Damian Wayne was of the House of Al Ghul and the youngest crown prince of Gotham. Raised by his mother and grandfather in martial arts and magic, he had always known himself as an heir. Still, coming to Gotham to claim his rightful title beside his father meant relearning nearly everything.

He discovered he had elder brothers—not by blood, but by bonds they had earned. Damian had reluctantly learned to respect them while adjusting to palace life. There were, however, a few details he had neglected to mention.

“…It is the way of House Al Ghul. Of course I am engaged,” Damian said at dinner, frowning at his father. “Twice, in fact.”

“A harem!?” Richard exclaimed.

Jason snorted beside him while Timothy appeared strangely thoughtful. Stephanie, one of the palace guards, burst into laughter.

Damian’s hand twitched toward his table knife. He restrained himself. Stabbing his siblings was apparently unbecoming of a prince.

“Yes,” he gritted out. “They will arrive soon. Jon-El of the House of El, and Guest of House—”

“How soon?” Bruce interrupted.

Damian paused.

Bruce sighed, already recognizing that pause. “Have rooms been prepared? Alfred, please send a letter to Talia. She and I need to have a… discussion.”

“Very good, Master Bruce.”

Everyone immediately began talking at once.

“Enough!” Damian snapped, his voice echoing through the hall with an authority suspiciously similar to his father’s.

Silence fell.

Despite his confidence, Damian suddenly wondered if he had underestimated the situation.

“They arrive—”

A horn sounded from the courtyard.

Hooves clattered against stone.

Damian stared toward the windows.

“Now.”

Chaos erupted.

Bruce started issuing orders, Richard nearly overturned his chair, and Stephanie disappeared to alert the servants. Damian escaped before anyone could question him further.

He had been engaged since childhood and knew both of his fiancés well. That was precisely the problem.

They remembered the heir to the Demon’s Head: a boy raised to kill without hesitation, with blood already staining his hands.

That wasn't who Damian wanted to be anymore.

Would they understand that?

He drew a breath and stood atop the grand staircase as servants swung open the palace doors.

Two familiar figures entered.

The first descended effortlessly from the air, pristine white boots touching the marble floor. He glanced around the enormous palace before his gaze found Damian.

That familiar crooked grin appeared.

“Dami.”

Damian froze.

Jon-El stepped forward, looking almost exactly as Damian remembered him.

“We’ve missed you,” Jon said. “What took you so long to send for us?”

His grin widened before he glanced toward the figure beside him.

“Guest was starting to worry.”

Damian’s attention shifted to his other fiancé.

For the first time since returning to Gotham, the young prince found himself completely uncertain of what to say.