Chapter Text
A soft pitter-patter of small feet echoed through the sprawling, marble-tiled kitchen of the King mansion. Six-year-old Landon King turned back, pressing a tiny finger to his lips. Even at six, he carried himself with the effortless grace of a King heir, his blue eyes dancing with the thrill of the heist.
Behind him, Jeremy Volkov followed like a silent shadow. Despite his small stature, the boy already radiated the budding aura of a Bratva heir—rigid shoulders, a watchful gaze, and a perpetual scowl that didn't quite work against his soft, rounded cheeks.
"Jerry-berry! We’re good to go." Landon whispered, suppressing a giggle as the rush of adrenaline fueled his rebellious streak.
"Don’t call me that!" Little Jeremy puffed his chest out, trying to look imposing. "I am a Volkov! I cannot be called such cute and ridiculous names!"
Landon rolled his eyes with the dramatic flair only a six-year-old could manage. He reached back, grabbing Jeremy’s arm and pulling him deeper into the kitchen. "I’m your best friend! I get to call you whatever I want!" He stopped at the center of the room and stomped his foot, glaring at Jeremy.
But with his lower lip tucked out and his chubby cheeks puffed in a pout, he looked more like a ruffled duckling than a threat. Jeremy’s "Alpha-in-training" resolve crumbled instantly. He reached out, squeezing Landon’s cheeks with a huff.
"Okay, fine. Only you," Jeremy conceded, his voice dropping to a serious whisper. "But not in front of the guards. I have to grow up into a big, scary Alpha so I can work with my dad. Scaring people is serious business, Lan."
Landon tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Big and scary?"
Jeremy nodded solemnly, his dark hair flopping over his forehead. "Yes. And when I’m big and strong, I will protect you. No one will ever be allowed to make you stomp your foot unless they want to deal with me."
Landon’s eyes sparkled, wide and full of adoration. "Like a Prince?" he asked, his voice barely a breath.
Jeremy straightened his back, his gaze narrowing with a fierce, possessive loyalty that would only grow more dangerous with age. "Like a Prince."
Landon beamed, the promise sealing something deep in his chest. He immediately pointed a finger toward the massive oak cabinets. "Okay! Since you're my Prince, you have to get me those lemon pastries from the top shelf. The ones with the sparkly sugar!"
Jeremy looked at the height of the shelf, then back at the boy clinging to his arm. "If we get caught, I’m telling everyone it was your idea. I won't save you this time."
Landon just smiled, unbothered. He knew the truth. Jeremy would take a hundred scoldings before he let Landon take one.
While Jeremy was busy dragging a kitchen chair toward the counter to fulfill his "Royal Duty," the kitchen door creaked open further.
Little Brandon King walked in, his expression one of weary patience. He was holding the hand of a two-year-old Nikolai, who was currently occupied by chewing on the sleeve of Brandon’s sweater.
"Lan, Jeremy? Are you stealing snacks again?" Brandon sighed, though his eyes were soft.
"Bran! Shhh! Jeremy is being a Prince!" Landon hissed, gesturing to Jeremy, who was currently wobbling on a chair, reaching for the pastry box.
Brandon shook his head, looking down at the tiny toddler attached to his arm. Nikolai was a child, but he had a grip like a vice. Even at two, his grey eyes were fixed on Brandon with a strange, singular focus.
"Niko, let go of my sleeve, sweetheart," Brandon murmured, patting the toddler’s head.
Instead of letting go, little Nikolai let out a tiny, disgruntled growl—a sound far too deep for a toddler—and buried his face into Brandon’s side, inhaling the soft, milky scent of the older boy. To Nikolai, the world was loud and scary, but Brandon smelled like safety.
"He's doing it again," Landon giggled, forgetting the pastries for a moment. "He thinks you're a pillow, Bran."
"He's just... affectionate," Brandon defended, though he looked a bit tired as he sat on a kitchen stool, letting Nikolai crawl into his lap. The toddler immediately curled into a ball, his tiny fist bunched in Brandon’s shirt, refusing to let an inch of space come between them.
Up on the chair, Jeremy finally snagged the box. He hopped down with a triumphant look, holding it out to Landon. "I got them. Now let’s go before the nannies find us."
Landon grabbed a pastry, stuffing half of it into his mouth before handing one to Jeremy and walking over to pat Nikolai’s head. "Here, baby Niko. Sugar!"
Nikolai didn't even look at the sweet. He just tightened his hold on Brandon, his little eyes narrowing at Landon as if to say 'Mine'.
Jeremy chuckled, shaking his head at the baby’s persistent glare. He looked from Landon’s mischievous face to Brandon’s calm one. To any outsider, the King twins were a mirror image—the same messy dark hair, the same bright eyes, the same button nose.
"How can he even tell you two apart?" Jeremy asked, genuinely baffled. He watched as the toddler practically fused himself to Brandon’s side, still shooting tiny, suspicious daggers at Landon. "You guys look exactly the same. Even the nannies mixed you up this morning."
Landon huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because he’s a meanie! I offered him a bite of my chocolate yesterday and he tried to eat my finger instead." Well, that doesn't make any sense in this conversation but does Landon cares? Hell, nah!
Brandon, who was currently acting as a human armchair for the two-year-old, gave a small, lopsided smile. "He doesn't look at us, Jeremy. He sniffs."
As if to prove the point, little Nikolai buried his nose deep into the collar of Brandon's shirt, taking a big, lung-filling breath. Even at two, the Alpha instincts were bubbling under the surface. To Nikolai, Landon smelled like a chaotic whirlwind of sugar and trouble, but Brandon? Brandon smelled like his. Like sunlight and home.
"See?" Brandon giggled, his twin-bond with Landon not enough to fool the tiny Russian shadow. "Landon is 'stinky' and I’m 'good.' Right, Niko?"
Nikolai didn't speak—he didn't feel the need to—but he did tighten his tiny, iron-grip fingers in Brandon’s shirt, let out a soft whuff, and closed his eyes.
"He’s weird," Landon concluded, reaching for another lemon pastry. "But he’s our weirdo. Hey, Jerry-berry, give me the one with the most sugar! If I’m going to get in trouble, I want it to be worth it.
"Stop calling me that!" Jeremy snapped, but he was already digging through the box to find the exact pastry Landon wanted. He handed it over like a sacred offering. "And you won't get in trouble. If your dad comes in, I'll just tell him I was hungry and you were just... helping."
"Helping you eat?" Landon teased, his mouth already full of lemon curd.
"Exactly." Jeremy stood tall, guarding the kitchen entrance like a tiny sentinel.
For a few minutes, the kitchen was quiet, filled only with the sound of chewing and Nikolai’s soft, even breathing as he napped against Brandon. It was a perfect, golden moment of childhood.
The warm, sugary peace was shattered by a sharp, high-pitched wail that tore through the kitchen. It was the kind of sound that meant a King baby was unhappy, and an unhappy King baby was everyone’s problem.
Landon froze, his cheeks bulging with the half-eaten lemon pastry, looking like a caught squirrel. Jeremy’s reaction was instant; his spine snapped straight, and he stepped half an inch in front of Landon, his small hand gripping Landon’s sticky one so hard their knuckles were white.
Brandon flinched at the sound but didn't move an inch away from the counter. Instead, he acted on instinct, pressing his palms firmly over baby Nikolai’s ears. He didn't want the toddler waking up; a sleep-deprived Nikolai was a tiny terror that even Jeremy feared.
"It must be Glyn," Brandon murmured, his eyes darting toward the hallway.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed against the marble, growing louder until they stopped abruptly at the kitchen threshold. There stood Levi King, looking every bit the formidable head of the family, though his current accessory was a crying one-year-old Glyndon perched on his hip.
Levi raised a brow, his gaze sweeping over the scene: the open box, the crumbs, and finally, Landon—who was blinking his big, sparkling blue eyes as if he were a saint who had never even seen a carb in his life. The thick smear of lemon cream on his chin, however, was a loud-mouthed snitch.
"Uncle Levi, it was me!" Jeremy burst out, his voice cracking with frantic urgency. He stepped fully in front of Landon now, shielding him from Levi’s sight. "I was the one who was hungry. I... I forced Landon to help me. I am responsible!"
Levi cut him off with a low, amused chuckle. "I didn't even ask, Jeremy."
"But I wanted you to know!" Jeremy insisted, his chest heaving. "Landon is innocent. He’s just... a victim of my appetite."
Landon swallowed the pastry in one giant gulp, nearly choking, before peeking out from behind Jeremy’s shoulder. "Yeah, Dad. Victim! I’m a victim!"
Levi groaned, shifting Glyndon to his other hip. "A 'victim' with lemon curd on his nose? You two are terrible liars." He walked further into the room, his eyes landing on Brandon and the sleeping Nikolai. "And I see the little Russian shadow is still attached to you, Bran. Does that boy ever let you breathe?"
"He's fine, dad," Brandon said softly, not daring to move his hands from Niko’s ears. "He’s just a heavy sleeper."
Levi sighed, looking at the four boys. It was a strange sight—the heirs of two families, hiding in a kitchen over stolen sweets. He should probably be stern, but seeing Jeremy’s tiny, fierce stance in front of Landon made his heart soften.
"Clean up the evidence before your mothers see this," Levi warned, though there was a smirk playing on his lips. "And Jeremy? Try to be a little less obvious next time. If you're going to be in a Bratva, you can’t confess before the interrogation even starts."
Jeremy turned red, his ears burning. "I just... I don't want him to get in trouble."
"I know, kid. I know." Levi turned to leave, but stopped, looking back at Landon. "And Landon? Wipe your face. You look like a lemon-flavored crime scene."
As Levi’s footsteps faded away, Landon let out a massive breath of relief and immediately wiped his face on Jeremy's expensive sleeve.
"Hey!" Jeremy squawked, looking at the yellow smear on his black shirt.
"You're my Prince, remember?" Landon giggled, completely unbothered. "Princes have to provide napkins."
Jeremy looked at the mess, then at Landon’s bright, happy smile, and just sighed. "Fine. But you owe me. You have to play 'Bratva and Kings' with me in the garden now. And I get to be the boss."
"Deal!" Landon cheered, already dragging Jeremy toward the back door. "Bran! Come on! Wake up the baby, we're going outside!"
Brandon looked down at the peaceful Nikolai, then at his chaotic brother. "I'll be there in five minutes! I have to find his shoes first, or he'll bite the grass!"
The King garden was less of a backyard and more of a sprawling emerald kingdom, filled with manicured hedges and hidden alcoves. It was the perfect stage for their favorite game: Bratva and Kings.
"Okay, here is the plan," Jeremy announced, standing atop a stone bench to gain a few extra inches of authority. He adjusted his imaginary crown—a lopsided circle made of twigs Landon had woven earlier. "I am the Boss. This bench is the Kremlin. Landon, you are the Prince of London, and you’ve been kidnapped by... by the bad guys!"
Landon, who was currently busy trying to see if he could balance a pebble on his nose, looked up and frowned. "Kidnapped? Again? Why can't I be the kidnapper? I want to tie someone up!"
"Because I have to rescue you!" Jeremy insisted, jumping down from the bench with a thud. "That’s how it works. I save you, and then we have a feast."
"I'm already full of pastries, Jerry-berry," Landon argued, though he was already moving toward the 'dungeon'—a hollowed-out space under a large willow tree. "Fine. But you have to be fast. If you take too long, I’m rescuing myself and joining the bad guys."
While the older two began their high-stakes negotiation of 'international crime,' Brandon was busy on the grass nearby. He had managed to get Nikolai’s tiny leather shoes on, though the toddler had made a valiant effort to kick them into the koi pond.
"There. Now you can walk, Niko," Brandon said, hovering close as the two-year-old stood up on wobbly legs.
Nikolai didn't care about the shoes. He didn't care about the 'Bratva' or the 'Kings.' He only cared that Landon was making too much noise and taking up too much of Brandon's air. Every time Landon shouted for 'help,' Nikolai’s little brow furrowed.
"No," Nikolai suddenly barked, a sharp, tiny command that made Brandon jump. "Quiet, Lan."
"Niko!" Brandon gasped, his eyes widening.
Landon poked his head out from the willow tree. "He’s just being a grouch! I’m a Prince, I can be loud!"
Nikolai didn't like the shouting. He turned around and lunged forward, his tiny arms wrapping around Brandon’s neck in a clumsy, forceful hug.
"Niko? Don't you want to play?" Brandon asked softly, trying to pry the toddler's grip loose so he could join the twins.
Nikolai shook his head violently, his face buried in Brandon’s shoulder. He let out a low, warning rumble. "My Bran," he muttered into the fabric of the shirt, the words muffled but unmistakably clear. "No go."
"He's being a clingy bear again," Jeremy noted, walking over to check on him. He reached out to pat Nikolai’s back, but the toddler swiped a tiny hand at him, baring his milk teeth.
"Whoa! Relax, little soldier," Jeremy laughed, though his eyes sparkled with a bit of pride. Even at six, Jeremy admired the grit. "See, Lan? I told you. I think Niko will be an Alpha as well. He’s already got the attitude."
Landon scrunched his nose, looking unimpressed. "He’s so tiny, though. He looks like a potato." He reached out and poked Nikolai’s chubby cheek, which was squished firmly against Brandon’s shoulder.
The reaction was immediate. Nikolai didn't even pull his face away; he just tightened his jaw and let out a tiny, vibrating growl against Brandon’s neck. It wasn't a scary sound—it was more of a huff of warm air than an actual noise—and it hit Brandon’s most ticklish spot.
Brandon burst into a fit of giggles, squirming under the toddler’s weight. "Niko! Stop! That tickles!"
"No," Nikolai mumbled into Brandon’s skin, his little hands clutching Brandon's shirt even tighter. "Stay. Bran stay."
"I’m staying! I’m staying!" Brandon gasped between laughs, his face flushed. "But you have to stop growling at my neck, you’re like a little motorboat!"
Jeremy watched them, a smirk tugging at his lips, before he felt a tug on his own sleeve. He looked down to see Landon looking up at him, his blue eyes wide and suddenly very serious.
"If Niko is an Alpha," Landon whispered, "and you’re an Alpha... does that mean you’re both going to be bossy and loud forever?"
Jeremy straightened his twig crown, looking every bit the tiny Bratva prince. "I’m not bossy, Lan. I’m decisive. Dad says that’s different."
"It feels the same to me," Landon huffed, though he didn't pull his hand away from Jeremy’s.
"It’s okay," Jeremy said, his voice dropping to that protective tone that only ever came out for Landon. "Even if I’m the boss of everyone else, you’re the Prince. You can just tell me what to do. Most of the time."
Landon seemed to consider this, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Most of the time? Okay. Then as the Prince, I command the Boss to... carry me to the swings! My legs are tired from being kidnapped."
Jeremy looked at the distance to the swings—it was at least twenty feet of lush grass—and then at Landon’s expectant face. He sighed, the heavy weight of his 'Royal Duty' pressing down on his six-year-old shoulders.
"Fine. Get on." Jeremy turned around, bending his knees.
Landon cheered, scrambling onto Jeremy's back with zero hesitation, nearly knocking both of them over. Jeremy grunted, staggering slightly, but he gripped Landon’s legs tight.
"We're leaving!" Landon shouted, waving a hand at Brandon and Nikolai. "The Boss is my horse now! Giddy-up, Jerry-berry!"
"I am not a horse!" Jeremy barked, though he began to trot across the lawn anyway, careful to keep his balance.
Brandon watched them go, his laughter dying down into a soft smile as Nikolai finally fell quiet, his little breathing becoming deep and rhythmic against Brandon’s chest. The garden was peaceful, the air smelling of cut grass and the faint, sweet scent of the lemon pastries.
"They're funny, aren't they, Niko?" Brandon whispered, smoothing back the toddler’s dark hair.
Nikolai didn't answer with words this time. He just let out a long, content sigh, his tiny heart beating steady against Brandon’s.
Suddenly, Landon’s voice rang out from the swing set. "Jerry! Faster! I want to go high enough to see the over the wall!"
"No! You’ll fall!" Jeremy shouted back, his hands white-knuckled as he gripped the chains of the swing, refusing to let Landon go higher than a few inches. "If you fall, your dad will kill me, and then who will be your Prince?"
Landon pouted, dragging his feet in the woodchips to stop the swing. "You’re no fun today! You’re acting like a nanny."
Jeremy crossed his arms, standing in front of the swing like a tiny bodyguard. "I am being responsible. If you want to go high, we have to build a safety net first."
"A safety net?" Landon hopped off the swing, his eyes lighting up with a new idea. "With the blankets from the sunroom? We can make a giant castle! A fort!"
Jeremy’s eyes sparked. "A Bratva Fortress."
"And no meanies!" Landon added, already sprinting back toward the house. "Bran! Niko! Come on! We’re building a fort!"
Brandon looked down at the sleeping Nikolai, then up at his twin. "We're coming! Just don't let Jeremy use the heavy pillows, last time he made a wall it fell on my head!"