remembered seeing him on the news the other day, speaking as the program ran French subtitles beneath him. Hugo didn't have any trouble understanding the English, though. His father had always been rather insistent that his children be bilingual, and now that Hugo was an adult, he had to admit it was a good skill to have. He knew that the French weren't supposed to like the Illeans, but something about the king had appealed to him. He seemed like a trustworthy person, though Hugo had supposed that politicians were supposed to appear that way. 

The name came to him. "Julian! Right? Also, don't they have a strange amount of conspiracies over there? There was that one prince that disappeared a while back, and the history channel occasionally runs documentaries where people try to figure out where he went." His knowledge was mostly limited to pop culture aspects of Illean royalty, though no one could be too harsh on him. He was an engineer, after all. 

Hugo shook his head. "I mean, he's probably dead, but what's your point?"

"He's not dead," his father responded. Hugo noticed that they were taking side roads and definitely weren't headed back to their home town. He was about to comment on it when his father continued. "His name is Fabian Schreave. Twenty-six years ago, he escaped from an Illean prison after killing his father in self-defense. He was smuggled onto a boat, where he traveled to France. He's since been married and has a family."

"How do you know-"

"I'm him." The car slowed as they came to a stop sign, and Hugo's father looked over at him as if gauging his reaction. 

"What do you mean?" Hugo asked. He had trusted his father up until this point. Now though, he was beginning to doubt his sanity. This worried him because if his father had snapped, then they were on a deserted street and Hugo wouldn't have any way to fight him off.

"I mean," he said as the car began moving again. "That I am Fabian Schreave, which makes you, all of you," he said glancing up into the rearview mirror to catch the eyes of his other three children. "Illean royalty. I left Illea a long time ago. I managed to evade both the Illean and the French police, but now we've been discovered by the French. Even if Illea doesn't want us, it wouldn't be safe to be captured by them."

Now, Hugo was convinced that he was definitely losing his mind. "Dad," Hugo said, his voice shaking. "Stop the car. We need to take you to a hospital."

His father only laughed. "I'm not crazy. I promise that I'm not crazy."

"He isn't," Charlotte's voice came from the back. Hugo spun to look at her and she was studying him intently. Her freckles were even more noticeable than normal against a face drained of color. She looked terrified. "Dad, I can hear sirens. You might want to step on it."

And there were, indeed, police lights in the distance. Hugo could hear the wail when he fell silent. His father cursed under his breath and hit the gas, no longer bothering to adhere to normal traffic laws.  "Where are we going?" Hugo asked, still not convinced that he shouldn't be flagging down the police himself. 

"I called my brother. There should be a plane waiting for us." His father muttered something under his breath that Hugo didn't quite catch, but it sounded an awful lot like 'Julian.'

The car was moving too quickly now, and Hugo gripped the seat, feeling as though he was about to go flying through a windshield. And then the car skidded to a stop and a small plane was waiting for them. The door was open and a woman stood waiting, dressed in a blazer, dress pants, and men's shoes, her dark hair flapping in the wind. 

Hugo's father jumped out of the car, shouting at them to go. Hugo followed him as the five of them ran to the door. "Fabian, hurry!" The woman shouted.

"Jacklyn!" Hugo's father responded as he waited for his children to climb the stairs first. "Julian didn't tell me you were coming." Victor was the first one to enter the plane as the woman stepped aside to give them more room. 

She shrugged as they clambered in, ushering Hugo with one hand on his back. "You needed someone here quickly and flying from Paloma was about three hours faster than flying from Angeles."

"Well, thank God for that. As you can see we're in a bit of a pinch."

She pulled the door shut, a grin flashing across her face as Hugo heard the plane begin to roll across the pavement, preparing for take off. "Yes," she responded. "I can see that."