A/N: Whoooooo it's finally time to post the thing! I've had this finished mostly since August, so I'm super excited to share this with everyone!
Thanks to makapedia, earth-shines , and marshofsleep for the eyes, marsh and heartxrain for being amazing artists, and the resbangmods for organising this event! It's been so much fun and I hope everyone's enjoyed it as much as I have.
WARNINGS:explicit sexual content, foul language, extremely self-depreciating thoughts.
Links to the arts will be added to my profile once they have been posted. Enjoy!
Soul sighed as he watched servants bustle about his family's great ball room. His mother stood to his left, talking rapidly at one of the butlers, gesticulating wildly. He could barely understand what his mother was saying, she was speaking so fast, and judging by the butler's face, neither could he.
"Understand?" she asked finally, once she had taken a breath.
The poor man nodded, bowed, mumbled a "yes milady", and scurried off to who knew where.
His mother turned and seemed almost surprised to find him standing beside her, despite the fact that she had called for him.
"Ah, Soul, my dear son," she said collecting herself. "I have something very important to ask of you."
He sighed again and straightened his back after catching himself slouching. Thankfully his mother seemed too distracted by the arrangements around her to notice. "Yes, mother?"
She motioned for him to follow as she walked towards the long table set against the wall, running from one end of the ballroom to the other. "When the royal family arrives tomorrow for the ball in honour of the Queen's birthday, I need you to...provide moral support for your brother." She glanced at him from over her shoulder. "By which I mean keep the Prince Father occupied while Wesley woos the Queen. Understand?"
Soul did his best not to roll his eyes. "Yes, Mother. I understood the first three times you told me as well, you know."
His mother turned and pursed her lips. "Please don't talk back to me like that, Soul, or I'll be forced to change all your announcements to the name I gave you when you were a babe."
He bristled and grumbled a little under his breath.
"Solomon?"
He pinked a little and mumbled, "Sorry, Mother."
She huffed and turned back to the table, tugging a little on the cloth as though to straighten it out. Out of the corner of his eye, Soul could see one of the maids' faces go red as she watched some of the nicer tableware move a little from his mother's efforts.
"Mother," he said, hoping to distract her. "What is Wes' battle plan for the Queen? I need to know how to help him."
His mother smiled and took his arm, dragging him to one of the balconies. "An excellent question, my dearest boy. Allow me to explain."
Soul turned his head a little to watch two maids leap forward to undo the damage his mother had unwittingly caused.
"When the Queen and her party arrive," his mother began, bringing his attention forward again, "We shall greet them at the door, and Wesley will personally offer to escort her Majesty around the house. At dinner he will be at her left, between her and your father. Then, at the ball, he will be the first to offer her a dance." She turned to him then with sharp eyes. "You will need to keep other young men away from the Queen until he does so. Use whatever means necessary. Your glare works very well. Get your elbows in if you must."
He bit back a chortle. "And then?"
His mother sighed. "And then, Wesley will simply work his charm on her as they dance, and she'll be unable to pick another partner for the rest of the evening and before you know it your brother will be at court and their engagement will be announced and your brother will be a prince!"
Soul tried really hard not to pop his mother's bubble, he really did. But, eventually, he could not resist. "What if the Queen doesn't take a liking to Wes' brand of charm? She might not like men who are universally charming, given that her father is…"
His mother huffed a little. "Well, then, I suppose…" She turned to him with a large smile. "Then I suppose you'll have to use your charm to woo her. If she doesn't like Wesley, she'll be sure to like you. Your unusual features are very charming, my darling child."
"Mother, you flatter me."
Soul clasped his hands behind his back and did his best not to fidget. He had been keeping his nerves to a minimum by tinkering with his piano, but then his mother had rushed in, squawking that the royal carriage was coming up the drive early and oh gods they weren't ready, they weren't ready!
A few words from her oldest handmaiden and his father managed to calm her, but the resulting scramble to present themselves before the royal ensemble still left Soul feeling the smallest bit sick from second hand nerves.
On the steps outside his family house, his parents and brother and all the servants were arranged in a way that was hoped would please the Queen and her entourage. In front stood the Lord Bartholomew Evans, and next to him was his wife, Lady Constance Evans, arms linked and smiles bright. Behind them and to their right stood his older brother, Wesley, tall and dashing as ever. And to their left stood Soul, hoping he did not look as frazzled as he felt.
Soul hazarded a glance at his brother and met his bright, baby blue gaze. Wes raised a finely plucked, blonde eyebrow and his mouth tilted into a smile. Soul felt his mouth react involuntarily to smile back, before he smoothed his features into his normally apathetic expression. Wes unfortunately had seen it, and would probably tease him about it later.
Prick.
Finally the royal carriage pulled up, with guards on horses and on foot arranged around it. The footman went to the carriage door and opened it, then held out a hand to help the Queen out.
Soul felt… a little underwhelmed actually.
The Queen looked rather short and thin. Her blonde hair was pinned back and her dress was modest and rather plain for such a distinguished lady. This was supposed to the woman who ruled all the land? This was the woman who held the title Dragon Queen, for the inherited ability to turn into a dragon?
No way. He called bullshit.
At least until she looked up at them. And oh. Now he understood.
Her eyes were bright, like nothing he had ever seen before. He felt like they were looking right through him, right into his soul, like they could see every secret and every fault he possessed.
He paid no attention to her father, who left the carriage after her, or to his own father as he walked down to the steps to greet her and kiss her hand and congratulate her on turning another year older. Even when she was no longer looking at him, he could not look away.
What he had mistaken for thinness was simply a litheness. She moved gracefully, and while her style was simple, she could not be mistaken for anything other than regal. She walked with an air of complete authority, and her voice carried power, even though her tone was friendly as she spoke with his father.
Soul was only broken out of his stupor when Wes was called forward to greet the Queen and the Prince Father. He swallowed as he watched his brother move forward, bow and kiss the Queen's hand like their father had, though the contact was held for longer and could only be called flirtatious. She smiled at him, and something clenched in Soul's heart painfully.
But he ignored it.
His father called him next and he walked down to bow and greet the royal family.
Up closer, Soul could see that not only were the Queen's eyes bright and shining, but that they were as green as emeralds. She did not seem startled by his unusual appearance; red eyes, white hair, and sharp teeth usually had ladies flinching as they met his gaze. He supposed it had something to do with her powers. She was used to seeing monstrous things.
"Your Majesty," he murmured as he bowed. She nodded in acknowledgement of him. When he took her hand—still wrapped in her travelling gloves—to kiss her royal ring, he kept his eyes downcast.
"Your Majesty," Wes said once Soul had taken several steps back to stand behind their parents. "Allow me to escort you to your quarters. And afterwards, if I am not too presumptuous, to show you around our home?"
The Queen smiled, though closed lipped. "It would be a pleasure to see your family's house."
Wes held out his arm, and the Queen took it. Wes led her into the house, with his parents trailing after them, leaving Soul behind with the Prince Father for a moment.
"Your Highness," Soul said, bowing again to the red-headed man who was dressed far more lavishly than his daughter. "Might I show you—"
"Thank you, but no need, I'll just follow my daughter," the Prince Father said loftily, waving him off and walking after his parents.
Soul stood there for a moment longer, to take a deep breath to give him strength, then, went after them all.
Keeping the Prince Father occupied was going to be easier said than done.
The music was lively and there were many, many people bustling about the ball room. Soul could see his mother and father conversing with a high ranking diplomat from a neighbouring kingdom on one side of the room, his brother dancing with the Dragon Queen in the centre of the room, and the Prince Father fetching a rather hefty glass of alcoholic punch from further up the long table from him.
After glancing a moment longer at Wes and the Dragon Queen (and ignoring the tug at his heart), he walked up to the Prince Father to try and engage him in conversation. For the third time.
"Your Highness," he said as he came up to the other man's side, trying to force as much cheerfulness into his voice, if only for his brother's sake. "Are you enjoying the ball?"
The Prince Father, Spirit, looked at him from other his glass as he took a sip. A long sip. Soul hoped he was getting drunk, then he'd be easier to distract.
"I know what you're doing," the Prince Father said lowly.
Soul blinked and felt his heart drop for a moment. "I'm sorry your Highness, I don't think I understand."
Spirit leaned closer and smiled. "I know what you're doing. You don't need to be embarrassed about it." Soul's eyes widened as Spirit brushed his knuckles over his cheek. "I'm flattered, but I'm not looking for a male lover at the moment. Come back in a month."
And then the Prince Father winked at him.
Soul felt his face flush hotly. "Th-that's not—!"
Spirit hushed him and grinned. "Don't worry, I'll keep your secret." And then he wandered off to talk to a couple of voluptuous courtiers who had travelled with the royal family.
Soul stood there, frozen for several moments, trying to regain control of his breathing. Once he did, he poured himself a large glass of punch and downed it in one go. The punch was not very strong though, and he was going to need the strongest stuff possible to make to erase the memory of the Prince Father's lidded gaze.
Just as he was drinking from his second glass of punch, a voice behind him said, "I see my father mistook your hospitality for flirtation, my lord. He unfortunately does that a lot."
He choked on his drink and spun round to face the Queen herself, dressed in far more splendour than she had arrived in—a layered dress of dark red, with black gloves that went up past her elbows, with a number of jewels adorning her neck, ears, and hair. He had not even noticed that the dance had ended.
"Your Majesty," he said hurriedly, bowing. "I-I did not—"
She laughed and he cut himself off, burning even more. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Evans. It's hardly your fault." She grinned teasingly at him. "I hope he didn't scare you too much."
He tried to stammer out a reply, but eventually just shut his mouth to try and get his heart rate back under control. Finally he said, "I hope my brother did not abandon you, your Majesty."
The Queen laughed some more. "Oh, not at all. I merely handed him off to one of my ladies in waiting." She turned and looked over her shoulder.
He followed her gaze, and saw Wes being spun around by a tall blonde who seemed very eager to be close to him. "Ah."
She smirked and gave him a sly look. "Your brother is everything charming, but I think my dear Miss Thompson will enjoy his company far more than I."
"I…I'm sorry to hear that, your Majesty."
She chuffed and waved him off. "Don't be." She then gave him a strange look he could not quite figure out. "I don't think I've seen you dance yet this evening Mr. Evans. Would you do me the pleasure?"
Soul suddenly became very aware that people were staring at them, including his parents across the room. He swallowed and tried to paste on a smile. "It would be a true honour, your Majesty."
He held out a hand to her and led her out to the main space. He held his wrist up against hers and held his other hand behind his back and waited a few moments for the beat, and then started to move.
He quickly learned that though the Queen might be very talented at running a country and diplomacy, she could not dance to save her life. His toes protested loudly against any notion that she could.
Once the song ended they moved to the side of the room, the Queen abashed and him limping slightly.
"I'm really sorry, my lord," she said softly, holding his elbow to help him sit, and taking the seat next to him. "I should have warned you."
"I still couldn't have refused," he blurted out, and then flushed bright red. The Queen looked taken aback and he felt icy trails of terror dance down his spine. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
She shushed him and fixed her gaze on her clasped hands, suddenly looking decidedly less like a queen, slouching a little. "I forget sometimes that people feel obliged to do as I say because of my rank," she murmured. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her back, and looked back up at him with a smile on her face.
Soul did not know how to respond to that, at all. He simply stared back at her, face probably a mixture of shock and embarrassment.
After several long moments staring at each other, the Queen turned her head to look out of the window behind them.
"Your brother didn't show me the gardens on the tour earlier," she mused aloud. "I wish I had seen them, they look very lovely." Then she fixed him with a mischievous look. "Would you mind showing me about, Mr. Evans?"
"Do-do you not need to stay here, your Majesty?" he asked feebly.
She smirked again, fire returning to her eyes. "What's life without a little adventure?"
And that was how he found himself purposefully bumping into a rather tall (and tipsy) man and spilling a glass of punch all over himself to create a diversion for the Queen to leave the hall unnoticed.
His mother shooed him off to change, and after replacing his soaked jacket with a clean shirt, he met the Queen in the arch that marked the start of the gardens.
She smiled at him as he approached and teased, "You took your time."
He bristled a little. "Apologies, your Majesty, I had to—"
She suddenly grabbed his shoulder and stared into his eyes, expression hard. "If we are to share an adventure, let's get one thing straight here. We are partners in this." She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Titles do not exist. I am not the Dragon Queen, and you are not the second son the second richest family in this kingdom. I am just Maka and you are just Soul." Her face relaxed into a slightly more pleased expression and she let go of his shoulders to take a step back. "Now—" she held out a gloved hand for him"—shall we find our adventure?"
He gaped a little at her bold statement, and then swallowed dryly. "…Yes. Let's." He slipped his hand into hers and let the corner of his mouth twitch up at the sheer absurdity of the situation. "Maka."
And then the Queen giggled and tugged him along with her into the gardens, holding her skirts up with the other hand so she could jog along.
"Shouldn't I be the one leading?" he asked as he was pulled forward. "Since I live here."
She squeaked, pinked—rather adorably—and stopped, before turning to look at him with a sheepish smile. "You're probably right."
He coughed to hide the laughter that bubbled up and said, "Is there anywhere you'd like to go?"
She hummed and thought. Finally she said, "Flowers?"
Maka gasped as he showed her one of his father's enchanted glass houses, where the temperature was kept far warmer than it was outside, and the air far more humid.
He waved to her and murmured, "This way." There was something in particular he wanted to show her.
She slipped her hand back into his and whispered, "Where are we going?"
He smiled at her over his shoulder. "It's a surprise."
"An adventurous surprise?" she said teasingly.
"Oh, very."
Finally, they reached the place Soul was looking for, and stopped her. "Close your eyes," he murmured. She quirked a brow and huffed. "Please?" he added.
She smiled wryly but did as he asked. Gently, using her hand in his, he pulled her forward a bit more.
"Almost there," he reassured her when she opened her mouth to question him. "Here, just—" he touched her shoulder gently to turn her slightly "—there, and now open your eyes!"
When she did she gasped again, in sheer delight. She looked at him with a wide smile that was contagious, soon he was grinning too.
Maka turned her attention back to the white flowers in the large raised bed in front of her and breathed, "It's beautiful."
He hummed and took a cautious step closer to her. "It only blooms at night. My brother and I helped our mother pot it when we were younger. Sometimes she deigns to come down here and fiddle with the plants, but nowadays I think she just gives the gardeners heart-attacks instead of actually helping."
Maka laughed and look up at him shyly. "Can I touch it?"
"Uhh," he said for a moment before collecting himself. "Yeah? It's not poisonous or anything."
She hummed and pulled off one of her gloves. Then she reached out a hand cautiously and rubbed a petal between two fingers.
"It's like velvet," she said softly. She leaned forward and sniffed. "But it doesn't have a fragrance?"
He shrugged. "I'll confess to not remembering much about this plant beside it flowering at night."
She laughed again. "You should spend more time learning then."
His smile dimmed a little. "Second sons can rarely afford the luxury of learning anything beyond what can make him a living. My father believes the military is the only acceptable route other than music."
She blinked and gaped a little. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "It cannot be helped." Then he held out his hand for her again, forcing on a smile. "Anywhere else you'd like to explore?"
She smiled in return, just as forced and said, "Maybe the maze? That seemed like an—"
Whatever else she said was lost, as when her now bare hand touched his equally naked one, bright light erupted behind his eyes, and he knew nothing more.
His mother stood at the end of his bed, wringing her hands anxiously. Soul and his manservant, Hiro, exchanged a look.
"Are you sure you have everything you need?" his mother blurted finally.
"Yes Mother," Soul said, trying his best to be soothing. "Hiro knows what needs to be packed."
Constance was still for a moment before bursting into movement, enveloping her youngest son in a tight hug and wailing loudly in his ear.
"Oh my dearest, darling son! The palace! Why must you go so far away from your poor mama!" she said, tugging him down so he was slouching over her, patting her back soothingly.
"You were fine with Wes leaving," he said quietly into her shoulder.
She sniffled and pulled back so she could cup his cheeks in her hands. "Wes is older and knows what to do at court! You're my baby! You've never left home, you're barely above age!" She wailed again and pulled him back to into her embrace. "You're getting married!"
Something like fear settled into his stomach at the thought, and the new mark above his heart burned hotly.
"Not for another three months though," he mumbled.
His mother sniffled some more, and finally pulled back to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from a sleeve. "My baby," she whimpered. "All grown up."
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, appreciate the concern mother, but can we finish packing now?"
She sniffled again, for extra effect he was sure, before leaving with a mournful "I'll wait for you downstairs". His bedroom door shut behind her with a click and he sat down heavily on his bed.
He turned to look at Hiro and added, "I can finish this on my own, you can go finish your other work."
Hiro looked torn between staying and leaving. "Are you sure, sir?" he asked finally.
He nodded and waved his hand. Hiro did not stay very long, leaving through the servant's door.
Soul flopped back, lying on his bed and trying to steady the giant butterflies that had grown in his stomach. He rubbed his hand over his chest, feeling the raised skin of the mark.
He was bonded to the Dragon Queen as her pre-destined partner, something that had not happened for several generations, the last being Maka's great-great grandfather. Skin-on-skin contact had activated their bond, knocking them both out temporarily and creating the mark on his chest—a coiled dragon that he had been told resembled the Queen in her alternate form—to show all that he had been… claimed, for want of a better word.
In the short time Maka had had to talk to him before they were forced to return to the party and explain what had happened, she had told him that the mark was also the physical manifestation of the mental and spiritual link that would develop between them. Soon he would be able to tell when she was close as his mark burned, and then her base emotions, and then they might be able to get into each other's heads and hear each other's thoughts, though she had not explained how.
He grumbled and rubbed his eyes out. He had not wanted this, Wes was supposed to be the one the Queen wanted, Wes was the one who was suited for court life, as his mother had so helpfully pointed out. And now, because of this bond, he was going to marry the Queen!
He was nineteen for gods' sake! He could barely handle familial connections, now he was supposed to be connected to someone else in the deepest of ways?
He felt something that was almost tears well up behind his eyes and he clenched his teeth to force them back.
Yes, he was scared, yes, he was anxious, yes, he wished this had never happened. But the memory of Maka's face swirled in his mind. Her smile and her eyes and her playfulness. He thought she was beautiful and powerful, and perhaps he even admired her, but could he love her, like a husband, like a lover? Would they even really get along?
As he sat back up and pushed himself off the bed to finish setting his nicest clothes in one of his many trunks, he forced himself to settle on the thought that he could have ended up with someone far, far worse. At least Maka was kind.
After shutting his final trunk, Soul made his way down one of the less grand stair cases and found his brother loitering at the bottom, waiting for him.
Wes had largely avoided him in the aftermath of the party, and now Soul could not help think that his brother was going to lay into him about stealing the place that was rightfully his. Instead Wes smiled lightly and slapped him on the back.
"I would say congratulations, but you don't look all that happy little brother," he teased.
Soul watched him warily for a moment. "You're…not upset?"
Wes scoffed loudly. "The only who is even slightly upset is father, but mother calmed him quickly by reminding him that with you in the palace I can still maintain this old place. And that now you don't have to go to war or whatever." Then he leaned in and whispered, "And, besides, I'm kind of relieved. I won't speak ill of our Queen and my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, but I think I like the bountiful Miss Thompson a little better."
Soul glanced at him and Wes winked. "Oh my gods."
Wes snickered and slapped him on the back. "Hush now brother, you'll understand soon enough. Only three months to the wedding after all."
Soul felt his stomach sink again.
His brother watched his face and echoed what was in his mind. "Don't remind you, huh?" He squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You'll be fine. Now, come with me, you're wanted for one last afternoon tea with the royal family before you all leave tomorrow."
As they walked through the halls to the doors leading to the outside seating area, Soul felt the mark warm as he got closer and closer to his betrothed. "I don't think the Prince Father likes me much," he mumbled suddenly.
Wes snorted. "Of course he doesn't, you managed to secure his daughter without even trying to woo him at the same time and he can't say anything about it because it goes way above him to the gods above. Father would be the same if the roles were reversed."
"How reassuring," Soul muttered. "Thank you brother."
Wes slapped his back again, making him stumble. "Anytime brother."
Soul swallowed dryly as he was helped into the royal carriage early the next morning, after the Queen and the Prince Father had been helped in. Spirit glared at him as he sat opposite the Queen, but Maka smiled at him, even if it was only a small smile. Out of the window, Soul could see his parents standing on the steps, his mother still dabbing at her eyes as his father stood stoic. Behind them Wes looked proud, though forlorn.
When his mother saw him looking, she waved her handkerchief, and he waved back a little as the door was closed and the footman called to the driver. The carriage set off with a jerk, and Soul continued to look out the window at his family home until they had long left the park and the grounds could not be seen for the trees and bushes.
Though he might have never felt truly comfortable with his family, he was going to miss them. He was going to miss the house and the grounds and the servants and everybody he had known there. That was his home, and there was no telling when he would—if ever—return.
He was pulled from his thoughts by Maka. "Here," she said, holding out a book. "It's a long journey, so you might as well spend the time learning a bit more about what you're heading into." Her smile finally reached her eyes and grew a little. "Better to get a head start so you don't feel as lost."
Spirit scoffed loudly, though he turned it into a cough when Maka looked at him sharply.
She turned her eyes back on Soul, and this time her smile was sympathetic, though she said nothing more.
He took the book and opened it. It was fairly thick and titled A Brief Understanding of a Courtier's Life. If such a thick book was only brief, he dreaded to think of what an unabridged version would look like.
Soul could not imagine it would be a very entertaining read, but as Maka had pointed out, hitting the ground running would put him at an advantage, however slight it may turn out to be. He might as well take whatever opportunity he could get to worm his way into the court's good books. Perhaps he might even turn Spirit's opinion in his favour; though after catching the Prince Father's icy gaze, he thought better of it.
As he turned to the first page, he glanced at Maka, who had pulled out her own book. Perhaps he would do best to focus on the one person who truly mattered. All his future happiness lay with the Queen, after all.
The palace city was far larger than he had imagined, though he supposed he should not have been surprised. It was the capital city of their nation, and so came with all the formalities such a city could boast. The palace too, in the middle of the city, looked larger than any other place in the country.
He held the Courtier's Life in his lap, after having managed to get through three quarters of it during the ride, so that he could look out the carriage window to observe all that could be seen.
"Welcome to Grigori," Maka said softly, leaning over to talk to him.
He glanced at her and became aware of the large grin that had grown on his face unbidden. He tried to smother it, but the mirroring smile on her face made it hard. He could feel his heart thump hard in his chest as butterflies sprung up anew in his belly. Warmth enveloped him as she leaned towards him, burning from the mark outwards to the rest of his body, soothing his nerves, though only a little.
He wanted to say something, like "It's very big", or "It looks busy", but eventually figured it would be stupid to point out the obvious like that. Instead he whispered, "Thank you."
Maka's eyes met his warmly and his heart fluttered, even as Spirit's gaze remained cold hatred.
Finally they made it through the city streets to the palace front. The door opened and Maka was helped out, then Spirit, then him.
He could not help but gape up at the large building in front of him. While it had looked large from afar, it nearly blew his mind up close. His family was indeed one of the richest families—for their land, people and resources—but their home could never compare to the grandeur of the palace, which had been built upon by many, many generations of the royal family, which was far older than his.
"Soul," Maka called gently, and he started, then pinked when he realised he had been left behind in his wondering, and followed after her.
He thought he heard the Prince Father mutter something about an 'octopus-head' but he could not be sure.
Once they were inside the main keep of the palace, a dark skinned man stepped towards Maka and bowed, welcoming her back. Only after Spirit sniffed was he welcomed in the same way.
Finally, the man turned his attention to Soul. To his faint surprise, he bowed to him as well, welcoming him as grandly as Maka had been.
Maka motioned him forward and Soul stood beside her. "This is one of my closest advisers," she said. "Kilik Rung."
Kilik bowed again.
"Will you show him around the grounds?" Maka said, addressing her adviser. "I assume there are many things I need to take care of to prepare for the…" She glanced at Soul before looking back at Kilik. "Future," she finally finished.
"Of course your Majesty," Kilik answered smoothly, smiling. Then he turned to Soul and said, "Follow me if you will, my Lord."
Soul glanced at Maka again before following Kilik. Maka walked in a different direction, with three different people pouncing on her as she went, handing her various documents and all speaking rapidly. Soon he turned a corner though and both Maka and the main entrance were out of sight, leaving him feeling slightly cold.
"Shall we see the main quarters first?" Kilik suggested as they walked. "Or would you like something to eat? It was a long journey from your family's home."
Soul doubted he would be able to actually eat anything though. The reality of what his life was to become was settling in, and the fear he had been doing his best to fight off had returned with a vengeance.
"I'd like to see the main quarters, I think," he said weakly.
Kilik hummed and nodded, smiling still. "This way then." He went down a different hall that lead to a grand staircase, not unlike the one at his home.
As they started climbing it, Kilik leaned over and said quietly, "It's OK to be afraid. When I first arrived, I was terrified of everything." He grinned a little. "You'll get used to everything soon enough."
Soul ran his tongue over the inside of his teeth and tried to swallow, but his mouth was completely dry. "Let's hope so." He did not want to disappoint Maka, since he might already be able to feel what she was feeling—faint annoyance was starting to gnaw at him, though he knew he himself was not annoyed—and he did not want to feel her regret for being partnered with him, though he did not say this.
He figured he was going to be picked apart by the other courtiers as soon as he was introduced. Might as well try and keep some things private.
The next morning Soul sat in the library with Kilik, waiting for his tutor.
At dinner, after being shown around the castle, Maka had told him that in order to prepare him for royal life, he had to have a tutor, or several. While the idea of learning was not exactly his favourite, Soul had to admit that he did not know the first thing about ruling a country, even if he was technically not the one doing it.
He saw Kilik pull out a mechanical pocket watch and sigh. Glancing at one of the various grand pendulum clocks that were dotted around the great room, he saw that his tutor was now ten minutes late.
He thought he heard Kilik mutter something about an ox, but could not ponder on it when the doors to the library burst open dramatically to reveal two men.
They both wore glasses, though the first man's pair looked rather gaudy while the second man's were tinted. The main difference between them were their hairstyles: the first man's head was bald except for two spikes of hair protruding from above his ears, and the second man had his hair tied neatly at the back of his head into a bun.
Kilik rose from his seat and said in exasperation, "Glad you could finally make, Mr. Ford."
The first man huffed. "It's hardly my fault. I—I mean, Harvar had to check on a lady of our acquaintance."
The second man shook his head from behind the first and Kilik sighed and rubbed his face.
"You will never learn, will you," Kilik muttered, just loud enough for Soul to hear, though he was sure the other two men could not. Louder the adviser said, "Mr. Ford, Mr. Éclair, let me introduce Mr. Evans, her Majesty the Queen's intended."
Soul stood after being introduced and tried not to show how nervous he felt.
Mr Ford seemed to appraise him for a moment before stepping forward to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you Mr Evans."
Mr Éclair stepped forward to shake his hand also, but said nothing.
"I'm sure you have been told that her Majesty would like you two to tutor Mr Evans in the fine arts of royal life," Kilik continued.
Mr Ford hummed and crossed his arms, turning his head to look at Kilik. "Remind me how long we have until the wedding?"
"Three months," Soul said before Kilik could answer.
Mr Ford's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Not very long," he said quietly. "I suppose we'll have to test you first to see what you actually know, so we don't waste time. Harv?" He turned to Mr Éclair whose expression had not changed since entering. "Would you bring me the law compendium, the complete set of history books, the book of royal insignias, and the latest edition of the diplomat's protocol?"
Mr Éclair nodded and moved off without saying a word.
Mr Ford turned back to Soul. "Let's get started, we haven't a second to lose."
It turned out that Soul did not know much at all, beside some of the history of their kingdom, which he had been taught as a boy. As the test had progressed, Soul could tell he was doing worse and worse by Ox Ford's deepening frown.
This had then resulted in Ox drawing up a strict schedule where nearly every hour of his day was filled with learning. He rose early to have breakfast with the Queen and the Prince Father (who still glared at him); then he was off to the library to be taught the laws of the land, the customs of the neighbouring kingdoms, and in-depth history of his fiancée's family line; then lunch where he had to interact with various courtiers, who whispered and gossiped about his appearance and his 'true' relations to the Queen; then back into the library for further lessons; then dinner with Maka and his future father-in-law (who glared some more); then he had to try and get through the considerable daily reading list he had been given; and then finally to bed before the whole routine started again.
Sunday was his only day off out of the full week, as a religious day. On Sundays, he got to sleep in a little longer, then spend the morning in the royal box in the city cathedral, and then he had the rest of the day to do with as he pleased. Or, in reality, the rest of the day to plough through a large stack of books Ox needed him to read.
This whole schooling thing might have been tolerable if he had been able to spend some time with the woman he was doing all this for, the woman he had previously enjoyed spending time with (however little that time had been), and wanted to get to know better. But every time he tried to approach Maka on a free day, or start conversation over a meal, there was always something to stop her.
Either she had to be somewhere or she had to talk to someone or her father barged into the conversation to cut him out (though that was not her fault, her father was an ass).
The first few times it happened, he did not think much of it. Maka was the ruler of a rather large kingdom. She had many jobs and duties. But after a month had passed since he had arrived, he finally clued into what she was doing.
She was avoiding him.
And the realisation stung him, quite a lot.
Had he done something wrong already? Was she really that opposed to him, did she hate him for managing to worm his way into her life uninvited? Was she already thinking of ways to get herself out of this entanglement?
He lay awake at night thinking about it. Really, he should have been used to a certain level of disappointment in his life. He was the second son with no real value to his family. If anything he was burden. He had no talent, no birth-right, no use. And on top of that, he had his strange looks that startled most if not all the people that met him.
He should have been used to people turning away from him. And yet he was not.
He felt a little thread of self-loathing sew its way into his mind, to join all the others that had been there since his boyhood. Maka did not want him. Cold spread out from the mark on his chest as distance grew between them. He could feel the faintest tendrils of fear, regret, and sadness from her side of the bond, and was fairly sure it was because of him.
He clenched his jaw hard to stop himself from crying.
Another week passed and he felt himself draw back and become quieter than ever before. Instead of his usual blank face, Harvar kept giving him questioning looks when he kept his gaze tilted down to the desk instead of up into Ox's eyes. The whispers got louder as Soul stayed silent during lunch with the court. He felt Spirit's burning gaze grow stronger as his self-loathing weaved itself into a tapestry that read useless.
On Sunday he found himself sitting out in the garden, one of Ox's many books open on his lap, though he was not reading it. He felt too numb, too blank and uselessworthlesspatheticto take anything in.
"Soul."
His head snapped up to see Maka standing in front of him, face the perfect picture of concern. Warmth spread in his chest from the mark at her sudden closeness—closer than she had been in a while, but he tried to will the warmth away. Hope would not do.
"Oh," he said hollowly. "Your Majesty. Hello."
"Can I sit with you?" she asked gently, indicating the rest of the bench he was sitting on.
He nodded mutely and shut the book. She settled down beside and the warmth grew, as did the will to shove it back down. It was enough to make his fingers shake.
They sat in silence for several long moments before Maka began to speak again.
"Mr. Éclair told me that you've been very quiet during your lessons. Is everything OK?"
Soul chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Yes," he mumbled, tasting blood. "Everything is fine."
She shifted so her knee brushed against his and his stomach flopped. "Soul," she said softly. "I know it's not. The mark goes both ways you know, I can feel how unhappy you are. Please, tell me what's wrong."
He was quiet for a long moment and she waited patiently for his answer, for which he was grateful for. Finally he said hoarsely, "Have I done something wrong?"
Glancing up at Maka briefly, he could see her brows knotted and her mouth moving silently as confusion drifted from her to him dimly. "N-no, why would you think that you had?" she blurted.
He hunched his shoulders some more, feeling her frustration withhim and said softly, "Because you've been avoiding me. I…I know I'm not the most desirable of partners, and I understand if you don't want to be around me much." A harsh laugh bubbled up in his throat and he barked, "Not many people do." He cleared his throat and continued softly, "But maybe we could try and be friends. So then when we're married, we don't hate each other." He added hurriedly, "You don't have to, if you don't want, though. I don't want to make a fuss."
He did not dare look at her after making his speech, and Maka remained silent for a long time, long enough to make him think that he had truly fucked things up for himself. He dared not examine the feelings coming from her, lest they reveal the bitter truth—that she really did not want him around.
"Soul," she breathed finally. Her hand grabbed his suddenly and he jerked his head up so he could look at her, and was startled to see her eyes water. "Oh, Soul. I'm so, so sorry. I-I didn't mean to ignore you, and I'm so sorry that this has hurt you." Her voice wavered as she squeezed his hand. "This has been scary, and overwhelming—for both of us—but that is no excuse for how I have been treating you."
She pulled his hand into her lap and enclosed it in both of hers, and the skin contact made her feelings seem stronger in his mind, letting him see how sorry and upset she was to have hurt him. She was heart-broken for him, and it astounded him. On the outside, her gaze was so intense that he could not bear to look away.
"Can we start over?" she asked. "I would like to be friends."
He smiled shyly and brushed his thumb over one of her hands, heart soaring as her hope melded with his. "I-I would like that. A lot." In a whisper, he added, "Thank you."
She laughed, though the sound was a little watery. "You don't have to thank me." Then she took a deep breath and stood. "Now, let's go spend some time in the sun. I'd like to hear about everything you have learned since you've been here and how you like the palace."
He grinned and stood with her, though his knees shook a little with the sudden emotional whiplash. "Sounds like a wonderful plan," he croaked.
She laughed again, the sound stronger this time, and began to tug him along. "And don't worry about your reading lists or whatever else Ox has set you. I'll talk to him about it."
As they moved away from the shaded bench and into the sunlight that spilled across the rest of the garden, Soul felt the tapestry of self-loathing begin to fray in the back of his mind. His mark burned and happiness that was not his own filtered into his soul, inspiring his own.
In his happiness, he missed how pink her cheeks turned as their skin contact continued.
Maka soon became a fixture in his routine, as they started spending nearly all their free time together. They learned all there was to learn about one another, and Soul soon found that he was applying himself to this subject far more than he had ever done to any other lesson.
He learned her favourite books, her favourite past-times, her favourite foods, and her favourite places to squirrel herself away when the stacks of paperwork started getting too much. With each new piece of information, Soul felt warmer, as the burning of his mark grew to be a constant source heat with her continued presence at his side.
And, as another month passed, Soul began to realise that his feelings for Maka were changing. He no longer ached to just be her friend, he wanted to be closer; to hold her hand, to brush her hair from her forehead when it escaped her intricate styles, to gently caress her face. He wanted more and more, and eventually he had to admit the truth to himself.
He had fallen headlong in love with his queen.
This should have made him happy. Since they were already engaged, it did not change what was going to happen, but it would have made the whole affair a lot happier. He had seen what happened to marriages without love-his own parents did not love each other and he had spent his childhood watching them drift apart to the cool façade they had now. Love would have made his marriage stronger and joyful.
However, there was no doubt in his mind that his feelings were one-sided.
Maka did not think of him in the way he thought of her. She did not see him and wish to hold his hand, she did not see him and crave to be closer, she did not see him and ache to hold in the way lovers did. She did not dream of him like he dreamed of her-embarrassed though he was to admit it-and she did not want to spend all of eternity by his side like he did.
She was his friend, and that was all. But even this was more than he could have expected from her. She was far too good for him.
There was also a fear, a terrible fear, that these feelings were not his own. That the love that was starting to grown was merely a side-effect of the bond, that the magic of it was the true cause of the affection and not Maka herself.
In a way he almost wished it was the bond making the love grown in his heart, it would be easier to ignore. But at the same time, deep down, after much contemplation, he knew that his feelings were true. No magic could cause the butterflies he experienced, no magic could make his palms sweat around her as they did. No magic could truly replicate love.
But as his feelings for her grew, so did the...unseemly side-effects that came with them.
Jealously. Possessiveness. Heart ache.
Four weeks before their wedding date, Soul found some of these side-effects flaring up painfully.
Maka had to leave for a day or so to visit a neighbouring kingdom and talk with the king there-an immortal king at that-about various trading agreements, alliances, and other subjects royals talked about. This might not have been a problem for Soul if Maka had not spent the week leading up to the trip talking animatedly about the neighbouring king and all his many accomplishments, with her excitement leaking from her soul to his.
And if Ox had not told him that Maka and King Mortimer II had been previously engaged before the other monarch broke it off.
So, as Soul stood in the courtyard of the palace, waiting to see Maka transform into her other form (which would be the first time since their engagement) and fly away, he felt white-hot jealousy churn in his stomach, and possessiveness over a woman owned by no man burn in his heart.
Even as these feelings brewed inside him, he hated himself for feeling that way. It was not fair to Maka, she could do as she pleased when she pleased, and she owed him nothing. His feelings were irrelevant. She did not even know of their existence anyway.
But, as light began to shine form around the Queen's body once the courtyard was deserted, he was easily distracted from his nonsensical emotions.
He had never seen her transform, and curiosity and wonder began to replace his earlier thoughts.
The light fully engulfed her lithe figure, and then began to expand as her body changed and grew. The light became hot, and to Soul it felt like he was standing too close to a bonfire. The light swirled around her for a few more moments before dimming, revealing a large emerald dragon standing where the Queen had previously stood.
Soul gaped, and watched in stunned silence as servants bustled forward to begin strapping supplies around the dragon's—no, Maka's middle.
Soul did not even realise he was gaping until Kilik sidled up to him and nudged his side with his elbow.
"It's a magnificent sight, is it not?" Kilik said with quiet reverence. "Our Queen is truly a wondrous being."
Soul could not find any words to reply with.
Kilik chuckled, slapped him on the back, and continued, "And have no fear my Lord, she will return to us soon enough."
The servants finished strapping the supplies and scrambled back as Maka unfurled her wings. The ground shook a little when she forced herself into the air with tremendous flaps of her wings. As she flew away, Soul felt cold began to creep into the space her soul had taken next to his.
The court stayed where they were, until the Queen had flown off. Kilik gave him one last mischievous look before walking off.
As the court dispersed, Soul made his way back to the library to continue his lessons.
Once he had been working for about an hour and a half, Harvar approached him, standing behind his chair, hands clasped behind his back.
"You don't need to be so anxious, you know," he said in a monotone voice.
Soul blinked up at him and was not entirely sure what he was talking about. "I don't know-"
"Bullshit," Harvar said bluntly. "You haven't stopped pouting since her Majesty flew away."
Soul was taken aback. Had his ridiculous inner turmoil really been so...?
"Yes," Harvar said as though he had heard his thoughts. "You really are that obvious." Then he sighed and leaned over to continue in a low voice. "Yes, it's true our Queen and King Mortimer were once engaged. But King Mortimer broke it off because he has about as much interest in a partner as most people have in leeks. Besides, what need does an immortal have for a mortal wife? All they do nowadays is play chess. So, relax."
Then Harvar straightened and walked to the side of the room to pick up a book, leaving Soul to try and realign himself. That was the most Harvar had ever spoken to him. But he had to admit, it helped, just a little. He felt a little less cold.
Maka returned two days later, happy to be home and to have thoroughly thrashed 'Mort' in chess for once. But this meant that there was just over three weeks to the wedding, and so all the organisation that Soul had managed to avoid being part of thus far was thrust upon him.
This included wedding clothes, organising the wedding feast, talking over decoration (or standing by his mother as she talked, nodding and humming when necessary), and planning speeches and vows. He would have rather torn off his own arm than deal with all the ceremony (and people), but he could feel Maka's happiness to be organising everything (though she knew even less about colour schemes than he did), so he did his best to put on a brave face.
However, the beginning of the real preparations also marked the birth of a massive ball of anxiety that grew in his stomach. As the days slowly trickled past towards the day he was to be bound to the Queen in the eyes of the law and the Gods above, the ball grew larger and began to roll around inside him, nearly making him sick several times.
On top of this, he felt horrible about it too, because he knew Maka could feel the tendrils of his anxiety, however much he tried to hold it back, because he kept feeling her concern and catching her worried gaze.
It was not fair to her, she was happy about this whole thing, and there he was trying not to puke into his dinner.
When there was only one week left before the big day, guests started arriving from the far reaches of their kingdom and from neighbouring ones too. His parents and brother had arrived at the palace shortly after Maka had returned, but extended members of the family—both his and hers—began to stream in, filling the palace with even more people than before.
And Soul had only just gotten used to the usual population of court.
Unfortunately, he no longer had the excuse of lessons to keep him playing court, as Ox had deemed him ready to be sent out into the 'real world' as he put it the week before. Maka was lucky, Soul thought as he tried to hide away in the palace garden, having to constantly deal with paperwork and diplomatic issues. It kept her in her office most of the day, so she rarely had to mingle.
And so Soul was left to flounder, leaving his anxiety to grow even bigger. It was not just wedding jitters anymore—though there was a lot of that too. His fear of people kicked into overdrive, and previous fears about Maka's feelings for him became heightened as his brother started teasing him quietly about the wedding night.
About what was considered the normal duty of a husband and wife. Maka needed an heir after all.
But…she did not want him in that way. She could not want him that way. He was…so…so…beneath her. How could she ever want him, love him, like he did for her?
And because she did not want him in that way, he could not bear to think of what the wedding night (and all subsequent nights as a married couple) would be like. He would not force her—never would—and the idea that she might insist, in the name of duty, despite not actively wanting it made him feel sick.
Though the whole idea of what the consummation of their marriage would involve made him feel a little sick anyway. He had never wanted a woman, or anyone, like he wanted Maka. It was rather terrifying, and he wondered if there was something wrong with him.
But, as was his custom, he forced his feelings down so they would not cross the bond and put on his apathetic face. He did not tell anyone about his worries, not even Maka (especially not even Maka).
However, the night before his big day, shaking with nerves, he found himself bursting into his brother's room and blurting, "I want to run away."
Wes looked horrified. "Wha—What do you mean, you want to run away?! You're getting married tomorrow!"
Soul shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, clenching his hands at his sides to try and get them to stop shaking. Brokenly, he whispered, "I can't do it. Wes, I-I can't."
Wes stared at him for a long moment before walking towards him and asking softly, "Why do you think you can't do it?"
He was silent for a while before whispering, "I-I'm scared." He felt his lower lip wobble and chomped down on it, hard, hard enough to taste blood.
"Hey, it's OK to be scared," Wes said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. "Everyone gets scared before their wedding day. I'm sure the Queen is just as scared as you are. You have that bond, don't you? Where you can feel each other's emotions?"
Soul barked out a wobbly laugh and grabbed the fabric of his shirt over his heart as his soul brushed up against Maka's a little. She was sound asleep, so her feelings were a little muted, but he could still feel the anxiety there.
"That doesn't help," he said. "I can feel that she's scared, but I don't want her to be scared. She shouldn't be scared, of this, of me."
He could see Wes' eyebrows furrow. "What makes you think she's scared of you?"
He snorted a little and sniffed. "Everyone's afraid of me. And there's the whole…y'know." He waved his hand vaguely. "Wedding night duty."
Wes blinked at him blankly for a moment before cracking a smile. "OK, one, not everyone is afraid of you. I'm not afraid of you and pretty sure the Queen isn't either. And two, the wedding night sex? I'm almost certain she's not scared about that. You should see the way she looked at you, little bro. I swear, he eyes never leave your butt when you walk." Wes ruffles his hair and snickered. "I'm pretty sure she wants to combust every time you bend over."
Soul felt his face flame. "Bu-bullshit."
Wes shook his head. "If only little brother, if only. You think I want to see her Royal Majesty ogle you?" His face became solemn. "There are some things that can never be unseen, Soul. Never."
Unable to help himself, Soul laughed, then hiccupped as a few tears spilled out from his watering eyes and trickled down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and sniffled.
"Weirdo," he murmured, and tried to bring up a smile.
Wes grinned and shrugged. "I only speak the truth." Then his grin became an affectionate smile. "And, you know that the sex isn't actually a duty right? You don't actually have to go through with it if you don't want to."
Soul pressed his mouth into a line. "But it's expected anyway—"
"Bullshit," Wes said with a wave of his hand. "Nobody will know, they did away with the watching-the-consummation tradition generations ago. You can not do it, and then just say you did. And then only ever do it when you want to. I'm pretty sure your wife will not begrudge you for taking your time. She'll probably appreciate it to be honest. You have only know each other for three months."
Soul sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he murmured simply.
Wes watched him for a while, waiting to see if he would say anything else. When he did not, his brother said, "I think maybe it's time to go to bed, huh, little brother? Big day tomorrow and all. I know you don't really like the whole crowd thing, so getting a good night's sleep will help." He wrapped his arm around Soul's shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "Unless you want to talk about anything else?"
Soul chuffed and shook his head, returning the hug a little before being let go. "Thank you," he said softly as he reached for the door.
Wes snorted. "No need to thank me, little brother. I'm always a letter away you know, if you ever want to talk." Just as Soul was about to leave the room however, Wes tugged on his sleeve. "Oh, and by the way, don't expect to see me tomorrow evening before you leave for the honeymoon. The elder Miss Thompson has offered me her very generous hospitality." Then he winked, snickered, and shoved his little brother out of his room as he squawked.
Soul stood in the hall for a moment, shocked and appalled by his brother's behaviour, but also somewhat comforted. Wes had not changed since he had left, he was still the same mix of brotherly love and torment as he had been three months ago.
With lighter steps, Soul made his way back to his room, and managed to get to sleep. Wes was right after all, tomorrow was a big day.