Beautiful Absurdity

by Kenkaya

Allura never expected to love her husband… After the battle on Puig, Allura and Kolivan agree to a political betrothal. Now, they must navigate diplomatic negotiations together- and figure out how to make a union work between people with different cultural understandings of marriage. Allura/Kolivan, Alfor/Allura's Mother, Honerva/Zarkon.

A/N: Just a quick note that this fic was written for a bang, so it was fully planned and partially written before Season 4 dropped.

Title: Beautiful Absurdity

Genres: Drama/Romance

Type: Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence during Season 3

Rating: Teen, PG-13

Pairings: Allura/Kolivan, Honerva/Zarkon, Alfor/Allura's Mother

Summary: Allura never expected to love her husband… After the battle on Puig, Allura and Kolivan agree to a political betrothal. Now, they must navigate diplomatic negotiations together- and figure out how to make a union work between people with different cultural understandings of marriage.

Tags: Arranged Marriage, AU during Season 3, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Cultural Genocide, Interspecies Relationships, Open Relationships, Past Allura O/C, Political Intrigue, Slow Burn, World-Building

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Allura never expected to love her future intended. Like most Alteans, she found the very notion absurd.

Romance simply hadn't been a factor in Altean marriages. Lovers belonged to the realm of ephemeral passion- where they could burn beautifully bright, fuel colorfully verbose ballads, and fizzle out over time. Even children understood this basic concept. Allura grew up watching castle nobles mingle openly amongst each other and various servants after nightfall, giggling between stolen kisses before stumbling together behind closed doors. They always returned to their spouses and families with wide smiles come daybreak. Anyone could be a paramour, regardless of station or outward expectation; the indiscriminate, fragile, and fleeting nature of romantic love was part of its allure.

Marriages, on the other hand, were lengthy business-like arrangements: decided upon by familial committee and negotiated over extended periods, followed by a traditional five decaphoeb engagement. Genetic profiles and political histories were examined, personality traits and temperaments matched by outside professionals- all while elder family members argued over matters of inheritance and how best to consolidate assets. To call marriage a complex endeavor was an understatement. Introducing highly emotional sentiments would have only further muddied an already fraught process.

There were exceptions, of course. Allura remembered sitting in a hard white chair while her wizen history tutor lectured about the Galactic Wars- the monotony of memorizing battle after battle broken by several prominent peace treaties brokered through interplanetary marriage. She studied the extensive list of post-war trade deals afterwards, a smattering of which were noted as 'sealed by union.' Space expansion had slowed down considerably by the time Allura was born, even more so once she was of proper age to sit in during government meetings, but she still recalled the option surfacing on occasion. She never had the opportunity to oversee a Phoeb-Marriage (emergency temp-arrangements granted to dying family lineages), though she did stand witness for several Surrogacy Unions when soldiers returned home with injuries rendering them infertile. One constant remained through every arrangement: love was never involved.

That particular dilemma was reserved for the dramas Allura ate up as a young girl.

"It's just a guilty pleasure!" she defended whenever her tutor scoffed at the lurid titles, long gnarled fingers plucking silver-blue holo pads from where she had stashed them below her desk. "I promise! I only look at them during breaks."

"Of course, princess," the elder smiled blithely, movement never reaching his bloodshot eyes or the sagging yellow-green marks underneath. He would then tuck her romances away into the deep pockets of his green scholar robes, adding on, "but let us remove the temptation, shall we? Turn our minds to more thought-provoking fare."

"I know they're silly," she grumbled before returning to her lessons. "I still enjoy them, regardless."

As in many cultures, forbidden romance was a staple of Altean fiction, and falling-for-your-intended had been one of Allura's favorite cliches. According to her tutor, King Alfor was a horrible enabler- gifting his daughter a steadily stream of illicit romances once she began showing interest in the genre. Many were titles from his personal collection. She recommended newer stories from her comb through libraries in turn. Often (on evenings when Alfor was planetside), the two could be found in her room, animatedly discussing the latest drama in their exchange.

"What did you think of the last one I left you?" her father asked during one of their late-night conversations, shortly before the war. Allura shifted atop her blue bed sheets, glancing furtively between the high-back chair where he sat and the haphazard pile of silver pads on her night stand.

"The Tale of Romal and Julea?" she bit her lip at his earnest nod. "Oh, it was… interesting."

"Just interesting?"

"More… depressing to be precise," Allura relented. The story had read almost like a cautionary tale: with both characters falling madly in love during their engagement, failing to suppress their feelings for each other, then choosing try to hide the affair only to crash and burn under the strain of masquerade. In the end, neither lover survived.

"It wasn't bad… I just prefer happy endings," she said, thinking back on one of her favorite holos: a light-hearted romance filled with comically drawn out family drama. The conclusion to that story, a dissolved union and happy couple free to be lovers, had left her grinning afterwards.

"Not every story needs a happy ending," Alfor chuckled. "Sometimes, I think we need to experience the sad ones more… to feel that incomplete closure in an environment more controlled... less hurtful…"

"Father?" Allura frowned, concerned by the subtle self-deprecating note in his voice.

"It's… nothing. Nevermind my rambling," he smiled reassuringly at his daughter, reaching over the gap between them to pat her knee affectionately. "I guess tragedy isn't for everyone."

"But, I would think, if you're already sad," she hesitated, considering her next words. "Doesn't it make sense to seek out happiness rather than more of the same?"

"Depends on what you're looking for, my dear," Alfor said, leaning back in his cushioned chair. "Escape… or catharsis."

Allura couldn't have known at the time, but that night would be their last conversation about romances. In the wake of a dead emperor declaring war on her people, the princess abandoned her silver-blue holo pads. She threw herself into royal duties- forgetting about escape, dismissing the need for catharsis.

As Altean graveyards filled and her father's countenance grew more haggard, the idea her life might one day resemble those stories she youthfully giggled over seemed unfathomable.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Time out!" Lance jumped off the white circular couch and swung his arms into a strange perpendicular gesture, interrupting Allura mid-sentence. "What do you mean by 'are any of us promised?' 'Cause, I don't know, maybe I'm missing something in translation here… but that kinda sounds like a marriage thing."

"Lance," Keith gave a perfunctory warning from his slumped sitting position, still drained after his last (failed) search through the debris field for Shiro.

"It's a… reasonable question?" Allura cocked her chin to share a perplexed side-glance with Coran, standing just behind her in the open doorway. "So far, we've been focused on fighting Zarkon... but with his fall there's been a dramatic powershift among the Galra. We need to broaden our scope now… prioritize negotiations and alliances… practice diplomacy like the paladins of old did," a misty film blurred her vision briefly- she blinked the memories away before they could fully manifest. "We can't afford to enter those talks blind anymore. I need to know any and every potential bargaining chip at our disposal."

"Uh, yeah, we get that," Hunk gulped down a poorly-concealed expression of distaste as he spoke. "But marriage?"

"Pretty medieval tactic, if you ask me," Pidge said, her curled lip and clipped tone leaving no confusion as to her opinion of the matter. In her peripheral, Allura caught Keith's sudden, uncomfortable shifting.

"And not happening!" Lance flailed his arms in typical dramatic fashion before falling back on the couch with crossed arms. "Nu-uh! Nada! Nope… I know I've kinda got a reputation with the ladies," he paused to glare at Keith's derisive snort. "But I, for one, intend to go home and find someone nice to settle down with once this is all over. You know- dog, house with a picket fence, kids running around the yard with said dog…"

"We would never ask you to break-off a pre-existing arrangement," Allura cut in, trying to salvage the conversation. "Or go against your people's customs. We… I understand that different cultures…"

"That's enough," Keith stood abruptly, his voice hardened to a razor's edge and just as thin. Gloved fists hung at his sides, shaking with barely held restraint. "We have other things to worry about right now. This conversation is over."

Allura stood in numb silence, gaze following his brisk exit as a vague detached afterthought. What… just happened? The metallic door slid shut behind him, blocking out even the sound of his white boots stomping down the hall. A thick quiet lingered in his absence. That… did not go over well. Subconsciously, her fingers rubbed against the raised blue piping on her battlesuit: itching for extra fabric to fidget through (a nervous habit retained from childhood).

"Well," Coran said, coughing loud into a raised fist. "I suppose that could have gone better."

"Not like I blame him," Pidge mumbled, crossing her arms and slouching against the back cushions. "What exactly were you guys hoping to accomplish by springing this on us now of all times?"

"I still don't understand," Allura faced her remaining paladins, flummoxed. "What about my statements did you find offensive? You seem familiar with the concept of a marriage arrangement, so... I assumed. I apologize if that was presumptuous of me."

"No, people definitely get married on Earth," Hunk sighed. "It's just… in the parts where we're from, arranged marriages aren't really a common thing anymore. We kinda like the idea of choosing our own partners… preferably someone we love."

"You marry your lovers? That's," absurd, she almost said, filter cutting off the impulsive statement before she finished.

"B… but!" Coran sputtered, his own filter clearly lacking. "Your families just expect you to properly vet a future partner in compromised emotional states? On your own?!"

"Oh, family input's important, don't get us wrong," Lance said. "Meeting the parents is a pretty major relationship step on Earth and you can bet my mom had opinions about every girl I brought home…"

"What, all zero of them," Pidge sassed.

"Shut up! I've had a girlfriend! In high school!"

"I'm hearing an unspoken 'one' in there."

"It counts! And for your information, I have two ex-girlfriends," Lance countered. He coughed then, smiling apologetically at their increasingly lost Altean audience.

"Anyway, off-topic… I value my mom's opinion and may take her dislike of someone into account, but it's not be-all-end-all. She'll kill me if I suddenly come home space-married to someone they've never met… but if I'm happy and the person is someone I really love, my family would accept it. Eventually. Mom would probably insist I get remarried back home in a church, though."

"Uh, same here with my folks," Hunk added when the Alteans didn't immediately respond after Lance's incoherent explanation. He picked at a loose brown thread on his pants, weighting his next words carefully. "Arranged marriages still happen… but a lot of people on Earth think of them as kinda backwards. Like, it's your life and you have the right to chose who becomes an important part of it. Parents give advice because they care, but most of them just want their kids to be happy and respect that the decision is ultimately theirs to make… unless they're old-fashioned in a not-so-good way."

"There's age limits too," Pidge chimed in. "Can't legally get married in the States without special parent permission before eighteen… aannnd," she drew out, smug in the loophole she found. "Under those terms, Keith's the only one of us on the ship that's eligible right now. Hunk and Lance don't have much longer 'til then, but you gotta wait three more years before you can even think about trying to rope me into that."

"You would figure out a way to get yourself out of this," Lance grumbled.

"Well," Coran hummed, pale purple eyes shifting between each human in the room. "That system seems a bit… haphazard. Completely unreliable, if you ask me."

"Coran," Allura scolded, diplomatic training rising to the fore. "I will admit, I don't understand the logic, but that doesn't mean we can't respect it. I'll keep your reservations in mind if treaty marriages come up during future Coalition meetings."

"Well, that's a relief," Hunk sighed. "What don't you understand, though? Wait… does that mean all marriages on Altea were arranged?!"

"Of course!" Coran said, chest puffed as he prepared to speak of Altea's customs. "We had a very precise system with both family and professionals involved..."

"So, you would have been forced to..." Lance didn't finish his sentence, horrified gaze fixed once again on Allura: this time more pitying than shocked. She stared back a few ticks, processing his implication, before sputtering indignation.

"No! Of course not! My father would have never!" she inhaled deeply, trying to decipher what thread of logic could have possibly led to such an insulting assumption. "As heir to the throne, I was considered too important for a peace treaty marriage… so, I probably would have entered negotiation talks with a noble Altean family... and I also would have been present at every meeting! Not to mention engagements exist as a failsafe in case either party determines the partnership would be unviable. How exactly do these arrangements work on Earth?"

"Not, like that. At all," Lance clarified not-so-helpfully. Pidge snort-laughed as Hunk elbowed him with a muttered, "dude, use your words."

"Well, at least one thing makes sense," Coran shrugged, stumped expression nearly matching his princess's. "Marriage is complicated wherever you go in the universe."

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Allura's childhood had been filled with brightness and laughter: her father's warm arms, her mother's vivid pink skirts clenched between tiny fingers, the joy of running carefree through juniberry fields in full fuschia bloom.

Above all, though, her youth was colored by five robot lions.

She never knew a universe without Voltron; couldn't recall a time before her father returned from frequent absences with new, thrilling stories. King Alfor always set aside his first night back for her, low baritone chuckles joining high-pitched giggles as she bounced on her bed, demanding, "what happened? Who did you save? Tell me, tell me, Father!" He tucked soft blue blankets snug around her, placed a tender kiss on her snowy-white crown, and (without fail) responded, "Patience, little princess. Otherwise, you might miss the best parts!" Those nights were among Allura's fondest memories.

Back then (before war, betrayal, and waking up to ten thousand years lost), she considered the days he left the worst. Allura remembered standing beside her mother in the harshly lit lion hanger, flanked by several court members in formal gold-trimmed attire, following the King-Consort's confident gait as he strode towards the Red Lion. His red accented armor always shone immaculate, plates polished and joints oiled smooth, the accompanying helmet tucked securely underarm as he ascended the ramp. He only ever looked back once he reached the top, spinning around to grace them all with a wide easy smile.

Alfor's raw charisma never failed to leave Allura awestruck. She dried her tears every time on the same thought: she hoped to be able to charge the air and lift people's spirits as he did one day. She wanted to become someone others could see such bravery and nobility in.

xxxxxx

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"Please... I must do this. Others are risking their lives in this fight and... I can't... continue to..."

The Red Lion didn't hum to life at Allura's plea. She sat hunched in the pilot chair, screens dark and systems silent; only the hiccups of her suppressed sobbing broke the dead atmosphere. Please, please, she begged through tears, even as Red's rejection loomed ever-apparent. What can I do? Just give me some signal! Anything! There has to be something I can do to make you… Eventually, Allura's white-knuckle grip on the control bars loosened, clammy fingers slipping over smooth metal before falling limp in her lap. She felt nothing: not the stirring second consciousness Alfor had tried (and failed) to describe in past stories, nor the warm rush of energy that flooded her nerves when she first touched the castleship controls. You… you've already decided then. And I'm trying to force it, just like… she killed that thought before the comparison could overwhelm her, squeezing blue eyes shut as more tears leaked through. I'm sorry. Forgive my impertinence. She stood then, no longer feeling worthy to grace the same seat her father once had. Still she waited in the dim quiet, hand resting lightly atop the chair's high back, breathing deep until she regained some semblance of composure.

We need strength now. The paladins are out there… waiting with Coran. I can't let them see me like this.

Schooling emotion was a practiced art, one Allura (as the only royal heir) had excelled in by necessity. When she descended the ramp, her cheeks were dry and eyes clear. The others jumped from their lounging positions to face her: expressions expectant, though they had all seen the Red Lion's lacking response. She answered the unspoken question with a wane smile.

"I'm sorry, Princess," Coran stepped forward through the morose air, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I know how much you wanted to pilot the Red Lion."

She put on a brave front, complete with improvised pep talk, but what little hope she managed to stir died as they gathered around the circular couch- suggestion after suggestion shot down by their stark reality. Finding another pilot for Red would be difficult at best. The Black Lion accepting Keith had changed nothing; they still couldn't form Voltron, their burgeoning Coalition was already floundering, and they were running out of feasible options.

I thought I could do this. I thought… father...

"I'm sorry, please excuse me for a moment." Allura said, turning abruptly towards the door. She waved off Lance's innocent inquiry, dismissed Coran's worried follow-up ramble, and fled down the bright lit hall- the scurry-scrap of tiny mouse feet against polished floor echoing behind her. She was barely halfway to her destination when artificial gravity pressed down suddenly, crushing the breath out of her and forcing her to the wall for support. Not again... A chorus of concerned mice squeaked shrilly as she stumbled. The others… they could come after me any moment. I can't… not in front of them. The princess ambled forward through sheer willpower, sucking in fruitless gulps of air and ignoring the fluorescent spots pulsing across her vision. One step… two… right at the corner, Allura hyperfocused on each movement: the coping mechanism a familiar routine since the war began and occasional panic attacks became an accepted part of her life. Just need to get through that door... She poured all her energy into reaching her destination: safe from paladin eyes. Need to close it behind me...

The ship's holodeck interface was blessedly empty when she palmed open the door. Finally... Allura stumbled through, keying the shut command on auto-pilot. Soft white overhead lights flickered to life as their sensors registered movement- illuminating the raised central terminal and segmented platform leading to it. Just a little more... Skittering mice feet echoed her unsteady trek to the center, each step easing the pull-taut sensation behind her sternum. She dropped to her knees at the central pillar. Tiny claws dug into the battlesuit fabric at her calf, climbing up through the black and white panels until slight weight settled on her shoulder. A flash of pink caught in her peripheral, followed by tickling whiskers against her jaw. Sweet little Chuchule, Allura smiled wanly and lifted a hand to stroke her. Happy little chittering filled her ears. Always here to remind me I'm not alone… even after...

Blue eyes scanned the centrally lit dais to far walls shadowed pitch. The holodeck had long been cleaned and repaired: all traces of Alfor's destruction swept away. Still, Allura found herself occasionally seeking his presence here. The juniberry field may have been lost with her father's memories, but when Allura closed her eyes (visions of delicate fuchsia petals swaying behind her lids) she could almost sense him-

I tried father… I truly did! But Red wouldn't… she sunk teeth into her lower lip, counting breaths as quick chest-spasms threatened a second attack on the heels of the first. Voltron needs a strong, capable leader- like you were. I am trying to remember everything you taught me, to imagine what you might have done in this predicament… but no matter how hard I try, I just can't see it!

Chuchule, still sitting on her shoulder, gave a sudden full-body jerk. The other three squeaked incessantly from their place on the floor beside her, pulling Allura back to the present just as the silver door slid open behind her with a pneumonic hiss. Who?! She whirled around. I thought I locked... but, of course, in her panic she had forgotten: as evidenced by the tall scruffy Galra standing in the doorway.

"Princess," Kolivan spoke, hesitant- yellow eyes flicking between her prone form and the four mice who had lined up before her in a touching (yet ineffectual) display of protection. "I... apologize for the intrusion."

"Oh… oh, no, not at all," Allura's tongue felt on the verge of babble. "Don't mind me. I just... came here for a moment. Did you need anything?"

"Just a quiet place to meditate for a varga. I'm leaving to join a mission soon," Kolivan said, expression surprisingly open. "I've found that setting aside time to relax beforehand helps."

"That's understandable," Allura murmured, struck then by an almost mirrored memory- of her stumbling across him on the observation deck after the battle against Zarkon. After Antok's death-

"I'm sorry, I can't recall… how do the Galra honor their dead?" she asked then, after a slew of awkward apologies.

"We don't… anymore," he had responded, head bowed. "In the empire, death is viewed as a failure to survive... not worth celebrating. Success or death. The bodies are disposed of in the most efficient manner available and the rest of us keep our heads down, move on… grieve in private."

"Why… ?" Allura watched as he averted his gaze, stared at his guarded form and wide hunched shoulders. The horror of realization was a visceral punch in the gut. Galran cultures had always been practical and direct in ways other species' sometimes found off-putting- it was how Galran societies functioned through the volatile outbursts their individuals were prone to. That, and strict hierarchies, with near bureaucratic levels of determining who went to who for comfort and support among social groups. Galra needed controlled emotional outlets. That Zarkon's reign had deprived their entire people of such necessary coping mechanisms was-

"That's… it wasn't like that at all… before."

"No, it wasn't. There are documents in the headquarter archives that detail elaborate viewing wakes… but it doesn't matter. Tournaments and wakes are luxuries the Blade of Marmora cannot afford."

"I… understand," Allura averted her gaze from Kolivan's crestfallen expression. "On Altea, we held feasts to honor those who passed… I suppose you could say... we're in the same position."

"I come here to feel close to my father," Allura found herself saying in the present, spurred on by her recollection and Kolivan's stoic patience. "His A.I. memories were once stored here… I… had to erase them when a Galra-powered crystal infected the castleship. He was the Red Lion's original pilot too, and now we have to find a new one. I tried… but," she paused at the familiar sting behind her eyes. I won't cry, not in front of the Marmora leader.

"We all have our ways of remembering," Kolivan nodded before tugging at the silver-white braid wrapped around his throat. The length unfurled, thumping against his armored chest. "My mentor always kept his hair in long braids. After he was executed by the Empire," he ran a clawed finger down the plait, "I couldn't honor him openly. This seemed a fitting defiance."

"I'm sure he would have been touched by your gesture."

"Such a statement could only be made by one who never knew him," he snorted, his gruff laughter half-aborted. "What he would or would not think doesn't matter, though. Remembering him is something I do for myself. However I can."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Allura sighed. The mice had fallen back during their conversation, snuggling in a warm pile on her lap. "Still... I like to think, if my father could look on my actions now, that he might feel proud of what he sees. I can only hope my leadership is worthy of that."

"My mentor may have been curmudgeonly in life, but I find solace in believing similar, as well," Kolivan's lips quirked in a slight smile, lifting his square jaw in a way Allura hadn't seen before. Empathy filled her in a give-receive loop that left her almost flustered. He understands… Coran does too, but he's not my equal on the same grounds. It's different. Peace radiated through the air, sweeping both occupants of the holodeck away with it.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"Be still, Allura. The wait won't be much longer."

Allura stared at her mother's tight smile, small fingers folding her brand new teal-green dress into abstract patterns. She was young- far too young for others to reasonably expect she sit quiet through the excessive pomp and ceremony of an Altean noble's wedding. Queen Ariella had suggested as much the other day, but Alfor argued otherwise. He insisted their daughter be allowed to experience, "such a momentous event for herself."

"She can handle it. Isn't that right, little princess?" he said, and Allura had eagerly bobbed her head: excited to see one of the fancy celebrations usually barred from her.

That excitement (which had carried through to a hectic morning of frazzled servants struggling to pull her tiny vibrating body into petticoats and a formal dress) had died not long after they took their seats. Hundreds upon hundreds of white stools, made of a hard smooth material the flimsy grey cushions did little to alleviate, were arranged in concentric circles around a juniberry field. Allura jumped up as they settled in the second ring, head turning and slippered feet swinging above fuschia flowers below. She couldn't get enough of the new sights. Soon, however, discomfort and boredom set in. Her parents had been drawn into separate conversations almost immediately, leaving their young daughter to her own devices. The white-hot sun beat overhead and sweetness filled the air, the scent intensifying with every petal crushed underfoot as more guests filtered in. Too many people, she thought, wrinkling her nose at the cloying smell and craning her neck to see something (anything!) among sea of torsos blocking her view. I can't see anything!

A pair of bodies separated and Allura's vision caught on a tall purple alien standing just ahead through the gap. He's huge! She stared, unabashed- wide blue eyes taking in his large jutting jaw, polished red plate armor, and the lush indigo cloak hanging heavy from his broad shoulders. He loomed easily over every single Altean. Bet he doesn't ever have trouble seeing anything...

"Allura, please," the queen knelt, a gold-trimmed white gown- with hints of pink lace peeking out from the hems and neckline- pooled at her feet. She reached out to smooth her unruly daughter's curls: straining to escape the half-braided crown style servants had pulled them into that morning. "Behave."

Allura responded by kicked her feet more vigorously, heel thunking loud against the stool's leg on the return swing.

"Has a strong case of the fidgets, does she?" Alfor chuckled, excusing himself from a three-way conversation to walk over, crisp white cape snapping behind. Ariella sighed.

"I could have told you so yesterday. In fact, I believe I did!"

"I know, but…"

"Who's that?" Allura asked before their focus moved elsewhere, pointing at the purple man who grabbed her attention earlier.

"Ah! Lord Zarkon! He rules over the Galra on Daibazaal," her father said with an air of unmistakable familiarity. "I'm glad they could make it… his wife's sister is the one getting married, after all," he gestured towards the petite Altean woman beside Zarkon, grey hair twisted in a simple updo and adorned in a gown the same deep maroon red her husband wore. "That's why they're sitting in the inner ring… that one is always reserved for family and the closest of friends."

"What about the second?"

"Only the most important guests," Alfor declared. "That's why we're here."

A hush swept through the crowd then. Those who had already taken seats rose, turning on heel to face the same direction as everyone else. Allura stood atop her stool, stretched on tiptoe in a vain attempt to see past the surrounding adults. Warm, gentle hands gripped under her arms and lifted up- up to her father's padded shoulders, where she had a clear view over the multi-colored expanse of heads.

"Pretty," she gasped when the bride appeared at the circle's edge, a translucent lace veil pinned high in her gathered grey curls and layers of shimmering mirrored fabric hanging in loose folds from her shoulders like liquid silver falls. The long reflective train dragged behind as she moved past the royal family with slow measured steps, halting at the innermost ring.

"It's so pretty! I want a dress like that!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait for your own wedding, little princess," Alfor whispered as Ariella giggled beside them. "The material used to make those robes is incredibly rare… they're only worn on Altea by brides and grooms for wedding ceremonies."

"Oh," Allura deflated until a sudden thought occurred to her. "You and mother too?"

"Yes, us too," Queen Ariella said. "Now, shush… the groom is starting his approach."

A pale Altean man, his short indigo-black hair slicked back, strode through the circle of guests from the other side- stopping at the inner ring to stand directly opposite his intended. The groom's iridescent silver robes matched the bride's, though his had been cut to a more tailored fit and substituted a short cape for her lengthy train. Still pretty, Allura sighed, hunching to rest her pointy chin against Alfor's scalp. She watched (longing) as bride and groom made eye contact across the empty center, nodding in unison before entering together. A hot sticky-sweet breeze blew across the field, rippling mirrored fabric and throwing flashes of blinding rainbow light. Allura gasped again- awestruck by the sight. The two met in the middle, clasping hands as both simultaneously raised their voices to address the crowd.

"We thank you all, for bearing witness to our Union today."

Everyone sat on cue. Alfor carefully slid Allura off his shoulders, placing her back on the hard white stool before taking his own uncomfortable seat. She stretched sideways to peek between guests in the first row, her earlier eagerness renewed now that the main event was underway.

Sadly, the ceremony proper was an even longer (and exceedingly dull) affair. Allura managed to stay focused through the couple's initial invitations to the center circle: an elder representative from each family. Her mind wandered, however, when they started reciting lists of assets and subsequent conditions she couldn't care less about. Booor-ing! Her attention didn't return until a stout man with deep brown skin and striking yellow facial marks stepped forward to replace the monotone elders. He introduced himself as Matcher Elron, but what little interest Allura had regained was lost as he began yet another list: one of complementary temperaments and compatible personality traits. Elron droned on about balancing attributes, how well matched this particular couple were, and Allura... just didn't understand the point. If they're so good together, how come he needs to tell eve-ryyyone? Why we need to sit here and listen to all this boring stuff? The young girl groaned, restless hands fiddling with her teal skirts as she idly drifted into daydream.

"Allura," Ariella hissed, placing a firm hand over her daughter's to still them. "What did I tell you earlier?"

"Behave," Allura pouted. She peeked through the gap between guests again, blue eyes landing on a still-speaking Elron. "How long 'til it's over?"

"Just a bit more, dear," the queen said, tone softening at her child's understandable impatience. "Matcher Elron is almost done with his assessment, then the bride and groom exchange their promises, and afterwards the family representatives will step forward again to declare the union sealed."

The young princess slumped in her seat, suppressing another long-suffering groan. This's going to take for-evvver!

(Years later, during the planning stages of her own wedding, Lance would listen to her half-remembered recollections and say, "so… Altean weddings were basically public business deals with fancy clothes and long-winded speeches? Sounds… fun?"

"There was always a feast held afterwards."

"Okay, after-party… I can work with that.")

Once the insufferable ceremony (finally!) ended, Allura's parents took a small hand each and led her towards a cluster of white canopy tents further down the field. Rows upon rows of tables were set up underneath, grey tablecloths in a receding scale of shades draped over each one. She scanned the crowd as they meandered through, looking for another child trapped amongst the sea of torsos like she was. She recognized the parents of a few palace playmates, strolling past in colorful gowns and suits, but their offspring were conspicuously absent. Apparently, her father's decision to bring his child to a wedding was an unconventional one. Father made it sound so exciting… ugggh! I wanna go home! It's so boring...

"Can we leave?"

"Don't you want to stay for the feast?" her mother asked, gesturing towards the extravagant food spread servants had placed on the front table. " I think I see a bowl of pechi pudding in there for you. Besides, your father and I have to stay for the witness signing."

"Alright," Allura sighed, hopping onto a chair between her parents and leaning folded arms against the pale tabletop. There was, indeed, a bowl of creamy orange pechi pudding. She dug into the dessert with gusto, barely noticing when the bride and groom approached their table end: engaging in small talk with each guest and unrolling a gold leaf scroll for them to sign. Queen Ariella and King-Consort Alfor greeted the couple enthusiastically. Young Allura only cared so far as the delicious pudding on her plate. Once the rounds were done, and Elron made a show of sealing the completed scroll with a ceremonial ribbon, musicians came out to play while they finished their meal.

"That was a pleasant feast," Alfor spoke afterwards with a wistful air. He turned to smile at his wife over their child's head. "I wish I could remember ours so fondly. Most of my memories seem to have been lost in a blur of greeting various dignitaries and fantasizing about sleep."

"There's a great deal of work in planning weddings," Ariella agreed. "Especially a royal one. I've found that wedding parties are much easier to enjoy when they're not your own. I didn't have the energy to do anything more than collapse into bed after ours."

"True," he laughed. "And we'll get to experience the madness all over again when this little one grows up," he ruffled her hair, mussing the side-plaits pinned behind her ears and earning a playful admonishment from the queen. "It may seem like a long way off now, but we'll be weeding through marriage proposals and entering negotiations before we know it! Best enjoy the peace of mind while we can, eh?"

Allura nodded along with her father's words, but couldn't help thinking the entire affair was far too boring for her tastes. At least (if they had to have a wedding in the future), she would get to wear the pretty dress.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"Princess Allura, if I may have a word?"

Allura startled as a familiar brown and white-marked face popped up on her communications display. The Puigian leader stared back through her blue-tinged screen with an intense frown: thin lips pressed to practically non-existence above his bushy grey beard. Shock gave way to simmering dread, bubbling up from a tense gut to lodge in her throat. I have a sneaking suspicion this isn't a social call.

"Of course," she minimized the navigation window and reached up to hastily straighten her loose hair bun. It'll make do… I've been running between here and the hangars all quintant… he'll just have to deal with my dishevelled appearance. Allura suppressed a wince as the ghost of her old tutor reared his head- memories of his nasally voice emphasizing the importance of presentation prompting her to at least square her posture. "I hope your planet is recovering well now that Lotor's forces are gone. I just received word of their retreat from the Blade of Marmora last varga."

"Yes… about that…"

Ah… there it is, she suppressed a long-suffering sigh, remembering his open contempt towards Kolivan during the first Coalition meeting. Not that I acted much different myself once. I should have realized something like this would come up.

"Certainly, you understand how this must look to my people," the Puigian continued. "We've been occupied by one Galra force after another. How is this any different?"

"The Blade are not an occupying force," Allura dropped her diplomat mask to pierce him with a steely glare. "They are voluntarily providing protection while you rebuild. This isn't a permanent..."

"Funny, that's almost exactly what Prince Lotor told me," the Puigian interrupted, his hard gaze challenging hers. "Emperor Zarkon, Prince Lotor, now these… Marmora folk," he paused, angry frown falling into something more pensive and saddened. "When Voltron first approached us, you offered freedom and an alliance. But this? It's just more of the same."

"No!"

The Puigian leader jolted at her vehemence. Allura closed her eyes, inhaling deep to temper her ire from something hot and coiled into a more manageable smoulder.

"I understand," she exhaled, opening her eyes. "Your people have been subjugated for a long time and I empathize with those fears, truly, I do. But our goal is to end the Galra Empire, not replace it. Kolivan has expressed similar sentiments," she paused, remembering the normally stoic Galra's scream as Antok fell. She thought of Keith's determined expression as he agreed to an almost-suicide mission in order to lower Zarkon's shield, and the single-mindedness with which he pursued Lotor on Thayserix. "The Empire may be Galra… but there are many Galra who are not the Empire. We're fighting a governing and military force, not a species."

"And what have these particular Galra done to earn that trust?" the Puigian scoffed, brow furrowed. "What have they done to earn yours?"

"The Blade of Marmora have sacrificed a great deal in this fight," Allura replied, tone clipped. "They fought alongside us against Zarkon's fleet… they lost... many lives in that battle. And, even so, they have continued to dedicate all their remaining resources towards liberation and recovery..."

"Maybe so, but what motivation do they have to stay on our side?" he countered. "They may have proved their disloyalty to Emperor Zarkon, but what about Prince Lotor? Or perhaps they are engaging in their own power play… hoping to take the reins once the royal family is properly disposed of?" he hummed, considering. "I wouldn't put it past them."

Allura sighed. I can't exactly blame or fault his logic… I felt the same myself not long ago… still, I wish my word at least meant something! She had no arguments against his conspiracy questions, unfounded though they were, nothing to say through her mental exhaustion, except-

"What would it take for you to trust them?"

"Probably more than they could offer," the Puigian said. "But, in the meantime, I want them gone. If Voltron is a true ally, you will come here and see to that."

"I'll speak to Kolivan," Allura conceded. "I'm sure we can figure out a reasonable arrangement without antagonizing each other."

"Very well, if you want to keep playing that hand," he muttered, image and sound cutting out on his end before she could answer.

"Wha… how… how rude!"

"I'll say!" Coran's voice piped up from behind, startling her into a full feet-off-the-ground jump. "What kind of half-cocked leader just hangs up on another political figure?"

"An... angry one... with little experience in actual politics," she said between calming breaths, bending down to sit on the platform ledge of her station. "How much... did you hear?"

Coran's expression dropping from over-the-top indignant to 'serious business' was answer enough.

"I see," Allura ducked her head to run frustrated fingers through white curls, realising her mistake when the motion caught on hairpins and her unfurling bun flopped sideways. Well, there goes my presentable appearance for the day. Not that it matters now… Coran has been around so long he's probably seen me in soiled diapers… wait...

"You served as my father's advisor for decaphoebs," Allura glanced upwards, catching his affirmative nod. "You were there during most of his diplomatic missions. What do you think he," she stopped, swallowing down the initial impulse. Not what he would do… I head the Voltron Alliance and Coran is my advisor now. I need to keep that mindset if I want this to work.

"I can't begrudge the Puigians' their reservations, but the Marmora are important allies who have gone above and beyond to prove themselves. My good word and their actions clearly aren't enough to settle the matter. Do you have any thoughts?"

"It's a tough spot, that's for certain," Coran hummed, folding his arms. "I agree there's no question about the Blades' loyalty and their aid has been invaluable. But, if we're going to build this Coalition into a viable long-term force, we need to instill trust between all our allies, regardless of origin. We just need to figure out something that will convince even the most cynical of Puigians that the Blade of Marmora are sincere in their dedication. It's got to be something big… and binding..."

"Big and binding," Allura echoed, mind scanning rapidly through memorized histories of past Altean alliances: of long military strategies, mutually advantageous resource trades, and (if all else failed) interspecies marriage unions. The last point conjured a brief recollection of her misunderstanding with the paladins last movement, and a radical idea wriggled forth, settling in her forethoughts. "Something... like a treaty marriage?"

"Well, yes… that could work. But," Coran said, volume dropping to just above a whisper. "What about your promise to the paladins… ?"

Allura averted her gaze, lower lip pinched between her teeth. As Altea's only royal heir, she had once been deemed too valuable for an off-planet treaty marriage; even millennia after her civilization's collapse, the idea seemed near unfathomable. My position has changed, though, she realized, loose white curls falling into her eyes as she leaned forward- resting crossed forearms on her knees. I'm not truly a princess anymore, but I can still be important... in different ways. She inhaled deeply, bracing for Coran's coming protest.

"I wasn't thinking of the paladins."

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"She rarely comes home anymore," an Altean noblewoman with slick-back golden hair whispered, standing just ahead of Allura's wallflower position against the banquet room wall. "Not even to visit her family."

"Oh, her poor mother!" the woman's pale, violet-marked friend gasped. "How are they handling it?"

"Well as can be expected, I suppose," the first woman sighed with hollow sympathy. "They've been pretty silent on the matter… but, of course," she paused to check for eavesdroppers before continuing. Allura averted her gaze to the long blue folds of her skirt, but otherwise remained invisible in the way quiet children tended to be. "What can they say? We all know why… or rather, who is keeping her away."

"Her husband?"

"Who else?" Allura heard the golden-haired woman let out an indignant scoff. "I don't know what she was thinking… accepting a proposal from a monogamous-oriented species. Lorah told me her parents rejected him initially, of course, but the Queen and King-Consort convinced them to reconsider."

"That explains what Ramon told me."

"Oooh?!" Allura glanced up to see the golden-haired woman had raised a thin eyebrow and linked arms with her blushing friend. "Do tell! Have you finally managed to seduce my stuffy brother-in-law to your bed? You have!" she slapped the flustered woman's shoulder playfully. "Why am I just finding out now?! And I thought we were friends!"

"Please, Farra, don't make a scene," the violet-eyed woman pleaded, pushing a wild wisp of indigo black hair behind the reddened shell of her ear-point. "It's a rather… recent development."

"I should hope so! I had no idea!" Farra laughed, leading her friend in a slow stroll further away from Allura. "But I am happy for you two, truly. I know you've had eyes for him a while, and Ramon needs someone to help him loosen up from time to time. Oh! And now you can let me in on all the juicy inner-court circle details he tells you! My sister has been so focused on the new baby… she's been absolutely no help in that..."

Farra's lilting voice faded into white noise as their colorful skirts disappeared amongst the banquet hall crowd. Allura felt no urge to follow them through the masses. The subject of their gossip was obvious, and those particular rumors were ones she had heard a dozen times before. She only listened in to alleviate boredom from a dinner party her parents demanded she attend for decorum's sake.

Shuffling small blue-slippered feet, Allura returned to her disinterested sulking for the rest of the evening.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

The message blinking on her projected screen was a simple one: straight and to the point. Not outside the realm of believability for Galra. They are a practical people. Allura glanced between the glowing blue display and her paladins. They stood in ready formation on the bridge, full armor on with Coran and an unmasked Kolivan at ease behind them.

"What do you make of this, Kolivan?" she asked, figuring now was good a time as any to start showing more faith in her potential betrothed. The Marmora leader had yet to give a definitive answer to her initial suggestion. "You have more in-depth knowledge of current Galra politics than we do. Does this call to truce seem genuine to you?"

"It's hard to say," he said after a startled moment of silence, yellow gaze shifting between her and the screen (which she proceeded to enlarge for his benefit). "Drule is one of the Empire's earliest planet colonies, possibly the first, and the Teles clan has governed over it for much of that time. They're an… odd family. Very isolationist. They never challenge Zarkon's reign and provide the army any material needs when it's demanded of them, but otherwise keep to themselves," he paused, arms folding across his wide chest. "We actually considered recruiting Hazar, the eldest son, to the Blade… but he returned home as soon as his mandatory military service ended. We never got the chance to act on it."

"Sounds like this might be in our favor, then," Shiro smiled and turned to address the other paladins.

"It's still a risk," Kolivan spoke up, interrupting whatever order he was about to give. "Hazar seemed receptive to our prodding, but he never truly went against or questioned orders. And he's not head of the family right now… his father is. I find it strange Mozak would brazenly take sides when he's done everything he can in the past to stay on the sidelines. Sending out a message like this is very out-of-character for him."

"Kolivan has a point," Keith stepped forward, sharp eyes focused directly on Allura. "Lotor likes to play head games. I wouldn't put it past him to use and manipulate a family with on-the-fence loyalties to get our attention. We can't let ourselves get so distracted by little moves we lose sight of his grander scheme... that kind of thinking's been getting us caught in too many traps lately."

"That's a valid concern," Shiro placed (what appeared to be) a comforting hand on Keith's left shoulder, but Allura noticed the way his entire body bristled under the touch. "War is more than just a battle here and there. We have to stay focused on the big picture, but, this one is more than just Lotor... we're trying to build a Coalition. Sometimes little risks like these can pay off in the end."

Keith clenched his jaw, muscles jumping just under the skin as familiar tensions churned around them. For a moment, Allura thought he might finally challenge the former Black Paladin- that they were all about to witness the metaphorical band snapping. This has been brewing a while now… I really did hope it wouldn't come to this. Instead, she watched his expression fall blank before her eyes: closing off completely even as his stiff stance remained. Allura's initial instinct was to support Shiro, the man she chose in the very beginning to lead her paladins through battle. But Black rejected him… Keith has that position now. Memories of the last battle, of Shiro's voice telling them to lower their shields and "deal with the consequences," warred with the confident, warm, smiling image standing before her. The image of a born leader. I see so much of father in him, blue eyes shifted to Keith then- remembering the tenacity with which he fought in that same battle, the determination and desire to protect she felt through her Lion's Bond. In both of them. I don't know what to do. A heavy churning sensation settled low in her gut. Who do I support? How do I make that decision?

"Trust me, taking risks is not something Mr. Lets-Fly-Straight-Into-the-Weird-Red-Mist- Planet-with-no-intel has a problem with," Lance cut in. He leaned over Keith's right, pointed chin hovering mere centimeters above the red-white pauldron. "I'm honestly more surprised he isn't flying down in Black already."

"I'm not that impulsive!"

"Yeah, you kinda are," Hunk said as Pidge snickered at their familiar banter. A feeling resembling pride swelled, catching in Allura's throat. Lance's inane comment had succeeded in dispelling the dark atmosphere hovering between paladins. He really has stepped up to the role of second nicely. I have to admit, Red chose well.

"Guys, back on topic," Shiro sighed, his soft tone (somehow) sucking all good will from the previous interaction. Pidge coughed to cover her laughter, reaching up to adjust her glasses needlessly, while Hunk and Lance shared a mutually awkward look. Keith attempted to bore twins holes through the floor in the ensuing silence.

"I don't believe it's worth risking Voltron," Kolivan began, regarding their tense rapport with trepidation. "But myself? Possibly."

"And what will the Blades do if something happens to you?" Keith snapped, whirling around to face him.

"Then my position falls to the next in our chain of command," Kolivan said, enunciating as though imparting information to a green recruit. Probably a fair assessment, Allura realised, considering Keith had recently taken up training with the Marmora. "Our mission is more important than any one individual and we've made contingency plans to ensure no loss will cripple the entire cause. No one is worth sacrificing the mission for."

"So you're just going down there? By yourself?"

"I was the scout sent to assess Hazar. We got along well… I would even go so far as to say we developed the beginnings of a friendship. He might recognize me and put in a good word with his father," Kolivan's yellow gaze flicked to Allura's, expectant. "It's a possible advantage."

"True," she hummed, gears turning in her head. Keith's right, we can't just send him alone... but who to pick to represent the… ah, yes. Perfect. "It's settled, then," she clapped her hands. "I will contact Mozak immediately and accompany Kolivan down to Drule with the Blue…"

She was interrupted by a cacophony of-

"No!"

"But, Princess…"

"You can't!"

"This sounds like the transport hub mission all over again…"

"What if they get their hands on Blue?!"

"I will stay with Blue!" Allura shouted over their protests, silencing any further dissent with a roving glare. "I'll fall back during talks and be ready to take off at a moment's notice… but the message was sent to Voltron. Kolivan is a valued member of our Coalition and he shall have our support."

"Why you, though?" Coran spoke up from his place beside Kolivan.

"Because," she swallowed, searching for the right words. "I'm not just a paladin. As the last representative of Altea… I'm a fellow leader in the Alliance. My presence will not only represent Voltron, but show solidarity among the Coalition members."

"Yeah… by the way, how's that going?" Pidge muttered, clearly not intending to be heard. Allura's Altean ears still caught the snide comment.

"And that's exactly why I have to set an example!" she glanced between her paladins: from Hunk's uncertainty, Pidge's surliness, Shiro's disapproval, Keith's downturned gaze, to Lance's pout. Finally, her eyes landed on Kolivan behind them all- stance firm and lips twitching slightly upwards in a not-quite-successful attempt to hide his burgeoning smile. The sight solidified certainty in her decision.

"If we want this Alliance to work, we need to dedicate ourselves fully to it. Not just when it's convenient or safe for us to do so. How can we expect our allies to follow suit otherwise?"

"The Princess is right," Coran said, taking a resolute step forward. She saw fear (for her) shining through his pale purple eyes, but also unwavering support. "We need to put work in now to ensure the Coalition survives past the immediacy of war. Or else, what's stopping another imperial force from rising to take the Galra's place? What's that phrase number two used a while back? Piece and conquer?"

"You mean, divide and conquer?"

"Yes! That!"

"Well… I guess that's that, then," Shiro sighed, ending the conversation before Keith could. The red armored paladin stood passive, making no attempts to reassert his leadership. "We're heading for Drule. Everyone, stand by in your Lions in case Allura and Kolivan need support."

Several vargas later, a prismic wormhole swirled into existence above Drule, spitting out the majestic white castleship and dissipating as the craft fell into orbit. The Blue Lion shot free from its hangar shortly afterwards. Allura stared at the dreary, cloud-striped surface on her view screen, wishing Blue had extra controls to fiddle self-consciously with as distraction from the stock-still presence behind her seat. Her pink paladin armor (sculpted to a perfect fit) felt irrationally tight in the awkward quiet- punctuated by the occasional beep from Blue's navigation instruments.

"I wanted to thank you," Kolivan spoke up suddenly, halting another nervous shift in her chair. "For what you said… earlier. The Blade of Marmora appreciates all the support you've given us. I," he paused as though to collect his thoughts. "I never believed I would see Zarkon's fall in my lifetime. Our cause has always been understood as a legacy action, but your Coalition and Voltron have given us hope for an end in sight. Your words were a reminder that hope wouldn't exist without you."

"Of course," she responded, heat flushing through her cheeks at the unexpected praise. "The Voltron Alliance was my own father's legacy… I will always take my role and responsibilities within it seriously. You have my word."

"Is that… what your proposal was about?" he asked, hesitant.

Allura glanced back furtively, noting how the tint from her visor and soft blue cockpit light seemed to strangely mute him. Yet, Kolivan's stance remained strong, squared, the hard set of his unmasked jaw pronounced by the dark hood drawn up over his crested crown.

"The Galra from before were familiar with marriage treaties, albeit with a few differences from Altean conventions," like monogamy, she added mentally. "Has that changed?"

"The Galra haven't been interested in peace for a long time," Kolivan snorted, derisive. "And… the Blade tends to recruit military-aged or younger. Most of us weren't of an age to indulge in such practices and, while Blades sometimes do seek comfort amongst themselves, we tend to avoid such liabilities in general."

"So, Galra marry older now?" she hummed curiously. "That's different. I distinctly remember them preferring otherwise. They claimed younger Galra bore stronger, healthier children."

"That's still true," Kolivan said, confusing her. "The matter of bearing and siring children is handled by the military during a Galra's service. Genetics and career records determine who is coupled with who to ensure the best possibly offspring. A poor enough record can disqualify someone from the process."

"You mean, you're just forced to marry whoever the military decides for you?!" she gasped. That sounds almost like how Hunk described those horrible arranged marriages on Earth.

"Of course not," he chuffed lightly in ironic amusement. "Marriage implies emotional attachment… potential loyalty to something other than Zarkon's Empire, and the military can't have that. Assigned partners meet up for the sole purpose of procreation. The children that result are handed over to a government-run creche soon as they're weaned. Only a few noble families (like the Teles') have enough political power to demand custody of any children they bear or sire."

"Did you… ?" she couldn't finish the question. The very idea of being forced to create a child with someone not of her choice, and then entrusting it to the mercy of a power cruel as the Galra Empire, made her feel ill.

"No, I was very early in my service when I left to join the Blade and not regarded well by my superiors before then," his lips quirked in the same restrained smile she remembered from their encounter on the holodeck. "I never went undercover long enough for it to become an issue either. We always try our best to pull agents out before then… "

"That's... reassuring," she breathed a sigh of relief, slumping against her white cushioned backrest. "What do Galra marry for then? If children are not a factor?"

"Companionship after military retirement," he shrugged as though the answer were obvious. "Most Galra stay long past their mandatory service since jobs outside the military are fewer and don't provide as well. Children rarely happen between old married couples," his voice grew suddenly bitter as he continued, piquing Allura's interest. "The few that do are considered weaker and inferior to their optimally bred peers… and elderly parents can't shield a child from that stigma for long. Especially when they die of old age before that child can even join the military."

"I see," Allura murmured, mind spinning from his revelations. Words can't fathom what Zarkon has done… even to his own people! She turned back to face the view screen fully. "My proposal must have sounded absurd to you, then. I apologize for bringing it up."

"Don't. Once you explained it the logic was sound. Just, I need time to," he grumbled lowly in seeming frustration. "I should be the one apologizing for my hesitance. Marriage isn't something I thought I'd ever consider."

"I understand," she nodded. They broke through Drule's atmospheric barrier, striations of pale yellow clouds wizing past her screen in the new silence. I can't just leave it on this note… what could I… wait…

"We still have our old records on the castleship!" Allura exclaimed, visibly startling her companion. "I mean, we have records about Galra society pertinent to our diplomatic relations with them at the time… it's probably not a full picture, or even the same, really… but they're there, if you or anyone else in the Blade of Marmora were interested…"

"Thank you, Princess Allura," he cut off her babble, words laced with genuine gratitude. "Your generosity is appreciated."

She beamed, the air around them warm and open once again. He may be Galra… but Kolivan has suffered as well. All the soldiers have. She remembered their fight against the Druids (his blade flying free in a thrown arc to intercept blows meant for her), their encounter on the observation deck afterwards, and then that vulnerable moment on the holodeck. The almost smile struggling to crack through his strong jaw. He's a good person. Truly.

Soft blue light flashed a violent red, followed by blaring alarms.

"What?!" Allura jumped in her seat, whirling around to scan the viewscreen for whatever threat had set off Blue's sensor's.

"There!" Kolivan pointed over her armored shoulder with a clawed finger, glowing three-eyed mask in place. Four purple-red Galra fighters materialised through the yellow clouds, raining laser fire on the Blue Lion soon as they flew in range.

"Of course," she mumbled, yanking the control handles backward to dodge. "If it seems too good to be true…"

"This was an anticipated outcome," Kolivan's distorted voice assured her. He cocked his head, resting a supportive hand atop her pilot's seat. "We're prepared for this."

"Right," she nodded, reaching to switch on her Lion's comm. "Paladins… it looks like we're being greeted by a not-so-friendly welcoming committee." She tightened her grip on the controls as everyone's calls to action echoed in her ears, Kolivan's presence a reassuring warmth at her side.

"Let's go, Blue," she whispered, pushing forward.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"... know exactly what people on Altea are saying about my marriage. Don't be one of them."

"That's not what I… hold on."

Allura paused in her play as the static-laced voice and a pair of hurried footsteps stopped at the office door. Uh, oh! Heart racing, she ducked behind thick lavender curtains, clutching her dolls tight to her chest in the purple-tinged darkness. There were only two places in the castle Allura was forbidden from entering completely: the alchemy labs and her mother's office. The latter had a detailed map of the capital city painted across the floor- winding roads fashioned out of silver gilt, colorful tile in various shapes denoting landmarks (names written in delicate black script underneath), and reflective blue stone cut to represent water in anything from natural ponds to Altean-made fountains. The map was a perfect setting for acting out stories with her favorite toys. She held her breath, anxious, as the door slid open, having already been caught and punished twice in the last movement for succumbing to the map's temptation.

"Alright, I'm in my office," Queen Ariella sighed, followed by scrapping chair legs and a heavy thunk against her white oval desk. Allura inhaled the musty air of her hiding place, scooting sideways to peek out between the curtain gap. She couldn't see much of her mother, save the cascade of white curls hanging down the woman's back and vibrant pink skirts spilling over the side of her chair; of the desk, however-

"Oh? Am I a business call now?" the static voice sounded from a portable screen on the desktop. A vaguely familiar grey-haired Altean glared at her mother from the projection, features sharp as her tongue.

"I know you're still mad at Lorah, but don't project those frustrations on me. You know me better than that."

"I would have said the same about Lorah once too," the woman's tone grew more subdued. "I apologize for snapping… I'm just... tired of people butting into my marriage. I knew people wouldn't understand the choices I made, but I thought my family and friends would at least try! Now they're asking questions about what Zarkon allows me to do?! As if I'm some simpering damsel being controlled by a domineering husband! Do they even know me?!"

"I know. Zarkon's nothing like that and neither are you," the Queen replied. "And they shouldn't have to understand your decisions to respect them. But, please, Honvera, try not to hold it against Lorah… you don't visit much anymore and your family worries…"

"And they aren't capable of coming to Daibazaal?" the woman- Honerva countered, tone dripping bitterness. "Did you know the only time they ever travelled to visit me was for our wedding? My mother did nothing but complain the entire time- about how dry the climate is, the bland landscape, the servants being too quiet… don't get me started on the scene she made when she found out I wasn't wearing traditional Altean wedding garb. And then they left the morning after! At least my sister had a legitimate excuse to leave early… she's a doctor! Mother stays home and writes history texts all quintant."

"Honerva…"

"And I'm doing delicate, important work here. My experiments on the rift can't just be put on hold at whim! I know you understand that... your husband was part of the initial team, Alfor created Voltron!"

Allura gasped at the mention of Voltron, and immediately slapped a hand over her tratorious mouth. Stupid, stupid!

"Wait, who's there?!"

Bright light stung Allura's eyes as the curtain was pushed aside. She cried out, dropping her dolls to physically shield her face. Slowly, she lowered her arms- squinting at the furious countenance of Queen Ariella, mouth twisted and pink facial mark flushed dark in her ire.

"ALLURA! What have I told you about playing in my office?!"

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"Princess Allura," Kolivan called, halting her departure from the hangar alongside the other paladins. She turned, removing her helmet to face him equally unmasked. "Do you have time to accompany me to the observation deck? I... have something to show you."

"Of course. Should I call back the others?"

"No, this is a… personal request," he walked past her then, indicating she should follow with a subtle nod.

"Oh, alright," she fell into step beside him, reaching up to fluff the flattened curls piled high atop her head. "I hope everything is well?"

"Don't worry, the matter is just of a personal nature. I'd rather not have an audience." Allura nodded her understanding, letting a comfortable silence fall over their trek down the brightly-lit hall. Their heavy boots thunked against the polished floor in an offbeat rhythm.

"By the way, how is Keith?" she asked after several ticks. "We haven't received many communications from him since he left."

"He's adjusting well," Kolivan answered with a slight shrug. "Still a bit of an upstart, but youths willing to join a rebel cause usually are. I wasn't much different when I first joined. You either grow out of it… or you don't."

"Well, if anyone's going to prove the exception to that rule, it's Keith," Allura said, shaking her head fondly. "Still, we worry when we don't hear from him in so long…"

"I'll be sure to pass on your regards," he paused at the observatory entrance, keying open the door. "Perhaps a reminder of your concerns will prompt him to make a long overdue call."

"Thank you, I appreciate it. We all do," she smiled, sidestepping as he gestured for her to enter ahead of him. Allura paused to take in the darkened room, as always illuminated only by dim blue-green emergency light strips by the door and (through the wide window-wall at the far end) the expansive universe. Moment-of-initial-awe passed, she turned to address Kolivan, scrunching her nose at a sudden sweet permeance in the air; the scent stirred a powerful sense of nostalgia in the corners of her mind.

"Now, what was…" she gasped.

Kolivan had moved to stand beside her at the window, framed by stars. Pink and yellow nebula clouds swelled behind him: a fitting visual to compliment the naggingly familiar fragrance engulfing the space around them. He stretched a large purple hand towards her and cradled in his upturned palm was-

"How… where did you…"

"I found them in a greenhouse during our last mission on Pollux," he explained somewhat haltingly. "The gardener called them jurai lillies and claimed they were cultivated thousands of decaphoebs ago from their long lost sister planet, Altea. The original name has been forgotten by their people."

"A juniberry flower," she whispered in a rush of breath, removing her black gloves and reaching tentative fingers towards the soft crinkled petals. "There was a field of them beside the palace… I used to play there as a child. To see one again..." I thought this vision was lost with my father's memory.

"There's more," he said, depositing the fuchsia flower into her trembling hands as he reached for a small brown drawstring bag knotted on his belt. "Seeds, to plant a piece of your old home wherever you decide to make your new one," his voice fell into an almost scripted cadence. "With this gift I make a promise, and declare my intent."

"Intent?"

"Galra exchange gifts," Kolivan shifted his weight in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. "Engagement gifts. It's… one of the few traditions we've retained, even if only among older Galra."

"Oh," Allura gasped as realization dawned. With that realization, though, came a sudden fear: one intensified by the presence of an unexpected gift. I thought I knew what to expect when I made my proposal… but... "I'm touched… truly, words couldn't do justice to how much your gift means to me."

"So you accept?"

"I'm the one who proposed to you initially," she responded with arched brow, attempting to ground her fears amidst a more light-hearted mood. "I take it you accept mine?"

"Of course. That was my intent."

"Of course," she parroted in playful jest, hugging the flower delicately against her chest. "Alteans don't give engagement gifts to their intended, though… I suppose, we need to discuss this now," Allura sighed, averting her gaze to the blinking stars outside the observatory window. "What each one of us expects out of this marriage and how we're going to make it work."

"I never intended to take a spouse," Kolivan said with an offhand air. As though that decision wasn't steeped in a horrible reality. "And this arrangement is already far outside the realm of current Galra marriage practices. I don't have many expectations."

He took one of Allura's hands (leaving the other to cradled her flower) and gripped it with his own. She was instantly struck by the contrast. Brown fingers with blunt nails against purple skin and sharp claws. Even her vambrace (pink and white) clashed against his silver-accented black. So different...

"Did you know Zarkon was married to an Altean woman before the war?" she blurt out, panic cresting over her wall of levity.

"I… knew Zarkon had a wife in the past," he spoke slowly, passing nebula dust reflecting yellow off his shocked face. "She's barely mentioned in the Empire's histories. Most of us… I assumed she was Galra, and was lost with the destruction of Daibazaal."

"No and she died before," Allura took refuge in the comfortable realm of explanation. "I was young at the time… Coran knows the story better than I do. But, I do remember some… Honerva moved off-planet to be with him and adopted Galra traditions. She practiced monogamy for him. And in the end, his attachment…. His obsession with her and the power she discovered helped lead to the original Alliance's demise. I… we can't be like them."

"We won't," he declared. "You have my word."

"Even if that means I'm not monogamous?"

A pregnant pause stretched between them in the aftermath of that statement. Allura felt her heart break at the myriad of emotions awash across Kolivan's face: aghast, dejection, sorrow, resignation. But she couldn't take back her ultimatum, there's still an expectation of monogamy. I'm glad Zarkon hasn't managed to take that on top of everything else, but he has to understand… I'm not Galra and I won't be trapped like that.

The unguarded moment lasted only a couple ticks, yet, to Allura, entire vargas appeared to pass before his expression shifted to a familiar stoic resolve. He regarded her with the same seriousness he did a debriefing as he placed the brown seed bag in the hand he held. He's really… why is my throat so tight? Why can't I breathe? He bent to her eye-level and she could almost hear the phase cycling through his brain: like a mission.

"Even so," he whispered, backlit by starlight.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

A familiar chuckle caught Allura's attention, drawing her gaze towards a fondly remembered alcove down the hall. Memories hit her before she could register the new sight: of Kalor leading her there by the hand several phoebs back, settling beside her on the soft grey lounge, pale blue facial markings practically fluorescent against the warm tan of his skin as he leaned over slowly- kissing her senseless. She remembered staring into his dual tone blue-gold eyes after, heart beating a frenetic rhythm and tongue a useless weight at the back of her throat. He opened his mouth then, and the first compliments spilled forth.

"Awe-inspiring."

"Exquisite."

"A vision beyond compare."

She had giggled, genuinely flattered in a way only youthful naivete could be, peering up through curled lashes to blink coyly like her holos had shown. Kalor's flirtatious chuckle in response had been quite the confidence boost. He tossed back artfully styled amber-brown curls with a playful flick of his head and suddenly no other would do for Allura. Kalor was perfect on every front- the rare combination of charismatic, well-read scholar, and stupidly attractive. Numerous court ladies vied for his affections each quintant, yet she was the one kissing him; the one pulling him down dim blue-lit halls to her bedroom door. That night was wonderful. They tumbled atop her pale bedsheets, laughing, and Kalor had been gentle: guiding her through physical pleasure the likes of which she only knew secondhand from stories. No, that night had been perfect. He held her afterwards, stroking limp white curls from her damp forehead as she giggled and giggled through the afterglow-

But the giggle she heard alongside his chuckling now wasn't hers.

Reality finally pierced the veil of wistful memory. Allura blinked at the couple currently intertwined on that same pale grey lounge, completely oblivious to her presence in the quiet hall. She recognised the crown of Kalor's carefully coiffed curls instantly. His winsome smile was buried in another woman's bright orange-red hair, an inaudible murmur all Allura could make out of the honeyed words undoubtedly being whispered in her tawny, pointed ear.

"Kal… please," she gasped between titters. Allura's face burned, eyes stinging as she watched his lips brush under the woman's jaw (further than he ever would have dared with her in public) before trailing wet kisses down a long craned neck.

"Kal…"

Allura couldn't stand anymore. She rushed past them, teeth clenched and chest unbelievably tight. Raw emotion drove her down the corridors, through one blind turn after another, until the sound of her bedroom door clicking shut behind cleared the haze. She fell backwards, doorknob digging along the curve of her spine as stinging eyes landed on the bed front and center, fresh and pristinely made- as if that night never happened… as if any of the other nights never...

And Kal? What kind of name… who ever called him that? Using pet names had never occurred to her during their three-phoeb relationship. Not once. But, he didn't have a special name for me either, she reasoned, before a fresh wave of envy steered her thoughts back into dangerous territory. Does he call her by one too?

Liquid salt welled in a sudden rush behind her lids; she closed them to dam the flow. Deep breathes, several ticks of darkness- freedom from clean sheets, glass-filtered moonlight, and the ghost of gentle tan fingers- was all Allura needed for calm logic to ground her frenzy.

There's no reason… I shouldn't be upset over this.

They had parted on amicable terms. Allura remembered the excitement she had felt then: the dizzying blur of anxious quintants filled with manic distraction as she prepared (for the first time!) to accompany her father on his bi-deca-phoeb intergalactic tour. She welcomed the extra responsibility, though the increased workload on top of an already packed royal schedule left her at wit's end some evenings. Kalor had been Allura's solace amidst the chaos- bringing plates of sliced fruit to her desk while she worked, drawing her away for much needed breaks with kisses and the promise of more.

"I will miss you," he spoke softly in the aftermath of their last night together. "The castle won't be the same without your presence to fill it."

"Father says the trip should last just over a phoeb," she had said, turning to nuzzle his bare shoulder. "Maybe two if circumstances call for it."

"Two phoebs too long," he whispered, reaching up to brush delicate, sweeping strokes across her dark pink facial marks (still flushed from their previous activities). "It doesn't change the fact… I will still miss you."

Allura had recognized the goodbye in his words then. She was young, not foolish; she understood lovers only existed in the present. Once separated by a significant amount of time and space, there were no promises.

"Let us make the most of tonight, then," she had answered, pouncing on him with a playful shriek.

Two long phoebs of space travel, one call squeezed between her busy schedule early in the trip, multiple cold beds, and a final lonely homecoming banquet later- Allura realised that a strange part of her had hoped. She had hoped to find Kalor waiting for her return, professing his inability to move on after her. She wanted the impossible: a return to way they were before. Instead, he's entertaining another woman on our couch… a woman who calls him Kal... She paused on that bitter thought. What am I thinking? We were lover's… we barely even kept in contact while I was away. That isn't how it works… this is fine. Still, despite her appeals to logic, jealousy festered.

"What is wrong with me?" she whispered into the empty room, holding back tears she had no right to.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

"Princess Allura of Altea, I presume?"

Allura turned from her (rather two-sided) conversation with Kolivan and Rax to face the newcomer properly, arm still loosely linked around her intended's.

"Yes," she responded, donning what Lance dubbed her podium-smile. The castleship receiving hall was crowded with old and recent Coalition leaders alike; she didn't recognize the one before her. "'Princess' is more of an honorary title these days, though."

"And certainly one befitting of a woman with such regal bearing," his bright blue lips pulled back in a wide smile, exposing two rows of straight white teeth. He was tall in a willowy, lanky-proportioned way: his narrow waist and shoulders paired with long slender limbs. In fact, Allura thought he strongly resembled a stretched out Altean man- with the exception of his colorful lips, lack of facial markings, and the complete absence of visible hair anywhere on his body. I don't think he even has eyelashes, Allura marvelled as she stared into his dual-toned blue eyes- noticing what appeared to be the edge of an extra, protective clear lid in the corners.

"Ah! Forgive my manners... I'm afraid I was caught a bit starstruck in your presence!" he bent over in a hunched bow, scooping up her free hand with long pale greyish fingers and pressing the back against his bald forehead in an unmistakable gesture of fealty. "I am Lord Kassa of Venoza. It is an honor to make your acquaintance. Truly."

"Thank you, Lord Kassa. Likewise," Allura dipped her head in lieu of bowing. "I remember Venoza… I paid a visit to your famed Crystal City with my father before the war. It was absolutely stunning… I hope time has been kind to such a beautiful place."

"I wish I could say it has," Kassa sighed, releasing her hand and rising to his full, impressive height. "I'm afraid our rainbow spires and the famous faceted tower wall have suffered significant damage over the decaphoebs… and we sadly lack the manpower to keep up with necessary repairs, but we do what we can. So much has been taken from us by the Galra… it's important to hold onto and preserve what we can."

"That… is a sentiment I can relate to," Allura murmured, squeezing her blue eyes shut. Everyday, I'm reminded no one was left untouched by Zarkon's conquest. No one. She tilted her chin up to meet the Venozan lord's gaze and continued with an empathetic smile. "If there is anything we can do to help you rebuild, Voltron is at your service. It would break my heart to see such a wonder as the Crystal City become another casualty of this war."

"You are too generous, Princess," Kassa bobbed in a shallow bow. "Truly, such great beauty can only be rivaled by your heart. That Venosa would be so honored… oh, but you simply must come see the Crystal City! Your lovely presence alone would be enough to light the spires to their former glory once more."

"You flatter me," Allura laughed: amused by his flirtatious attentions, but hardly smitten.

"Is it possible to flatter such grace?" he leaned down to curl a casual (bordering on inappropriate) hand around her upper arm. "Truly though, if Voltron does pay a visit, I would be only too glad to give a personal tour of…"

"Pardon my intrusion, but I don't believe we have been introduced."

"Pardon your… what," the Venozan lord sputtered in a bout of verbal whiplash. Allura herself took a moment to process Kolivan's interruption; she hadn't even realized his conversation with Rax ended.

"Ah, excuse me," she shook her head, falling easily into diplomatic introductions. "This is Lord Kassa of Venoza. Lord Kassa, this is Kolivan, leader of the Blade of Marmora and my betrothed."

"Ah, the Blade of Marmora. Your reputation precedes you," Kassa nodded bruskly at the Galra rebel, expression softening as he turned his attention back to Allura. "And a bit of a surprise, I must say. I had heard of your… unusual arrangement, of course, but even my wildest expectations couldn't prepare me for the sight itself! The two of you side by side are... quite a contrast."

The wide, open hall was suddenly too constraining. Heat rushed through Allura's body, blooming across her cheeks before dropping to settle in her squirming gut. Beside her, Kolivan appeared calm, stoic; only Allura felt the way his bicep tensed under her fingertips.

"Why, your story almost reminds me of Beauty and the Nemoidian! A true inter-galactic classic… though," the Venozan cocked his head, glancing down-nose at her betrothed. "I suppose you won't be surprising us with a DNA transformation in the near future, will you? Now that would be a shock!"

Kolivan's jaw visibly tensed. Allura was frozen: mortified and struck speechless. She couldn't think, let alone react to such crass statements.

"I'm afraid I never had much taste for literature," he responded with the thinnest of polite veneers. As he turned to address her, Kassa leaned forward and Kolivan's mouth twisted into something ugly yet familiar. The motion was brief, a blink-and-you-miss, but Allura was certain of what she saw.

"I believe I spotted Hazar by the castle entryway. I need to speak with him about some future supply runs."

"Oh, of course," Allura released his arm. She watched numbly as he hesitated several ticks, yellow eyes asking a question she couldn't comprehend in the moment, before departing through the crowd.

"Well," Kassa scoffed, still standing uncomfortably close. "It seems even decent Galra can't handle a little levity. Who do you think has a better sense of humor… him or a broken door?"

He burst out laughing at his own joke, several surrounding dignitaries tittering along with him, but Allura remained silent. That expression... She stared in the direction Kolivan had disappeared, mouth pulled into a pensive frown. I know that feeling. I've felt it before too… with, Allura paused on that thought. Her mind was spinning, caught in a memory loop between a long dead Altean boy with amber-brown curls and a half-recalled conversation with her father in the middle of the night.

Jealous… Kolivan was jealous. And I…

"I don't know about humor, but he certainly has better manners than you," she said, steel voice cutting through the alienating atmosphere. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Allura spun on heel and strode off before the gobsmacked Venozan could counter her verbal slap.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Allura lay awake in bed on the eve of her mother's funeral, biting back sobs amidst the oppressive quiet of a castle in mourning. Her eyes stung: swollen and throbbing in tandem with gasping breaths through a stuffed nose. Thick, slimy mucus slid down the back of her throat on each forceful inhale. Is this what mother felt before she… ? Allura couldn't bring herself to finish the thought- to acknowledge her mother was truly gone. She hadn't even been allowed at the Queen's bedside for those final moments, the royal doctor having whisked her away to quarantine soon as she realised Queen Ariella's escalating cough was not a case of the common niffles.

"Go back to your room! Hock plague is incredibly contagious!" Doctor Lorah had snapped as Allura struggled in her arms, squirming with all her childish might to push past the high arched door of the Queen's bedchamber.

"B… but… mother!"

"Please, Princess," Lorah sighed, kneeling to face the distraught child eye-to-eye. Her expression had been lax with calm, though the rumpled state of her white doctor's coat and lopsided grey hair bun belied any serenity the facade offered. "We all just want to keep you safe and healthy. Your mother too. Three maids have already caught this illness from her… she would be devastated if you got sick as well."

"Al… alright," Allura sniffed, conceding as the doctor pulled her further down the hall.

The air was wound fearfully tense (had been since the diagnosis that morning), but she had wanted so desperately to believe Doctor Lorah's steady stream of reassurances then. Don't worry… everything will be fine… we're all working hard to get the Queen better… just give it another movement… your mother is strong, she'll recover just fine... Allura repeated those thoughts to herself when she sat alone in her room afterwards, listening to hurried footsteps and fragmented whispers beyond her door. It's alright. She would be strong, like mother. She didn't protest- not when breakfast was sent up as a late afterthought the following morning, or when (for the first time) Alfor returned early from his mission and didn't visit his daughter immediately after. It's alright, she continued to reason through the piercing tightness in her chest and hollow emptiness of her bedroom. Everyone's just helping mother get better. It's alright...

Her mother passed five quintants later. The young princess wailed when the news reached her closed off room. Coran burst in to console her within dobashes of the first loud cry, warm arms drawing her in and pressing a snot-sticky face against the clean lapel of his blue suit- the same bright blue all court members and advisors wore. She clung to the familiarity.

"W… where is... father?" she finally asked between messy sobs, peeking up through tear-clumped eyelashes.

"Oh... he'll… be here soon, Princess," Coran had assured her, smile wan beneath his thick orange moustache. "The King," her brain stuck a moment on the title change: father's always called King-Consort, "grieves for your mother too. But just you wait and see! I bet he'll be all put together and here in time to tuck you in with a brand new bedtime story! Don't you worry."

But Alfor never came that night- or the morning after. Coran returned carrying twin trays for lunch, complexion paler and blue facial marks sagging in apparent exhaustion. Allura kept her tongue throughout the meal, letting him fill the atmosphere with idle chatter, giving a subdued "yes" when he offered to stay for a 'short' game or two of Dejarik. Even young as she was, Allura recognized the distraction tactic. Dejarik was an infamously lengthy game with flashy holograph images, simple rules, and numerous playable routes.

"Do you know when father's coming?" she broached the subject two vargas into their first round, absently flicking a finger to move her holographic yupper avatar further across the round playing table.

"Soon… he just needs a bit more time," Coran answered, directing his wampa avatar next to her yupper. "And with that I challenge you to a wampa-yupper battle! Keep on your toes, Princess, I won't hold back!" The blinking command screen hovering mid-air distracted her. Several dobashes later, she was watching Coran's wampa drag her defeated yupper off-board and making detailed plans to use her nexu avatar for revenge. They played until the sky had long grown dark outside her window.

"My, my, look at the time! We should call it a night," Coran sighed as he stood, stretching until his back gave a dramatic pop. "The maids are coming up early to get you ready for tomorrow," his flippant tone slipped then into a somber one. "They're... laying the Queen to rest in the morning…"

"Oh," Allura nodded numbly. "Will father be there?"

"... Yes, Princess. We all will be."

She couldn't sleep. Sheer curtains hanging above her bed filtered the minuscule light of her darkened room into abstract shadows across the ceiling. The tears had spilled over less than a varga after Coran left and showed no signs of stopping. I want… I want… the young princess couldn't finish the thought. She was overwhelmed; she wasn't ready to deal with the storm in her head. She wanted to hear her mother's comforting voice, to see her father's assuring smile, to play games without pretense- but, I'm all alone...

"Allura?"

She turned to face the open door, unheard through her choking sobs. Alfor hovered at the threshold: eyes bloodshot and white hair falling from his haphazard ponytail, yet still tall. Still what Allura needed.

"I thought I heard… what are you doing awake at this varga?"

"F… Father," she reached for him, little fingers grabbing. I want… He rushed towards her: settling on the bed and gathering her into his arms for a crushing hug. She clutched just as desperately at the pale violet-blue fabric of his nightshirt.

"I," she hiccupped. "I miss mother…"

"Oh, little princess," Alfor sighed, rubbing comforting circles across her back. "There, there… let it all out. I know it's hard…"

"B… but you got to see her! They… they didn't let me… and now I can't!"

"Goodbyes don't always make you feel better," he said, lifting the teardrop pendant now hanging from a golden chain around his neck. "Sometimes they just make you want to cling harder." Allura blinked at the deep blue stone, moonlight catching on the faceted surface as he rolled the gem between deft fingers. She recognized the necklace- had spotted it sitting in a place of prominence on her father's bedroom bookshelf several times. He never wore it.

"See this here? This was a gift… from your mother. She claimed the stone reminded her of my eyes…" he paused, swallowing loudly before continuing. "I've had it sitting in my room all these decaphoebs… but today, I couldn't bring myself to leave without it. She gave me this with intention… and, I found myself thinking, she may be gone, but her intent is still there. Here… in the gift she gave. I'm not quite ready to let it go yet."

"A birth gift," Allura nodded, knowing the only time her parents exchanged gifts was during birth celebrations. "It's pretty."

"Ah, no… it's... not a birth gift," her father chuckled nervously, confusing his young daughter even more. "She gave me this before the engagement. I don't think our families had even been considering possible negotiations at that point."

"You knew each other for that long?! I didn't know that!"

"Oh, yes," his smile shifted between wistful and pensive as his blue eyes dimmed with memory. "We knew each other… quite well. I first saw her in the gardens on my second quintant at the palace, after my parents moved the family to accept alchemy positions in the labs here. She was so beautiful… but I didn't have the courage to speak to her. We didn't exchange a word until she approached me on the fourth quintant," he chuckled as Allura leaned forward, hanging on every word.

"Your mother has always been one of the loveliest, most generous leaders in the known universe... I saw that even then. Nothing ever could (or will) compare to her."

(Allura didn't understand then, but, over the following decaphoebs, she would eventually piece the clues together. The final puzzle-piece slotted into place during the first intergalactic tour she accompanied Alfor on. Allura had vague memories of her mother inviting lovers away from the dining hall- not often, but Queen Ariella had at least two regular paramours- and, her father, none. She grew-up believing he must pursue romance during his many off-planet trips. That assumption was shattered on planet Lyrax when, after a successful meeting and follow-up meal, a green-scaled woman practically threw herself into the Altean king's lap. Long, curvy legs slipped out from the high slits of her loose yellow-gauze dress. Allura had stared, certain she was witnessing a reunion between lovers. The Lyraxian leaned forward to embrace him properly, stacked bangles jingling on all four wrists and both ankles; a mass of skinny golden-brown tentacles wriggled atop her head in lieu of hair-

"You know, King Alfor… my previouss offer sstill sstandss," she said with a hissing lisp through her lipless mouth.

"And, as before, I'm flattered by your interest, Queen Amie," Alfor responded, smile thin as he gently removed two of her arms (and several curling hair-tentacles) from around his neck. "But, I'm hardly worth the attention."

"One of thesse quintantss," the Queen murmured, anklets clinking as she rose to her bare feet. "Ssomeone will finally break through that icsy exsterior of yourss."

"And how do you know someone hasn't already?"

"How do I… why, it would be the talk of the known universse!" Amie whistle-laughed. "Trusst me, I am far from the only one anticsipating ssuch a moment." Allura watched the Lyraxian Queen sashay away, the lightweight fabric of her pale yellow dress billowing dramatically, though her father hardly had eyes for the flamboyant exit. Instead, he turned to his daughter with a fond chuckle and hapless shrug, blue pendant glinting conspicuously against his crisp white formal wear. An epiphany hit her then: her parents long history, the pre-engagement gift, her father's sentimentality and penchant for tragic romances...

Alfor and then-Princess Ariella had been lovers before their families entered marriage negotiations. And, though the end of their affair was clearly a mutual one, the King-Consort's feelings remained unchanged until he died.)

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Allura stood before the largest room in the castle guest quarters, wringing her hands and staring anxiously at the closed silver door. Dim blue light gave the hallway an eerie glow, creepy in the way only a mostly empty castleship during its night cycle could achieve. Anxious fingers found their way to the pale green fabric of her open robe: folding and twisting as she remained rooted in place. How can a door be so intimidating? She nearly groaned out loud in frustration. What am I even doing here?

She had come on a whim, after pacing her room for nearly a varga ranting about Kassa's appalling behavior that night. The mice had made a cuddle nest atop her pillow, as always, a captive audience to her outburst-

"And then he had the nerve to just… lean into my space like that! As though his words meant nothing. I've never felt so humiliated!" she railed, flopping onto her bed afterward with Lance-like dramatic flare. Her cheeks burned, facial marks tingling as the blood beneath rushed hot.

The nerve of him! And right in front of…

Allura blinked at the odd thought. She was embarrassed, true, but the shame paled in comparison to her indignation on Kolivan's behalf. Kassa's advances weren't overt to the point of scandal (by Altean standards) and it would have been perfectly within her right to reciprocate if she so chose. I didn't desire him, though! Kolivan had absolutely no reason to get jealous.

"I feel… insulted," she confessed to the mice. Two furry little bodies hopped off the pillow next to her, a flash of pink and yellow in her peripheral. They curled together in the crook between her neck and jaw, chittering softly.

"I think I'm just too picky," she sighed. "You know, I haven't taken a lover since the fall of Altea? At first, I was just so busy trying to figure out the Coalition and taking over as Blue's Paladin… but, it's been four decaphoebs now. I still can't believe our engagement period's almost up! I should..."

But who? She wasn't attracted to anyone at the gathering tonight. Kassa was too lanky and lacking in hair. Not to mention his absolutely 'charming' personality, Allura snorted. Empty platitudes like his mean little. Just like Kalor's. Any lover I take from now on needs to be honest and to the point... without being cruel.

"What else?" she whispered, the mice against her throat chiriping in response. "Well, I've always preferred taller partners, but not too slim. Muscles are... good. Especially the arms and shoulders. And hair! I used to love running my fingers through any length… I… want to do that again. I might even be fine with fur… long as I'm broadening my horizons."

Shame no one already here fits any of that criteria… well, no one except...

(Alfor's ghost spoke in her mind then- a distant memory, "nothing ever could (or will) compare to her." And, he had loved Ariella beyond her grave. Until the day he died.)

"Oh," Allura whispered, dislodging both mice as she sat up. Chuchule and Platt immediately squeaked their discontent. "Oh!"

If Father could love my mother like that… why did I just assume I wouldn't feel the same?

She dashed across the room, throwing her green robe over pink nightclothes as the sound of mousy encouragement egged her on. Allura ran down the hall before fear or logic could hinder her, running to-

The closed door still loomed in front of her. Faced with the final plunge, she had become paralyzed. This is silly… I'm not some young blushing maid… and i know Kolivan! I should just knock…

The door slid open without prompting, revealing a perplexed Kolivan on the other side. He blinked slowly, the sleeveless grey tunic he slept in hanging loose around his thick neck. This is my betrothed and my choice. I can let myself look, her eyes trailed from the silver rope braid dangling over a broad shoulder, to the tuffs of matching hair stuck out around his felid ears in a close approximation of bed head. Kolivan always radiates an air of tough capability… I didn't realize he could look so… adorably disheveled. An electric shiver ran up Allura's spine. The electricity intensified to heat in her belly as he swallowed, throat tendons flexing beneath purple skin.

"Princess… ? What are doing here? I thought you..."

Fear fled in that moment. Allura stared into his blank yellow eyes, a green cast from the hall lights washing over them both, and realized this was the future she wanted. The only future she wanted. I really am my father's daughter after all.

"I was just wondering if you wanted some company tonight," she offered, emboldened by fresh certainty.

To his credit, Kolivan only hesitated half a dobash before closing his slack jaw.

"Forgive me, but I just want to make sure… why are you here?"

"Because I want to be."

"You want..." he stared a moment at her serene expression, discerning, before he nodded: satisfied with what he saw. "Alright," he whispered, stepping aside to let her enter. "If you want to be."

The silver door slid shut after them.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

Allura never expected to love her husband. Like most Altean children, she didn't grow up dreaming of a lavish future wedding.

But, in the end, reality turned out sweeter than anything she could have possibly imagined as a girl. Allura walked through a newly-cultivated juniberry field on Earth, the silver-mirror fabric of her ceremonial garb billowing in a long train behind and reflecting rainbow fractals with each flutter. The audience was small, intimate- only the human paladins, Coran, a few former Blades, and several trusted diplomats- arranged in a tight, circular formation. She entered the circle, cheeks heat-flushed at the sight of her intended standing tall in the center. He wore his old armor (minus mask and hood) instead of traditional red Galra wedding attire: a decision made to acknowledge their cultural losses under Zarkon's regime, while honoring the Blade's role in reclaiming it. Lance's offhand comment during the wedding planning ("Makes sense… on Earth, most military officers dress in uniform for theirs.") further validated the choice.

"You look… stunning," Kolivan whispered once she reached him, his default stern expression slack with awe. Allura smiled softly, thoughts awhirl at the absurdity her life had become- a princess without a people, enduring a duty without weight. Romance had no place in an Altean marriage. Honerva's disastrous union hardly provided an example to follow (nor her father's for that matter), and yet, Allura couldn't regret falling in love with the Galra beside her.

"You cut quite a dashing figure, yourself."

They turned to face each other fully, her veiled eyes meeting his, their color a soft washed-out yellow under Sol's matching light. Blood flooded her head in a dizzying rush, sweat beading beneath the thin lace hanging from her piled curls. It's actually happening… I really am marrying this man. And when Kolivan recited his vows, cradling both her small brown hands in a massive purple one, she found indescribable beauty in the absurdity.

xxxxxx

xxxxxx

END

A/N: Woo... this was a monster of a fic and I still had to cut ideas. It was a lot of fun, though, and I think I'll just write a bunch of oneshot companion pieces in the future for scenes i didn't get a chance to delve into this time around. A Kolivan theme week is coming up in January, so I was thinking of writing some stuff from his POV in this AU too.

This was written for the Voltron Rarepair Bang on tumblr. lucia-ik did artwork for my fic as part of the bang!