Chapter Text
Fourteen Years Earlier
Giggling, you sprint down the castle halls, prize securely tucked into your arms.
There’s something of a commotion behind you - a few of the guards noticed you slipped into your father’s study and reacted accordingly. But you duck into your mother’s chambers before they can round the corner, wriggling under her bed in a fit of stifled laughter.
Only when the running footsteps and clang of metal armor cease do you dare to come out, pushing your stolen contraband so it lies in front of you, your legs still hidden underneath the curtains of the bed.
You think you hear your name being called somewhere down the corridors, but pay it no mind.
The book you “borrowed” is heavy and old - so heavy you’d struggled to carry it at first. Blowing off some of the dust, you examine the leather indented symbols that spiral throughout the cover.
You’ve no idea what any of them mean, but are fascinated anyway, especially with how they feel beneath the pads of your fingers.
You begin to read, each page withered and yellowed, but find you don’t understand much of what’s being talked about. Your reading skills are still developing, but these words are unlike anything you’ve seen before. In fact, they don’t even look like words - just symbols arranged in a similar manner, all nonsensical scribbles and swirls.
At least the illustrations are pretty.
A man holding a book, lightning shooting from his palm. A woman deflecting it with a bubble shield. You trace your index finger over each drawing, as if your touch might bring them to life.
You’re so engrossed in your examination that you don’t notice the approaching footfalls that sound from outside. The door handle turns with a soft click, and quick as a whip, you disappear beneath the bed once more.
“I wonder,” you hear the sing-song voice of your mother. “where my darling daughter could be.” A hand instinctually raises to cover your mouth as you bide your time, waiting to see if your hiding place will be discovered.
There’s the sound of drawers being opened. “Not in my dresser.” she announces. Then you hear the rumbling of a different set of doors. “And not in my wardrobe either.”
Shuffling. Someone jumps atop the bed, the mattress creaking above you. And then the bed curtains are lifted, her smiling upside down face suddenly parallel to yours. “Gotcha!”
Letting out a breathless giggle, you finally crawl from under the bed, tugging the book out last. You don’t miss the frown that works its way onto your mother’s face upon seeing it.
“Oh dear,” she chides, picking it up off the ground and examining it closely for damage. “Darling, you know better than to take your father’s things. How did you even get this?”
Twiddling your thumbs, you glance up at her. “He left the case unlocked," comes your honest admittance.
A deep sigh. Then she’s patting the empty space on the bed next to her, urging you to hop up. “This is a very special book,” she murmurs when you’re situated, a sad sort of look darkening her features. “and there isn’t another one like it. It can’t be replaced.”
You’re fixed with a hardened gaze.
“Your father told you not to touch it.”
Shame courses through your veins, and your previous excitement falls flat. “I know,” you pout, then tug at her sleeve with watery eyes. “but I just wanted to see it! It looks so… cool.” A hesitant pause. “What is it?”
Elegant fingers thread through your hair. She sets the book down on her lap and pulls you into her side. “Something difficult to understand, but very valuable. It’s a necessary aid to our kingdom.”
She offers nothing else aside from those cryptic words, and by this point, you know better than to pry. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments longer.
Then, with renewed energy, she stands and tucks the book under her right arm. It doesn’t appear so large when she’s the one holding it. “Now," she declares with an urging smile. "Let’s get this back to the study and apologize to your father, alright?”
“Will I be punished?” You ask meekly, taking her free hand. She just laughs good-naturedly.
“For your curiosity? No. But for your disobedience? Well…”
You exit the room without a fuss, still clutching her hand. She senses your downtrodden mood, giving your palm a little squeeze.
“And then how would you feel about going down to the beach? I could have one of the guards escort us there this afternoon.” She winks, and you’re suddenly all smiles again, spirits restored.
“Yes, please!”
—————
Fourteen years later
All’s fair in love and war.
What horse shit.
Whoever came up with that idea can have their privates fraternize with the toe end of your pointed glass slippers. The war is certainly not fair. And neither is the love you may be forcibly bound to in a matter of months, should the engagement be settled.
Or perhaps you don’t understand the saying at all - is love and war meant to be fair? Or in such times, are you meant to do whatever you can to keep yourself afloat? Perhaps nothing is fair, then?
Whatever. You've no time to dwell on it.
You stuff yet another dress into your luggage trunk, trying to ease your mind off of the topic. You can’t start blubbering now, it’s far too late for protests and packing - which technically should’ve been completed a week ago, but you simply couldn’t bring yourself to begin.
But yet, when you glance out the window of your room to gaze upon the swaying palm trees and early morning sun, there’s no preventing the tears that well up in your eyes.
It’s not fair.
You’d thought you would always remain here in Capreae. Perhaps even rule it someday, with a husband of your choosing. Become a revered and respected queen amongst your people, just like your mother.
And now, you may never see these sandy shoals again. Never hear the distant sound of ship bells on the port, never wake up with a warm ocean breeze wafting through your cracked window.
Horse shit. That’s what it is. Perhaps a stronger word, if you felt bold enough to think of any.
Two chamber maids enter your room, immediately fussing over your disheveled appearance in a nervous frenzy - they’re as tightly wound as you, anticipating your upcoming excursion in silence.
You will either arrive in the kingdom of Gwyneira as a bride-to-be, or die during your harrowing travels.
Both sound like terrible options.
“I can’t believe you started packing without our assistance, your grace,” one of the maids chides, helping you slip out of your nightgown. The temptation to roll your eyes is strong, but you resist it nonetheless.
“I’m sure I can manage, Darla, but thank you.”
They dress you with careful insistence, no doubt aware of your personal dilemmas. The pressure of your corset around your waist and ribs is looser than normal - at least they’re taking into account the fact that you’ll be stuck in a carriage for the next several hours.
Really, there shouldn’t be this much of a fuss about your appearance today - perhaps for the morale of the kingdom, yes, but the fact of the matter is, you’ll be traveling for a month. You doubt Gwyneira sent any of their own chambermaids to assist you with your clothes - you’re lucky you even get a carriage.
A hint of makeup is applied to your face - you’ve no doubt it’ll be gone by nightfall, and feel a pang of annoyance at the triviality of it all.
But now, eyeing yourself in the mirror, you at least look more confident than you feel, dressed in a maroon gown that brushes just above your ankles and compliments the plumeria flower Maid Darla placed in your hair. So maybe it’s not all that bad.
Reds and oranges - representing the passion and warmth of your nation.
A soft knock sounds on the doors to your room.
You twist in your seat, a stone settling in the bottom of your stomach when your mother and father step inside - no, King Elio and Queen Isla. You need to stop making things familial.
What an impossible task.
The maids curtsey and fly from the room with mumbled goodbyes. You face your parents with a look of what you can only hope reads determination, but in reality, probably conveys nothing but the ice-cold fear gripping at your heart.
“My darling,” your mother breathes, a thin hand placed on her chest. Her oval eyes soften as she rushes over to you, fingers cusping your chin to assess you better. “such a beautiful girl,” she coos.
From this close, it’s hard to miss the deep creases in her face, lines of worry that have taken their toll over the years.
Your father grins, a hint of fatherly mirth to his tone. “You look every bit like the fearless princess of Capreae.”
His lips start to tremble for a moment, voice wavering.
“Even if you are to become one with the Gwyneira nation, you will always be remembered here as our princess.”
“Thank you father,” is your hoarse reply. It’s a struggle to keep the resentment out of your voice. He was the one who decided to trade you away in the first place, damned your life and your future.
But... he’s still your father.
There’d been a sort of distance between you all as of late, regardless of this new development - the war gradually got worse over the years, forcing your parents further into their monarchal roles and out of their parental ones. So this fondness is foreign, and tugs wickedly at your heart strings; ties them into messy knots that nearly make you nauseous.
You worry that if any more is said, you may burst into tears on the spot and ruin the whole “fearless” aspect of your appearance.
Your parents take note of this, and any further pleasantries are discarded. This is business. There’s no time for regrets - you’d already sobbed with your mother late into the night but a week ago, clutching at her like a toddler with your tears dampening the skirts of her dress. It was one of the rare moments when you’d both allowed yourselves to be mother and daughter, not 'queen and princess.' Tucked away from the world and their prying gazes, with no expectations held above your heads.
Perhaps her soothing hand will never play with the strands of your hair again, usher you back to sleep under her attentive gaze. And that’s just something you’ll have to come to accept.
“The guards have informed me that your entourage is here,” your father announces. “We will depart at once to meet them.” He glances warily at the trunk on your bed, haphazardly filled with copious amounts of clothing. “I entrust that the maids will finish packing and send down your luggage as soon as possible. You remembered to only bring your warmest garments, yes?”
A grimace stretches across your face as you rise from the vanity, striding over to your parents. “Yes, father.”
Gwyneira, your future home, is a nation at least a month’s journey from yours by horse. The inhabitants are all as cold and ruthless as their climate, tucked away in a snowy tundra that harbors mountains and sheer cliffs, all without a shred of warmth for miles.
Your kingdom, Capreae, has been at odds with them for over two decades now - ever since the beginning of their conquest. The distance in between is the sole reason why Gwyneira hasn’t been able to forcefully overtake your nation as their own.
In spite of that, you’re surprised you’ve lasted this long.
They outnumber and overpower Capreae forces by a landslide, especially with their understanding and control of the newly rediscovered arcane magic that had been written in ancient texts, sealed within their mountains.
Your kingdom has nothing of the sort, only loyal men and women willing to put their lives on the line whenever needed.
But the terrain here is favored to your army - not even fancy magic can prevent an ambush in the tropical rainforest, from soldiers who’ve spent their entire lives scaling trees and becoming one with the nature that surrounds them. Absorption by Gwyneira was out of the question.
However, that didn’t stop them from attempting to turn your home into a colony. Because despite your militia’s valiant efforts, Gwyneira's knowledge of the arcane was growing stronger - Capreae could only fend them off for shorter and shorter periods of time, until finally, your father realized an impending defeat loomed on the horizon.
Which was how an admittedly unstable peace was brokered. Using you as a desperate pawn piece, nothing but a trading asset in the game of war.
Even the king of Gwyneira wasn’t sure of what or where your place would be, but sending his crown princess was a hefty offering for your father to make.
It was eventually decided that you would marry one of the two princes from the enemy nation, the king's brothers - which one is still yet to be determined, but regardless, your fate has been sealed. You can only hope it’s the kinder one - you've heard the youngest has been described as downright sadistic.
But this is necessary. No matter how much you hate it. Now matter how much you have to convince yourself that it’s for the greater good. If you marry one of the princes, Gwyneira and Capreae will finally co-exist without a war, a united force.
(Truthfully, you’re just parroting your father’s words.)
Descending down the steps of the castle, you allow yourself one last longing glance at your surroundings; to indulge in the familiarity of your home.
Then, you set your eyes forward and prepare to meet the guards who will escort you to your icy hell. The longer you dillydally and wait to leave, the harder it will be.
There’s a brief commotion at the top of the staircase; rounding the corner comes your younger brother Kai, only fifteen years of age, his boyish face exuding a mixture of sadness and excitement all at once - with your departure, he is to become the crown prince, first in line for the throne.
A monumental achievement for sure, but your relationship is strong - you’ve no doubt he’ll miss you.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he gasps, striding next to your father. “I got… caught up with a few of the cooks.”
“Stealing fruits again?” You ask with a knowing smirk.
He pointedly avoids your gaze. “I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.”
Your father titters, much to your mother’s disapproval - “What?” He asks defensively when she nudges him in the side. “A growing prince needs to eat so he can become a strong leader.”
The comment slips from your lips before you can seal them properly, bitter resentment gnawing at your tongue: “And what of a growing princess, King Elio?”
The silence is oppressive. You're given a stern glare by your mother, and the only answer that you’re eventually provided with is that “a strong princess serves her kingdom with pride and humility.”
You know your behavior is impudent, but find yourself not necessarily caring - Kai gets his promotion, and you get chained to matrimony. How fun.
When you reach the front doors, one of the knights announces your arrival, title and all. You walk down the marble steps leading to the front courtyard, allowing the sun to warm you in her glory and stretch her rays across your skin.
Today is the day.
This is it.
Hardening your gaze, you finally allow yourself to look up at… what?
Your confused expression mimics that of your parents as you stare at the two men seated on massive horses just beyond the front gate.
There is no carriage.
Even your guards seem perturbed, muttering amongst themselves as the strangers ease their steeds forward.
In fact, it appears that only one of the men is actually a Gwynerian guard, a sword sheathed on his hip and a runic symbol engraved on his neck in a grisly tattoo.
It appears a bit different than the ones you’ve seen in your history textbooks - the general shape is the same, but there are inscriptions and strange angles within, unrecognizable to you. You believe it may indicate that this man is a user of arcane magic.
He’s dressed in a black button-up shirt, with black pants and dark grey leather boots. For a moment, you can only imagine how sweaty he must be in this weather, with so many layers and such dark clothing.
Gross.
A glance at the overflowing knapsack on his horse suggests he may have removed many of his outer garments already.
You finish looking over his uniform, then finally glance up at his face. He appears to be close to your age, in his mid-twenties, with unruly, spiky blonde hair that sticks up every which way. His eyes are a deep crimson, and they regard you with a look of… disdain? Contempt? It's difficult to pinpoint.
Shoving aside the part of your brain that notes him as attractive, you approach the gigantic horses and address him with as much confidence as you can muster.
“I was informed there would be a carriage and several guards to escort me...”
You cast a glance to the man on the other horse, train of thought quickly discarded. He’s ragged and thin, with… handcuffs?
“...Who is that?”
Then it clicks. With everyone, apparently. The man is one of yours, perhaps a soldier or a messenger - you don’t recognize him yourself, but it appears several others do. The uproar is instantaneous.
Your father begins ordering guards to help the poor soul down, and then directs his withering gaze to the Gwyneiran guard.
“What is the meaning of this? Your king-“
The guard cuts him off. His voice is gruff and low, not even bothering to conceal his apparent indifference to the situation at hand. “All For One decided that such precious resources like carriage and extra men would be… impractical, with the nature and length of our journey.”
He jerks a thumb toward the bound man.
“he sent a prisoner of war as compensation, and gives his best regard. The princess will have her own horse to ride.” Judging from his tone, he seems as excited about this as you are.
Really? You're worth nothing more than a single prisoner? It's a hard thought to shake off.
Glancing up at the monstrous beast before you, your face pales. You’ve never seen a horse so big.
“But- what about her luggage?” Your mother protests. “Surely we can’t put a trunk on a horse?”
“Put her stuff in a sack then.”
Her mouth hangs open, outraged and ready to give this man a piece of her mind, but then your father has stepped in with a firm hand on her shoulder and a pointed frown.
They can’t risk endangering an already unstable treaty.
Defeated, she calls for the maids to empty your trunks and transfer the contents to more… transportable containers. Burlap bags.
You’re enraged, to say the least. Not even ten minutes in, and it’s obvious both kings don’t deem you important enough to grant you proper safety measures. Plus, this blonde bastard is starting to grate on your nerves.
You shoot him a glare. He responds by rolling his eyes skywards. The nerve.
It’s another twenty minutes before everything is fastened to the horse and you’re ready to set off. But now, there’s no fanfare. Everyone is uncertain of what to do - are you just supposed to leave with this man? Entrust in solely him with your livelihood? Your brother shifts in place uncomfortably, glancing back and forth between you and the foreign stranger.
The guard dismounts to help you onto your horse, but you step away, cowering beside your mother. She holds out a protective arm.
“How can one man keep my daughter out of harm’s way?” Her voice is pointed, sharper than the sword on his hip. He sighs, and then gestures to his neck.
“A wielder of the arcane is more than capable, your grace.”
Your assumption was correct - he does use magic.
A few of the surrounding men step back, instantly wary. You don’t blame them, seeing as thousands of their comrades and friends have fallen to such power. Perhaps he was the perpetrator of some. Do any recognize him from the battlefield?
“But-“
“All For One will not be pleased if the agreement is violated so soon,” the guard grits out. He sounds almost desperate for your family to comply, straining to keep his words proper and polite. It's obvious he doesn't normally speak in such a manner.
A few beats of silence. Then, your father turns to you and nods. You want to scream at him, demand to be taken back to your room, run far, far away. This wasn’t the plan!
“Come now,” he soothes, like you’re a frenzied cow being led to slaughter. Bile rises in your throat, and you resist the urge to swat him away. After all, with your brother to inherit the throne, what loss is it really to marry you off? You’re about to rebuke him, lay it on thick while you still have the chance, but… you’re the focus of attention. In front of everyone.
The guard has an impatient hand held out. All eyes are on you, expecting you to save the nation by giving up your body and soul for a man you’ve never met.
And so you begrudgingly allow him to help you up and onto the horse - if you weren’t in these damned fancy skirts, it would certainly be an easier task - and cast your mother a pleading glance.
Save me. Please.
Stepping forward, you allow yourself the faintest glimmer of hope that she's about to actually object to all this nonsense. Instead, she beckons a servant forward, and takes a small leather-bound book from their hands.
"A parting gift," she murmurs, reaching up to pass it into your trembling grasp "I left some charcoal in your bags should you wish to write or draw in this. Think of it as a keepsake from home."
You run your thumb over the indentations on the cover, attempting to still your quivering bottom lip. Staring into her eyes, you can see that flicker of affection, far repressed. Her mouth parts to say something, then closes.
She steps back.
“Write to us often,” she calls, already slipping back into her regal persona. The warmth is gone - perhaps to make things easier for the both of you.
There is no one to rescue you.
“If I am alive to do so, I will.”
Your entire family flinches - oh please. The thought has crossed everyone’s mind, you were simply the only one bold enough to voice it.
Before the guard can walk back to his horse, he’s caught by the sleeve, your father’s expression conveying nothing short of thinly-veiled fury as he utters a sole command: “Keep her safe.”
Crimson eyes blink once. “It’s my job.”
Wonderful. You feel so very safe now.
The farewells are brief, as to not prolong the torture of you nor your parents. They wave and wave until they disappear in the distance, the castle and your kingdom oddly small against the vast ocean behind them.
You finally turn away, and dare not glance back.
————
The first few hours are mostly uneventful. You mope about, surveying your familiar surroundings with watery eyes, intending to engrave them into your mind. You can’t forget. You can’t. If you forget, it'll be easier for Gwyneira to break you down, turn you into a husk of your former self.
The tropical forest grows denser by the minute, until even the path has become an overgrown mess of tangled roots and plants. You can hardly tell which way to go, following your guide with nothing but blind trust.
He curses every now and again as he swats away flies and gnats, clearly irritated by the oppressive heat. Only by the third hour do you dare to strike up a conversation, hoping to get at least somewhat acquainted with the man who’s supposed to protect you for the next four weeks.
“Not used to it? The climate, I mean.”
He turns and stares at you as if you’re the world’s biggest idiot. “Was it that hard to tell?” Is the sarcastic reply. You stiffen, but try again.
“Apologies, then. What’s your name?”
He’s turned back around. “Katsuki Bakugo. But I should probably let you know, people in Gwyneira usually go by their last names.”
Humming, you stare thoughtfully at the back of his head, trying to catch a glimpse of his tattoo. “Then would you prefer I call you Bakugo, or Katsuki?”
“I’m just your guard. You’re allowed to call me whatever you want.” The tone of his voice indicates that he’s grown tired of talking, and so you cease. What a frigid man.
You suppose you’ll refer to him by Katsuki - mostly because you’re adamant to reject as much of Gwyneiran culture as possible at the moment.
As the two of you trek forth, the fear you’d initially had of your horse dissipates - it seems more like a gentle giant than anything, sometimes pausing to snack on a nearby branch. You stroke his mane with a serene smile - he’s probably not used to such lush vegetation. Poor thing.
Katsuki keeps demanding you to hurry up, huffing out crude comments about your speed that don’t go unnoticed. You both stop briefly to allow the beasts some rest, standing in an uncomfortable silence that lies thicker than the humidity of the air.
“I’ve never been out of these forests before. How long does it take?” You finally ask, desperate to hear anything at all from him. It’s just so… awkward. Katsuki is leaned against a tree, arms crossed. His gaze never leaves his horse.
“A few days time, max. But with how fucking slow you’re riding, probably longer.”
The gall of this man, to talk to you like that. A flicker of anger sparks from within your chest - perhaps the heat is starting to negatively affect you too. “Do you have to be so nasty toward me?” You spit, attempting to catch his eye.
“No,” he drawls. “I just hate this shitty weather, and hate being stuck with babysitting duty.”
“Babysitting duty?” Comes your indignant squawk. “That’s what you see this as?”
He still refuses to look at you, voice even. “Yep.”
“Great!” You seethe, well angered beyond your normal limit. Here you are, headed to a foreign country with no one to know or trust - and this is how you’re treated? “I’m regarded as the token of peace between our nations," you snap, "and you see protecting me as babysitting duty.”
That earns you a chuckle, which only prompts to infuriate you more. “Don’t give yourself so much credit,” Katsuki scoffs. “It’s a temporary peace - you’re just the start of many future negotiations, princess.”
He enunciates the last word to be an insult rather than an actual usage of your title. You’re about to lose your cool entirely, but manage to reign your temper back in at the last moment.
Don’t let him get the high ground. Stay calm. Be the better person. Be the princess that you are.
“I hope you’re not going to be this horrible for the rest of the trip,” you huff, pulling your skirts up as you traverse the bumpy ground to approach your horse. Katsuki shrugs indifferently.
“I’m here to protect you, not to be your friend.”
Your horse bumps you with his muzzle, and you reach up to stroke the side of his velvety face with a pout. “Is everyone in Gwyneira as cruel and insufferable as him?” You ask the creature softly, lips pursed. “You certainly don’t seem to be.”
“Are all princesses as slow and incapable as you are?” Katsuki retorts. “Gods, woman, we’re losing daylight.”
As you mount your horse, kicking up mud behind you so that it lands on his trousers is definitely an accident. Especially after accepting his help with a suspicious lack of resistance.
He glowers, but says nothing, climbing onto his own steed with an irritated tch.
“Princess my ass,” you think you hear him mutter. Sticking your nose high up in the air, you urge your horse onwards with a little more speed this time. That’ll show him.
You want this excursion to be done and over with as quickly as he does. And if he’s going to be such a pain about it, well, two can play that game.
—————
Night falls late in this region, which means a good portion of your travel time will be made up in the beginning stages.
At first this is comforting news - there’ll be less time to spend with your “guard” as the journey wears on. But then the stiffness in your joints and back is made painfully apparent, even worse so with your stupid corset.
When Katsuki finally stops the horses for the night, you almost rejoice aloud.
He has the decency to help you down despite the little mud incident earlier. You almost feel bad, but then decide that it was well deserved.
You’re nestled in a small clearing, still surrounded by the rapidly darkening forest. A few worms of fear begin to wriggle into your heart - you’ll be sleeping outside? Surrounded by, well, whatever might be lurking in the darkness?
“I’ll get a fire going,” Katsuki states, breaking off a few tree branches nearby. You elect to make yourself useful somehow, beginning to gather dry foliage for kindling. Though you’ll never admit it, his comment about you being ‘incapable’ stung. “Don’t wander off,” he calls lazily. Like you’re a child straying too far from her mother.
Prick.
However, you only dare to step a good twenty feet away from Katsuki before you’re running back towards him with a few too many glances over your shoulder, kindling secured in your arms.
As much as you hate him, you certainly do feel safer at his side rather than in the dark void of the forest - though only by a small margin.
He prepares the sticks and kindling quickly, and you watch, somewhat intrigued. Is he going to use his magic to light it? Can he? Will you be able to see a firsthand demonstration of the powerful arcane forces you’ve so often heard of? Shivers of anticipation race up your spine.
You wait as he scours the ground, tossing aside a few stones before selecting one. Then, he produces a knife, and strikes the stone. A few sparks fly, land on the kindling, then catch. You can’t mask the disappointment written clear across your face.
“Th’ fuck’s the matter with you?” Katsuki asks, eyebrows scrunched in a frown.
Wincing at his crude language, you crouch on the forest floor, mindful of your skirts. This is a good dress, and you’d hate to ruin it. “Nothing. I was just… hoping to see you use your magic.” There’s no harm in being honest, you suppose.
He snorts. “The arcane isn’t really magic, it’s a manipulation of energy.”
“Sounds like magic to me.” You prod at the now crackling fire with a stick.
“Magic implies something mysterious and unknown,” he explains tiredly, and for once there’s no bite to his tone. “We understand the arcane. Study it. Experiment with it and shit.”
Frowning, you rest your cheek on your knees, head tilted sideways to regard him. “Then why does everyone call it arcane magic?”
His mouth presses into a thin line. “Because that’s the universal term. There's other types that we're still discovering.”
“Can I see it?”
Katsuki stands, making his way over to his horse. “No. You’re lucky if I never have to use it around you, 'cause then that means we’re safe.”
“Does it hurt you?” You continue to pry, too curious to care if he gets mad.
“No.”
“Is it uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Then why won’t you show me?”
You hear the click of his molars as his jaw clenches, a blanket furled in his grasp. “Because,” he strains, turning towards you. “I don’t fucking want to.”
“You’re no fun,” you pout, picking up a nearby stick to scribble lines into the dirt.
“And you’re painfully annoying.”
Touché. But you feel that he deserves to be annoyed. And, to give yourself credit, you’re just so curious - everything about the arcane has long been unknown to you, something akin to a myth among the farther reaches of Capreae. Gwyneirans are the only ones currently known to wield it.
You apologize anyways. “I’ll stop asking,” you add, hoping it will dispel his foul mood. He’s a complete arse, but you’re too tired to start arguing again.
“Good.”
An awkward silence.
You peek at him from the corner of your eye. “Is there a tent for us to sleep in?”
It’s almost surprising when he answers - it looked like he was considering ignoring your query altogether.
“Not for now,” he says. “I’m saving it for when we get closer to Gwyneira, where it’s colder. If it gets damaged out here, we’re fucked later down the road.”
Upon noting your distressed expression, he lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Shit, don’t get so damn moody. We’ll be staying at a few inns here and there, not every night is going to be spent outside.”
Well… that’s a relief. Sleeping outside is hardly desirable. You stare at the fire for a few moments longer, examining the dancing flames, before electing that it’s time to go to bed. Striding over to your horse, you pull out your nightgown and then clear your throat.
“Please turn away, I need to undress and will be indecent.”
He obeys, yet it does nothing to calm your racing heart, trembling fingers working at the ties of your dress. You’ve never undressed near a man before, and the feeling is… strangely exhilarating and terrifying.
Is it just because Katsuki is attractive?
What a terrible thought to have! You nearly slap yourself across the face the moment it flits through your mind. Attractive or not, he’s a mean-spirited bastard.
You tug angrily at the laces of your corset behind your back. Then tug again. Then try to pull it down. Nothing budges. If you have to spend another minute in this stupid garment, you think you might scream. And yet, despite all your struggling, it doesn’t come off.
Why did the maids decide to dress you in this damn thing!?
A glance over your shoulder confirms that Katsuki is still facing away, hands folded behind his back. No, you refuse to ask him for help. It would be demeaning and pathetic on your part to do so.
But… it’s stuck fast. How, you’re not sure - perhaps the universe has decided to curse you today. You even consider trying to rip it apart, but decide against it, as it’s one of your best corsets.
Another glance. You work your bottom lip between your teeth, juggling the options set before you - struggle and suffer, or ask for help and suffer.
Pride set aside, you relent.
“Katsuki,” you call helplessly, twisting around where you stand, hoping he won’t be able to see very well in the dark. Thank gods your underskirt is still on. “I uh, need some assistance.”
He turns around slowly, cheeks twinging pink when he sees your current state of undress. “What the fuck-“
“I’m not trying to be strange!” You hiss, gesturing to the corset. “Just… help me untie this damned thing!”
His answer is swift. “No.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me? I am stuck.”
“I don’t buy that.”
Gods. What does he take you for, some kind of pervert? Fist clenching, you raise your voice. “As my guard, I order you to help me take this off.” Then, upon seeing his bewildered expression, add a meek “please. I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't an emergency.”
After a few moments of contemplation, he steps towards you with obvious reluctance. “This once. Only. If it happens again, you’re going to have to cut it off yourself. Turn around again.”
Well, you’re embarrassed, but apparently not to his extent. In your kingdom, it’s a common sight to see a woman with bared shoulders and legs - the constant heat and frequent swimming activities make sure of that. Perhaps the context is what’s making him nervous? Or do Gwyneirans associate skin exposure with indecency due to the cold climate they live in?
“There’s no need to be so prudish,” you huff when Katsuki’s efforts prove to be all but useless. He’s barely even touching the thing. “just untie it. I think it's been knotted near the top.”
“I hope you realize,” he mutters, and you feel the slight tug of a string. “that consorting with the future crown princess could be grounds for my execution.”
Ah.
Now you feel a bit bad.
“There’s no one here to see though,” You quip.
He snorts, and then the assistance of his hands are gone. “That’s not my concern.”
You remain momentarily confused by the implication of his words, until the realization dawns on you. “Do you think I’ll tell someone as… revenge? Or blackmail?”
“I have no reason to trust you - I’m just here to protect you. There isn’t an obligation on your part to do the same for me once we’re back in Gwyneira.”
Turning your head, you frown. He thinks that lowly of you? “And how am I supposed to be so certain you’ll protect me?” Is your honest rebuke.
Katsuki pauses, apparently stumped for a moment. Then: “It’s my job.”
“That means nothing,” you protest, an idea forming in your mind. “Maybe I’ll annoy you too much with some of my questions. Then what?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Being an annoying brat isn’t a reason for me to kill you.”
Folding your arms triumphantly, you flash him a grin. “Exactly. Being an insufferable prick isn’t a reason for me to blackmail you either. We don’t trust each other, but there’s no motivation on either of our ends to murder one another.”
“Yet.” He interjects, taking a step back. “I’m a soldier under strict orders. You are not, and are soon-to-be Gwyneiran royalty.”
“You could kill me and make it look like an accident,” you point out. “You said it yourself, our peace right now is temporary. I’m sure your king is itching to continue the war and conquer Capreae once and for all. With me out of the equation, there’s nothing to begin bargaining for. He might thank you for it, actually.”
There’s no response. You smirk to yourself - got him. And then promptly begin to worry, because what if he actually takes what you’re saying to heart, and decides to do away with you?
Fantastic, you just gave a stranger who already hates you the proper motivation to end your life.
Your pulse races as the silence continues to stretch - are you about to die?
Katsuki huffs, as if battling some moral dilemma. Then: “Don’t ask me for anything like this ever again.”
All that fuss for a stupid corset.
It’s loosened in a few seconds, and before you can properly thank him, he’s returned to his post, facing away from you.
“Thanks,” you call out.
“Whatever.”
You finish readying for bed relatively quickly, grateful when Katsuki hands you a spare blanket. Anything is better than the damp forest floor. As you settle down, you can’t help but recall your own words.
Why did the Gwyneiran king accept you as an offering of peace? He could’ve easily turned it down and continued the war, overtaken your nation, and been satisfied. Perhaps resources were dwindling? Or he was getting too frustrated with the lack of advancements? Or maybe, in some crazy twist, he actually saw your nation as a valuable ally rather than one to conquer?
No. That last option is laughable.
The question sticks with you, uncomfortably so. Perhaps, whenever he’s in a better mood, you’ll ask Katsuki. Not that you’re expecting him to spill such confidential information to you, but it’s worth a shot anyways.
Speaking of which, he’s still seated by the fire, staring off into the distance.
“Are you not going to sleep?” You ask. He shakes his head.
“The arcane can give some users certain benefits. Like being able to sleep in any position.” He pauses, tone taking on an edge of annoyance, but not particularly directed at you this time around. “And getting woken up by the smallest fucking things.”
“That… sounds annoying,” you admit slowly. Perhaps a lack of sleep is why he’s so pissed all the time.
“No shit.”
…
“How exactly does that work?” You venture to ask, hoping to not face a scathing rebuke this time.
Katsuki seems to search for a reply, then finally just shrugs, and settles on: “Magic.”