Chapter Text
On the morning before his birthday, Yuuri’s father summons him to his office. It’s a grand room, full of trinkets and artefacts collected over the millennia that their family had ruled over the Ketsue Kingdom. Yuuri had once tried to name each one, but they bored him now; another part of the scenery when Yuuri had much more interesting things to do.
His father sits in the middle of it all at a low desk with a large pile of paperwork. A familiar sight.
“Good morning Yuuri,” King Toshiya says, not looking up from his papers. “Sit down, will you?”
He does, much more easily than usual, without a robe in the way of things. Yuuri had felt distracted that morning, so he’d asked for something a little simpler - a fine white tunic and leggings with a stylish blue sash around the waist to show off his waist, at the insistence of Mia.
His father sets down the quill.
“Yuuri? I did not hear your greeting.”
“G-Good morning, father,” Yuuri says. He’d been lost in his thoughts.
“That’s better,” Father says. “Is something wrong?"
“There’s nothing wrong,” he pauses, then finds his words when bright brown eyes turn towards him, “I have just been… thinking.”
“You have been thinking?” King Toshiya says amusedly. “Whatever have you been thinking about?”
“I…” Yuuri swallows. “I was thinking about who I will be betrothed to.”
His father leans back and rubs his chin.
“Hmm. You’re eighteen tomorrow. It’s a reasonable age for you to be engaged. Naturally, I’ll choose someone suitable for you--”
“But--actually, I have someone!” Yuuri blurts out.
Toshiya pauses. His eyes widen behind his glasses.
“Who?” he asks curiously.
Yuuri feels his face go warm. He taps a fingernail on the edge of the desk. “It’s--It’s Viktor,” he confesses.
King Toshiya closes his eyes. A wrinkle appears on his brow.
“Lord Nikiforov is out of the question.”
Yuuri gapes. “But--”
“I was going to discuss this with you eventually, but you have to understand, Yuuri.” He draws himself up, looking more and more like the man who welcomes ambassadors and negotiates peace treaties each day. “I have given you all you’ve ever wanted. Costumes for your dancing, a flower garden in the royal villa. Everything except weapons. But however much you may ignore it, you are the Prince of Ketsue. Whomever you wed could be our country’s ruler.”
“I don’t ignore it,” Yuuri retorts. “And I know he could be the next ruler. I think Viktor would be a wonderful ruler!” He crosses his arms and glares at the wood grain on the table. “I know what they call you, you know. They call you a coward. You won’t even dare touch a sword. Viktor comes from nobility, and he’s skilled with a sword and he’s managing the Shiaro region in his father’s stead. What possible reason could you have for not letting us marry?”
King Toshiya waits patiently for Yuuri to finish. His eyes are hard. Yuuri shrinks before it, not used to the sensation of anything more than a light scolding.
“You know why I do not use a sword. Your mother died to one brandished by traitors of our own blood.” He takes a slow breath. “I will not allow our family to touch any more tools of war. It is simply not necessary. Whatever you call me, I am the king. I will choose our successor. One day you will choose yours, and Mari as well, once we have carried out the Testing. You will not disobey me.”
Father sighs, removing a hand from gold-lined sleeves to rub at his temples.
“Perhaps Lady Okukawa is right," he says, voice softening. "I have treated you like a child for far too long. When your birthday celebrations are over, I shall hire you a new tutor.”
Yuuri keeps his head down.
“I understand, Father,” he says quietly.
King Toshiya smiles. “That’s my son.”
He picks up his quill once more and pulls another sheaf of papers from the pile. “Lord Nikiforov is in negotiations with the Royal General today, but you may spend time with him afterwards, if you like.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Happy Birthday for tomorrow, Yuuri,” he says fondly. “I know you are strong enough to overcome this. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the celebrations we have set up for you tomorrow as well. Why don’t you join me in welcoming some of the guests we have arriving today?”
Yuuri does not want to welcome guests. He’d rather do something else.
“Your Highness, that was incredible!” Yuuko claps delightedly, stepping in to hand Yuuri a soft clean cloth.
“Thanks,” he gasps. He wipes his face. “I haven’t practised it with all the jumps in it at once like this. I hope I’ll be able to pull it off tomorrow.”
“Everyone will be so impressed!” Yuuko takes the towel and folds it neatly, tucking it under one arm. “I can’t wait to see you in your costume too! I hope the acolytes and I will be able to see it from our table. I’m sure you’ll look so elegant with your hair up.”
Yuuri blushes. “Thanks for watching me, Yuuko.”
He’s still wearing the tunic he’d been put in this morning, but his costume tomorrow is another robe with ribbons in the sleeves and a bright gold wrap that a seamstress had told him had belonged to his mother’s mother.
Yuuko waves her hand dismissively. “There’s no need to thank me! I’m always happy for an excuse to stop studying. We’ll just call it a royal summons, shall we?”
Yuuri giggles.
Yuuko adjusts the bundle in her arms and looks at a window. Yuuri glances up too, and he’s surprised that it’s almost dark out. He’d been practising all day.
“Now’s the perfect time of day to be out of the temple, anyway,” she continues. “They’re starting mass soon.”
“Miss Yuuko,” a soft-spoken servant calls from the doorway, “Lady Baranovskaya has summoned you to the temple.”
Yuuko and Yuuri stare at each other, then burst into laughter.
Yuuko makes a face. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I suppose she noticed me sneaking out.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “No, it’s fine. I suppose I’ll just have to find someone else to watch me fall all over this stage.”
Yuuko grins, turning to deposit the cloth into the servant’s hands. “I’m sure you’d rather have Lord Nikiforov watch you, right?”
Yuuri freezes up.
“Oh. Yeah,” he whispers. “I guess--I guess I’d like him to see it too.”
She laughs and pats him on the cheek.
The warmth that he would usually feel when watching one of his few friends in the castle leave is muddled up in a swarm of complicated feelings.
Yuuri takes a seat at one of the banquet tables, already set out for the celebrations tomorrow. He pulls his knees to his chest, something he knows Okukawa would scold him for, then presses his face into his arms and tries to fight down indignant tears.
Why won’t his father let him be happy?
He’s so lonely here. Yes, he has his instructors, and the handmaids are nice, and Yuuko even makes time when she’s not busy with studying, but…
He’s never left the palace walls. Mari’s been so distant, ever since mother died, and Viktor...
Does Viktor even like him?
Thip.
Yuuri looks up. It must be the rain. He hopes it stops by tomorrow.
Thip. Thip. Thip.
No. It’s footsteps. He gets out of his seat. He looks around.
The banquet hall is silent and low lit, with only late-evening light streaming in through high windows.
“Who’s there?” Yuuri calls out. “Yuuko? Mari?”
There’s no one here. He shudders.
Out of the corner of his eyes, something moves.
Mother was killed by traitors.
Yuuri runs.
He shoves aside chairs and scrambles over tables, dashing through one of the side entrances and clearing the corridor in two short steps. He flings open the first doors he sees and two firm hands yank him backwards. A scream catches in his throat.
They’re strong .
No matter how hard Yuuri thrashes, no matter how hard he kicks, they won’t let go , and--where are the guards?!
His attacker drags him into the side room --”No!” Yuuri shouts -- until his back hits something warm. On his shoulder, a flash of silver. It’s familiar, a signet ring with a crest that Yuuri had memorised years ago.
“V-Viktor?” Yuuri gasps.
He struggles to catch his breath as he turns in the arms encircling him. It’s really him. His silver hair is pulled into a low ponytail now and it’s slightly dishevelled, but it’s the same familiar face that he’d grown up with, peering down at him in stunned surprise.
“Sorry, did I scare you?” Viktor asks wonderingly. “When you came bursting in like that, I thought you needed to see me for some reason.”
“Viktor,” Yuuri sobs and clings to his shirt, burying his head into his chest. “Someone--Someone was following me!”
Viktor gently removes his hands. He steps across the room and slides open the door facing the corridor. Yuuri, trembling, skitters back into the room praying to Suzura that whatever is out there can’t see him.
Viktor shuts the door, slowly, and turns back to him.
“There’s no one there,” he says softly.
“I--I…” Yuuri’s heart thunders in his chest. He clenches and unclenches his fists in spasms, not daring himself to blink for fear of crying.
They had targeted him. Was it because he was a prince? Because he was the King’s son?
“Yuuri?”
Is Mari okay?
“Yuuri!”
Something moves in front of him, covering the light. Warm arms wrap around him and light hands settle on his back.
“I’m right here, Yuuri. It’s okay.” Warm breath puffs over his ear. “Nothing is going to happen to you while I’m around.”
Yuuri closes his eyes and breathes. Viktor smells safe, like freshly laundered clothes and tea.
“Th-There’s nothing there?” Yuuri whispers.
“There’s nothing there.” Another puff. “Can you sit down for me?”
Viktor draws back and steers Yuuri’s shoulders down until they’re sitting together on the woven flooring. He glances up at the window, checking the darkening sky briefly before lifting a hand to stroke Yuuri’s back.
For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are Yuuri’s deep, shuddering breaths and the rustle of fingertips running over the soft linen. He keeps his eyes closed.
When Viktor removes his hand, Yuuri is surprised to see him across the room, skillfully opening the latch of a large suitcase.
“I wonder if this will make you feel better,” Viktor murmurs, drawing out a sleek box. He walks over to Yuuri and presses it into his trembling hands.
“...A present?” Yuuri asks. The dark wood is cool between his fingers, with minimal engravings and a small latch on the side.
“Yes,” Viktor says. “For your birthday, but I might as well give this to you now.” He sits back down, just across from him, then gently takes the box away. Nimble fingers open the latch and the lid falls open.
Yuuri gasps.
It’s a hairpin of fine silver wire, twisted into an intricate design of flowers and leaves and inset with sapphires and small pearls. Several amber droplets, threaded together, hang down from behind the main piece, carefully placed so each strand fans out just so. Yuuri can imagine them swaying and glittering elegantly when he turns his head, catching the eye of any who deign to look.
“I thought it would look lovely on you.” Viktor presses the open box into Yuuri’s hands. “I always thought that blue was a good colour for you, and your hair needed something exquisite enough to do it justice.”
His tone is soothing and even. The trembling is hardly noticeable when Yuuri runs a finger over the largest stone in the middle. It’s been carefully polished into a gleaming blue pool, the heart of the largest flower. Yuuri has other hairpins that some could describe as more ornate and beautiful, but coming from Viktor, it’s… exquisite.
“You...You like my hair? Yuuri whispers.
Viktor raises his eyebrows a touch. He reaches out, pausing to receive Yuuri’s permission, then takes a lock of dark hair between a thumb and his forefinger.
“Of course. I’m jealous of it, how can I not like it?” Blue eyes glitter with mischief. “Mine is weak and always breaking, and yours is the opposite. I’d love to wear mine as long as yours someday.”
Through the window above them, a nightingale begins to sing.
They both fall silent for a moment; Yuuri furiously trying to fight down his giddiness and Viktor looking down, brushing long fingers over the velvet lining of the box.
“Would you like me to put it in for you?” Viktors asks suddenly.
Yuuri nods a little too quickly.
When Viktor leans forward and runs a finger through the hair near his temple, the coldness of his touch almost shocks him. Yuuri is warm all over, enough for the two of them. Amber beads sway silently in the corner of his eye. The pin slips neatly behind his ear.
“You look lovely, “ Viktor says, “though I worry that I am merely congratulating myself. Perhaps you could wear it when you dance tomorrow?”
Yuuri blushes and nods, thinking about the dance he had crafted for the man in front of him; the boy that had lavished him with praise and encouraged him to express himself in a palace that had been much too silent after Mother died.
“Viktor? I...I have a request. From you.”
Viktor tilts his head. “And what may that be?”
Blue eyes settle on Yuuri’s face and he glances down, suddenly feeling incredibly shy.
“I--I wish that you could always watch me dance at the palace. Forever.”
A heartbeat. Viktor’s lips part, his eyes unreadable.
“That almost sounds like a…”
“Yes,” Yuuri breathes, the mere insinuation almost making him shiver with excitement.
His heart thuds. When no reply comes, he dares himself to look up.
Yuuri hadn’t expected to see pain.
His childhood friend is rigid. Viktor’s hand moves to his own knee and squeezes, trim nails digging into the silk of his robe.
“Yuuri...” he says gently. He’s turned away, his gaze boring into some spot on the wall.
"Viktor, just imagine," Yuuri tries again. There's a tremor in his voice that he can't hold back "We could be together all the time... We can dance, we can go for walks, and you can still look after Shiaro."
Yuuri swallows past the lump in his throat and dares to lay a hand on Viktor's knee, over the hand of his precious friend. Viktor immediately curls it into a fist, breaking Yuuri's grip. He presses it firmly into the floor beside him.
“Yuuri,” Viktor says gently. “You don’t want to marry me.”
"How do you know what I want?" Yuuri whispers.
“I...” Viktor takes a breath, “Yuuri, I--I cannot imagine myself being married now. Maybe not ever.”
“W-We don’t have to be married,” Yuuri begs. “Just live here! With me. It’s so lonely without you around.”
“And would your father approve of that? Yuuri, you can’t get everything you ask for forever.”
“You can say if you don’t like me,” Yuuri says quietly. “It’s okay.”
Viktor is silent.
Slowly, Viktor's gaze swivels forward.
“I do,” he says softly, shutting his eyes. “I do, Yuuri. That’s why I...” He takes a breath, then straightens up and offers a smile. Viktor pulls his hand back into his lap.
The grain of the floor mat has left bright pink marks on his knuckles. Yuuri stares at them numbly.
“You’re my dear friend, Yuuri. I’m sorry. Perhaps you’ll understand one day why I have to say no.”
Viktor blurs and bleeds at the edges as Yuuri’s eyes fill with tears.
“I…”
“I’ll send for a guard to take you to your room.”
Yuuri shuts his eyes.
Yuuri wakes up.
He’s groggy and tired, but he blinks away the dizziness almost immediately. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he fell asleep.
Viktor doesn’t love him.
He doesn’t love Yuuri like Yuuri loves him.
Yuuri rolls out of bed and slides his feet into slippers. He begins to meander through his chambers. It's wasted effort, but it helps a little; moving has always helped Yuuri work through his emotions.
He stops by one of the couches, upholstered in a garish red velvet that Yuuri had complained to Yuuko about for days.
It’s quiet.
The maids have been coming in and out of his room all day for his birthday preparations, carting in new clothes, jewellery and cosmetics that he would be able to choose from if he felt he needed to change between ceremonies. The darkness through the windows and the lit candles tell Yuuri that they won’t be coming back until the morning.
His tunic itches. He hadn’t changed his clothes after the guards had dropped him off. He’d headed directly for the bed to sob his eyes out into his cushions until he’d exhausted himself and drifted off. It’s cold, so Yuuri pulls on a thin robe - one of his favourites.
When he sits down at his vanity, the tears almost start up again.
The hairpin is still there. Tucked behind his right ear, gleaming in the candlelight. He swallows painfully, his throat dry, as he removes it and places it carefully into its box. Viktor had pressed it into his hand before he’d left. Yuuri can’t help but sob at the memory of his face, so closed off and guarded as he’d been led from Viktor’s room.
It was so unlike him.
The box closes silently. The flowers engraved into the lid are ornate and pretty, varieties that Yuuri remembers from the palace gardens that he and Viktor had chased each other in for
The box is heavy, but tucked neatly into his pocket when Yuuri leaves his chambers.
The guards aren’t guarding the door tonight. He wonders why, but he doesn’t dwell on it.
Moonlight paints bright stripes across the hallways. It’s surprisingly dark, he thinks. Yuuri wonders if someone had forgotten to light the candles as night fell, though he swears he remembers them being lit on his way back from Viktor’s room.
Viktor.
The name causes something to rise up in him, but he pushes it down. He’ll wait until he’s with Father at least, and then he’ll tell him.
He’ll show him the pin, Viktor’s wonderful gift, and Yuuri will explain why he can’t give up on Viktor. Not yet. If he talks to Father, he’s sure he’ll understand.
The door to his father’s study is ajar.
Even if Father was drunk, he’d never forget to close his door. He’d never be so careless as to not place a guard here either.
Anxiously, Yuuri pushes it wider.
It’s hard to make out at first. Two figures silhouetted against the moon through the window, their faces barely illuminated.
Father’s staggering in the centre, his body twisted into odd angles. There’s something in his stomach.
The second figure pulls it out.
Long and thin.
A sword.
Crimson blood streams down soaked robes. Toshiya’s head lolls back. His legs buckle and he collapses to the floor.
“F-Father?!” Yuuri cries, hurrying forward to catch him. Something shifts in the corner of his eye.
He’s grabbed by his collar. Yuuri thrashes and gags against it until he’s slung backwards into a side table. A tray with a decanter and glasses crashes to the floor and Yuuri crumples to the ground, stunned.
A balding older man in clothing from the Northern region towers above.
Toshiya’s head sluggishly turns towards him.
The figure holding the sword stumbles away from Father towards the window, letting the moonlight flicker over a high nose bridge and fine silver hair.
"Viktor?!"