Chapter Text
Yuuri leans into the vanity. He runs a light finger over the elegant slip of paint lining his eyes and the light rouge that the handmaiden had applied, so delicately, to his cheekbones. This is how all of the lords and ladies of the court are doing it now, apparently. Keep the face simple and exhibit your natural beauty; the clothes must do the talking.
It's why Yuuri decided that he absolutely, with no exception, will not wear his glasses. Instead, they stay in an engraved silver case, shoved into a corner of his desk under several boxes of hairpins.
The only downside, however, it makes checking his makeup an utter chore.
He leans in closer.
“You should stop staring at your reflection, your Highness. It's not good for the soul.”
With a huff, Yuuri sits back.
“I won’t impress Viktor with this,” he grumbles. “I need to be prettier.”
The handmaiden giggles, adjusting her grip on the colourful robe that she has been tasked to dress Yuuri with.
“You are pretty, your Highness. Do you not know what the people of the kingdom call you?”
Yuuri, feeling his cheeks warm, hangs his head.
“They call you the Lily of Ketsue,” she says kindly. It’s a name he has not heard before, and upon hearing it he feels his cheeks grow even warmer. “You are so pretty, your Highness, I am sure that Lord Nikiforov will swoon at the very sight of you!”
Yuuri can't help but squirm at the thought.
Her words ease his worries a little, but after a final glance at the mirror, he decides that there is one last thing to be done.
“Mia,” he says, turning from the vanity. “Will you help me with my hair? I do not like how they styled it this morning. I would like something softer. Something with flowers.”
The handmaiden, Mia, lays the robes down and walks swiftly to his side, examining the complicated twists that her predecessor had weaved in a few hours earlier.
“Some lilies, your Highness?” Her eyes spark with mischief as she picks up a brush.
Yuuri cannot help but preen at the stares of the guards when he emerges from his bedroom.
His hair is his pride and joy. Its colouring is dark and rich, a contrast with the soft pale white of the lilies crowning his head. He had asked Mia to let the hair flow past his shoulders, to tease it with the finest products available into elegant waves framing his face.
As the guards lead him through tall, decorated corridors, he worries that he is still not pretty enough. The robes, which he had chosen the day before, seem plain compared to the more ornate ones he could have chosen. He should have picked something grander, perhaps something to match the flowers in his hair.
“Mari,” he whispers, positioned at the decorated head of the audience chamber along with the rest of his family. “Do you think I should change my robes? I’m worried that it’s too simple. I hope that--”
“You look fine, Yuuri.” Mari’s voice is loud and bored. To his frustration, she doesn't even turn to evaluate him properly. “You ask me this every time that boy visits. You know he does not mind what you wear.”
Yuuri bites back a rude retort.
“ I mind what I wear,” he grinds out.
Mari, her gaze still fixed on the entrance, sighs.
King Toshiya, overhearing their bickering, offers Yuuri a warm smile. He reaches out and runs a light finger over a petal of one of the lilies.
“You look lovely. Lord Nikiforov must be a special guest indeed if you choose to wear our national flower to greet him.”
Yuuri’s mouth opens in an ‘oh’. He had forgotten.
“Yuuri,” Father scolds lightly. “You did not know as you put them on? I thought your tutors would have--”
The doors swing open.
“Lord Nikiforov of the Shiaro region and his company have arrived!”
Toshiya straightens up. His frown reverses into a stately smile as he turns to greet the entourage filing in slowly through the grand doors before them. Mari stands up a little taller, and Yuuri, chagrined from his father’s scolding, brushes loose strands of hair from his face.
It’s a small company, consisting only of a few minor lords and ladies, but the crest of the Nikiforov family is emblazoned on the flags and on the armour of their guards as proudly as if they were the entire Shiaro army.
Yuuri knows, to his absolute glee, that a crest is also on the silver signet ring on Viktor’s left hand.
The man himself leads the group, sporting the typical dress of the northern kingdom: a crisp white shirt and cravat, with a deep red sash tied at the waist to signify his importance, all covered by a sharp wool overcoat and sword belt.
It is different from the traditional royal robes that Yuuri and his family wear, though he has heard that outside of the palace this style is quite popular.
The company stops several metres away but Viktor strides forward, his gaze squarely on the King’s face. His fine silver hair, though pulled back into a bun for the practicalities of travel, glimmers in the fires of the lamps illuminating the hall.
Viktor takes a knee before his father and holds a fist to his chest. Behind him, the company of soldiers and nobles fall into low bows.
“May Suzura bless our meeting today, your Majesty,” he murmurs. His handsome face angles downwards and pale blue eyes lower to the King’s feet, though his voice rings clearly throughout the chamber.
“And we pray to Her that you had safe travels,” the King replies. Then, after a few moments: “You may rise.”
Slowly, Viktor stands, as do the rest of his entourage.
After one more low bow, he finally offers Yuuri a nod and a curl in the corner of his mouth that turns the Prince’s face bright pink and has him fumbling with the sleeves of his robe.
Viktor turns back to his father, his arms pressed formally at his side.
“It is my greatest honour to attend the Prince’s birthday celebration over the coming days,” he says, his voice smooth and pleasant. “We have brought many gifts for Prince Yuuri. Where would you have us put them?”
Lady Okukawa, an advisor to the crown, steps forward and instructs a small army of servants to take the gifts and lead the company to their quarters.
When Viktor shows his intention to follow them, Yuuri darts forward and grabs his arm.
He stops, and as blue eyes fix upon him once more, Yuuri feels himself blush even more profusely. He retracts his hands immediately, letting them disappear into the long sleeves of his robe.
The hall is mostly empty now, save for the royal guards. The company had complied with Lady Okukawa’s instructions almost immediately.
“Ah--um, Viktor!” Yuuri stumbles over his words as Viktor waits patiently with a small smile on his lips. “Would you like to walk with me in the gardens before dinner?”
Viktor looks mildly surprised and opens his mouth to answer before his father interrupts.
“Lord Nikiforov must be tired from his journey,” King Toshiya says gently. “Why don’t you let him be shown to his rooms and allow him to rest for a while?”
Viktor, still smiling, shakes his head. He steps closer to Yuuri, offering his upper arm for Yuuri to grasp hold of. Yuuri doesn’t hesitate in doing so.
“I am not so tired that I cannot enjoy a walk with a childhood friend, your Majesty. If you would allow it, I would be happy to speak with Yuuri for a little while.”
“Please, father!” Yuuri begs, clinging onto Viktor’s arm in a way that requires an adjustment of stance for the man to keep his balance. “We won’t be too long! And I will make sure that Viktor is in his rooms before sundown!”
Mari rolls her eyes. Toshiya examines Viktor, then inclines his head.
“If Lord Nikiforov allows it, then of course. But please, for my sake, bring a guard with you, and do not let them leave your sight. Do you understand?”
“You’ll let him do anything if he gives you those eyes, won’t you,” Mari mutters.
“Yes, father!” Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s arm, and Viktor laughs as he drags the two of them out of the hall, to the dismay of the guard trailing behind.
“Do you like it?” Yuuri asks.
“Do I like what?”
Yuuri gestures at the newly planted roses surrounding their bench, a patchwork of soft white and blue.
Viktor’s face betrays nothing as he examines the sight before them, then turns in his seat and offers a pleasant smile. “I do. Roses were my mother’s favourite, after all.”
Yuuri beams and Viktor pats the top of his head placatingly.
“You are very thoughtful, aren’t you? Perhaps I should come here more often if you’re going to treat me so well.”
Yuuri giggles. “Well, anything more than once a year would be nice. I miss talking with you, you know.”
He and Viktor used to sneak into each other's rooms and speak for hours. Those nights are some of his most treasured memories.
Viktor sighs. “I am sorry I have been away for so long, Yuuri. After my father… Well, I have been busy, is all I can say.”
Yuuri almost cringes. His father. Of course, how could he forget?
They had played together almost every day when his father brought Viktor to the palace. As they grew and Viktor gained more responsibility, he would visit less and less frequently, but still enough for Yuuri to not miss him too painfully. And then, after Viktor’s father died in a skirmish on the Donsang border, those visits had dwindled down to almost nothing.
Yuuri cannot imagine the pain of losing a father.
“You don’t have to be sorry! I...I am sorry for being so forceful,” Yuuri mumbles, fidgeting again with the edges of his sleeves. He bows his head and a sheet of hair flows into his face.
When he feels Viktor’s cold fingers pushing the strands away and tucking them behind his ear, he gasps.
“Oh,” Viktor says, when a lily falls from Yuuri’s hair and onto the ground. He bends down to pick it up and cradles it in his hands, presenting it to Yuuri. It’s a little bent now, and scuffed from touching the dirt.
“These are quite pretty, you know,” Viktor says. “I am sure you will look wonderful at the banquet as well.”
Yuuri feels his whole body grow warm. “Y-You think so?”
“Are you fishing for compliments?” Viktor chuckles at Yuuri’s spluttering. “Well, I will give you them. You were so cute when we were children, and now you’ve grown so handsome. I’m sure your dancing has improved, too.”
Yuuri shuffles to close the distance between them, the lily left ignored in Viktor’s palms. “And you will see me dance, yes? At the banquet, I mean.”
Viktor cocks his head. “That is what I came here for, is it not?” He gazes down at the flower in his hands, and his face slips into something fond. “Of course, I will never tire of watching you dance. You were always so good at it. Better than me, anyway.”
When Yuuri shakes his head vigorously at the admission, Viktor looks away, at the pond beyond the rose bushes. Yuuri watches in awe as two spots of pink appear high on Viktor’s cheeks.
“I mean it.” His voice grows quiet. “The way that you portrayed so much emotion in your movements… It was like you were making music with your own body.”
Yuuri’s jaw drops. Viktor throws back his head and laughs. It echoes into empty space. They had lost the guard a while ago.
“Listen to me, waxing poetic about you like one of your lovesick admirers,” he says. “I’m sure you’re starting to fall asleep by now.”
Lovesick.
“Oh,” Yuuri whispers.
Viktor tilts his head. A few strands escape from his bun and fall into his face. His eyes burn into Yuuri’s, but he can’t look away.
“Let’s get ready for dinner,” Viktor says, smiling, and offers his arm once more. There are bruises under his eyes.
A lily, crushed beyond recognition, falls from Viktor’s fingertips and into the dirt below.