The moment Max sees this, he remembered how stubborn he was. How he’d never been one to give up a fight.
“My father’s days are numbered, much less King Triton’s and Jafar’s. You want out of this wretched cave or whatever disgusting hole you’ve slithered into? Me and my whore of a mother—” he growls. “—are your best chance.”
Ursula’s eyes sparkle with fury and want. Clearly, she likes what she hears. Max continues while she’s given him the chance.
“Be ready for the army when the ravens come, and let us help you reclaim your throne.”
“No.”
Max blinks. His surprise morphing into bafflement. She wanted to say yes, but her stubborn ass came in with that answer already, and refused to change her mind. Max realized there could only be one explanation for this.
“Is there another with an impossibly better offer?”
Ursula snarls in agitation, and with a wave of her taloned hand, Max’s stomach drops as they’re thrown out of the dream.
Sitting up at the same time, Wolcott glares at Max with fury.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Max starts. “You know as well as I do why she really wanted us there. Someone already has her in their clutches.”
Wolcott fumes as he stands from the bed, pacing back and forth in the room.
“Wol?”
Wolcott freezes, then stands by the window, staring out at nothing while he broods. “You fucking crowns think you know everything.”
Max tensed at the tone, the level of Wolcott’s voice dropped to. But he remained silent to see where he’d go with this.
“After all this time,” he shakes his head. “I should’ve known it was impossible for you to see me or anyone else as an equal.”
Anger sparks as Max jolts upright. “That’s bullshit!”
“Is it?” Wolcott shouts, whirling around to face the fight he clearly needed. “Was I, or was I not just a fucking bystander while you acted as though you held court?”
Max gritted his teeth, failing to find a real argument for that. That’s all these meetings and conversations ever truly were. Holding court. “I’m sorry we can’t all bounce back and forth from licking boots and brawling when things get difficult.”
A bitter laugh escapes Wolcott’s throat. “Oh sure, you can. That’s all royals ever do when you lose your grip on power. The only difference is you’d have someone else fight your battles for you!”
For a moment, Max considered the merits and consequences of giving in to the fight his boiling blood was begging for, giving Wolcott what he himself was practically begging for.
At that realization, he took a deep inhale, then walked out of the room.
“Oh sure,” Wolcott starts. “Walk away because you’re too important, right?”
Max didn’t engage as he forced his feet to keep moving.
“Where are you going!?” Wolcott shouted.
“Home, before we both do something we regret,” he said as he gripped the stair railing, then froze in place.
The painting he’d passed by countless times for many decades, stole his attention like the first time he’d ever seen his little blade.
Footsteps pounded as Wolcott charged towards Max, grumbling, “As if I’ll regret finally bashing your head in.”
But Max couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge the threat from his oldest friend.
Wolcott slowed as he neared, undoubtedly noting Max’s trance.
“Hey,” Wolcott barked for his attention.
