"Yuuri, amazing performance, as usual!"
Yuuri looked up from where he sat on the floor of his bedroom packing his bags, and smiled at the familiar voice. "It could have been better. The end was sloppy. Your set was flawless."
Phichit, Yuuri's best friend and fellow dance troupe member, just snorted, leaning against Yuuri's bedroom door frame. His dark hair and the bare skin of his chest glistened with sweat from the practice session the two of them had finished only minutes before. "You don't see anyone trying to break down my door over it, though," he said, raising an amused eyebrow at Yuuri's door, which had been splintered and removed at the hinges and was now leaning against the opposite wall.
"Oh, that." Yuuri laughed, scratching the back of his head. "Honestly, I don't know how that happened."
"Sure you don't." Phichit plopped himself down on Yuuri's bed. "I can't believe you're packing already. We're not set to leave until tomorrow."
"I know," Yuuri said, holding up two pairs of slippers and looking at each of them in turn. "I'm just excited. It's not every day we get to perform for royalty." Placing the blue pair into his bag, Yuuri threw the others to the side and looked up at Phichit. "Aren't you excited?"
"Of course I'm excited." Phichit picked up one of Yuuri's numerous pillows and turned it over in his hands. "I can hardly believe it's happening, to be honest." The man grinned. "Did you ever think we would get this far?"
Yuuri shook his head, latching his bags shut tight. "If I could go back and tell eight year old Yuuri that by the time he was twenty three he would be dancing, by personal request, for the King of Seren? I would never have believed me."
Phichit made a noise of agreement, and threw the pillow in Yuuri's direction. "Younger Phichit might have punched you and taken some of your fancy pillows to trade for food."
Yuuri dodged the pillow as an image of a younger Phichit flashed through his mind; a scrawny street kid, shivering and lice-ridden and starving before Yuuri's family had taken him in almost fourteen years ago. Yuuris' mother had taught Phichit how to cook and clean and take care of himself.
Both boys knew Yuuri's parents were disappointed when neither of them wanted to run the inn when they were older and had instead joined the troupe, became two of the most sought after dancers on this side of the continent.
And now, it seemed, their fame was spreading.
"We're here now," Phichit said, tossing another pillow at Yuuri. "That's all that matters, right?"
Yuuri caught the pillow. "Right," he said.
...
"He is real," Yuuri insisted, speaking around a mouthful of bread. "I saw him."
Phichit made a face and drained the rest of his ale. "You saw the forest god, and he didn't kill you?" The man's tone was skeptical. "There's no way in hell."
The two of them had been in Seren for no more than two days, but Yuuri was already starting to miss home. The food here was too rich, and the magic-imbued wine the kingdom was famous for was not sitting well in his stomach. The novelty of the trip had almost worn off, too, considering they hadn't even seen the king let alone met him. They had spent most of their time exploring the great capitol city of Sol, sightseeing and window shopping and getting drunk at the multitude of taverns scattered throughout the city, one of which they sat in now, eating complimentary bread and arguing.
Yuuri shrugged. "Believe whatever you want, but I saw him."
"Yuuri, you were lost in the forest for days. It was probably just a hallucination."
"He wasn't, though." Yuuri argued, setting down the bread. He was beginning to regret ever telling Phichit this story in the first place. "He fed me and bathed me and sent me home."
Phichit snorted. "A handsome god specifically known for his cruelty finds you in the forest, bathes you, and sets you free without a mark?" The man's eyes sparkled, no doubt the work of Seren's wine. "Sounds like a fantasy to me. A good one, mind you."
At Phichit's suggestive wink, Yuuri picked up his bread and threw it at his friend. "Gods above, Phichit, I was six."
"If you were six, you definitely dreamed it." Phichit leaned back in his chair and looked over the city. "Nobody would be able to remember that far back."
Yuuri followed Phichit's gaze and frowned. This particular tavern rested on the top of a hill, and offered the two men an unobstructed view of the whole city sprawled out before them, and the forest beyond. Maybe he was right. Maybe Yuuri had just been having some sort of fever dream and imagined a tall handsome stranger taking care of him. He had been lost, after all. And he had been young.
Yuuri picked up his own mug of ale and downed the contents. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed.
Phichit perked up, and Yuuri looked to the streets once again. "It's the king," Phichit said, pointing to the procession in the distance. A group of nobles astride white horses and, in the center, a bearded man. Magic seemed to emanate from him; even from this great distance Yuuri could feel it, shining from the man as if he had stolen all the stars from the sky and now held them hostage somewhere within his body.
Phichit whistled as the King's men rode by. "He requested us." He looked to Yuuri, all thought of their argument forgotten. "Can you believe that?"
The echo of the man's power still buzzed through the air, like the pull of static before a flash of lightning. Yuuri shivered. "Not at all," he said.
...
Yuuri stared at himself in the full length mirror of his borrowed bedroom, playing with the decorative buttons adorning the sleeves of his costume.
The fabric was sheer—and expensive—a sunset orange that Phichit promised would make him "outshine the whole room," whatever that meant. Yuuri let his arms fall to his sides, turned around to admire the back of the costume, lifted his arms high above his head to appreciate the way the thin material draped over his body.
"I look like a pumpkin," he said.
Phichit laughed from where he was buttoning up his own shirt on the opposite side of the room. "You look amazing," he promised.
Yuuri sighed and turned away from his reflection, too nervous to really care what he looked like anyway.
He and Phichit had been part of this troupe for almost ten years—five years of training and five more actually performing—but never before had Yuuri felt quite so apprehensive. It wasn't just that they were performing in the capital city for the king, although that was enough to turn Yuuri's insides to mush. It was the memory of that power, that magic surging through the air when the King passed on the street that had Yuuri shaking in his slippers.
Yuuri had never really trusted magic. Something about some men being allowed to be more powerful than others simply because of the way they were born didn't feel right, didn't feel fair. Of course, Yuuri might have only felt that way because he barely possessed any magic of his own. As for the small amount he did have, he used it mainly to correct his eyesight during the day so he didn't have to bother with glasses.
"What if he hates it and turns me into a frog or something?"
Phichit turned to Yuuri, eyebrows raised. "He won't hate it. And if he does—" the man came over and clapped a comforting hand on Yuuri's shoulder. "—I'll make sure to provide you with the heartiest flies I can find."
...
Yuuri peeked around the door of the throne room as the cheers for Phichit's performance died down, and Yuuri was announced.
Sweating and flushed but glowing, Phichit came through the door and gave Yuuri an encouraging smile. "They're an easy crowd," he whispered. "But the king is… intense. Don't look him in the eyes for too long, if you know what I mean."
Phichit winked and shoved Yuuri forward into the room. Yuuri swallowed his nerves as all eyes turned to him, reflecting that he did not, indeed, know what Phichit meant.
Then he met the king's eyes, and it was like he was rooted to the floor.
The king had been on the throne for almost fifty years, but he did not look a day past thirty—strong magic at work, Yuuri assumed. His hair was thick and black and curly, with only a small amount of grey peppered throughout his beard. His eyes were black as night, but they might have been made of ice for the way they froze Yuuri in place.
The older man held Yuuri's gaze for a long moment before breaking the contact and sizing up the rest of his body, and suddenly Yuuri could move again.
Taking his place in the center of the room, Yuuri wondered if the man had used magic on him just now, or if his nerves really were getting the best of him. He decided it would probably be best to avoid looking in the king's direction at all, just in case.
Yuuri lifted his arms to the bright, clear sound of the flute, the first beat of the drum, and then he began to move.
A hush descended upon the room, punctuated by the slow, sensuous melody of the flute mingling with the single drum.
Yuuri closed his eyes, letting the music flow through him as the drums sped up fractionally, and a violin began to play, slowly, then with increasing speed until Yuuri's feet were practically flying off the floor.
Then Yuuri made the mistake of opening his eyes.
He met the king's stare, and heat shot through his body, down through to his bones.
Everything around them seemed to freeze—the obsidian of the king's eyes became Yuuri's only tether to the earth, the single point of anchorage of Yuuri's body to this mortal plane—then time snapped back into place, and Yuuri was still moving.
But the drums were too loud, the beat too thick, and the king was still staring at him. With every step of his bare feet on the cold stone floor Yuuri's skin grew warmer and warmer until he thought he might collapse from the heat. The air around him buzzed and crackled while the drums sped up, and Yuuri's body followed the sound, caught up in the beat and the music and the heat of the magic surrounding him because that's what this was, what this had to be. The king's magic shooting through him, sending lightning through his veins, threatening to burn him up from the inside.
But Yuuri forced himself to breathe even as his vision lost focus; forced his body to move, to listen to his will rather than that of the magic that was pulling him through the music like a puppet.
Yuuri was no puppet, and he wouldn't let himself fall.
The music ended suddenly, abruptly, and Yuuri let out a gasp of air as the king's eyes left his and the room melted into applause.
Yuuri's legs shook, and he put his hands on his knees, bending over slightly to catch his breath. It was all he could do to remain upright.
What was that? What had the king done to him?
The king stood, and Yuuri fell to his knees.
Head bowed, hands balled into fists, he stared at the floor. His body was on fire, and he was going to burn. He was going to burn and burn and burn—
The king stepped down from the dais and knelt in front of Yuuri, took hold of his chin and forced him to look up, back into those coal-black eyes.
"My chambers. Midnight," the king said, and then he was gone.
...
"I'm so jealous, Yuuri!" Phichit whined, pouting like a small child might pout over missing desert. "It isn't fair!"
Yuuri said nothing, just stared into his wine and let his vision blur. He hadn't taken a single bite of the dinner that had been placed in front of him even though it looked delicious. His stomach had been in knots since his performance.
His friend nudged his foot under the table. "You're so lucky."
"I wouldn't call it luck," Yuuri said, making a decision and drinking his entire glass of wine in one pull, then taking the rest of Phichit's and doing the same.
Sure, the king was handsome, and this would be a great opportunity for Yuuri to further his career, but…
He turned to Phichit, who was giving him an envious look. "When he looked at you, did you feel…" Yuuri searched for the right word. "Weird?"
Phichit grinned. "I felt something, alright."
"Phichit, I'm serious." Yuuri held up his glass for a passing servant to refill. "I think— I think he used magic on me."
The man's grin just widened. "Is that what you call it?"
Yuuri sighed. It was nearly impossible to have a real conversation with Phichit when he had had this much to drink.
Pushing his chair back, Yuuri stood. "I'm going to gos lay down for a minute."
"Hold on, I'll come with you." Phichit almost knocked his chair and all of his dishes over in his scramble to stand, and Yuuri might have laughed if his mind had not been so preoccupied.
After asking a passing servant the fastest way to exit the castle, the two of them left through a side door that led to what Yuuri assumed were the gardens, but it was hard to tell in the dark. Phichit wondered away in the direction of a short stone wall near the edge of the forest, and Yuuri slumped back against the castle.
The cool night air felt wonderfully welcome against Yuuri's flushed skin, and he let out a soft sigh. Maybe it had been his nerves after all. Maybe the king was actually nice. Maybe he would be good to him…
Unexpected, an image of another man popped into Yuuri's head. The flash of a kind smile. Pale blue eyes, and silver hair. The smell of roses—
"Yuuuuri, look!"
Yuuri turned his head to find Phichit on the other side of the wall, apparently having climbed over, flailing his arms around and grinning like a fool. Then he turned, and ran off into the forest.
"Phichit, no! Wait!" Yuuri cursed, running to the wall and hoisting himself over. "It's dangerous in there!" Yuuri yelled to his friend, landing on the ground at the other side.
"I'm not afraid," Phichit taunted, turning to skip backwards. "Your forest god will save me, right?"
Yuuri followed Phichit's laughter to the edge of the tree line, then he stopped.
The last time he had entered the forest it had been on a dare seventeen years ago. A stupid dare from one of the children staying at his parent's inn that Yuuri went along with simply because he did not want to be marked as a wimp.
Yuuri took a deep breath—Phichit was too far ahead for doubts—and entered the forest.
Following the trail Phichit had crashed through the undergrowth, Yuuri's skin buzzed with recognition. Even though it had nearly been a lifetime, even though he wasn't even supposed to be able to remember, even though this was a different part of the forest entirely, Yuuri could feel it. A sensation in his skin and in his chest and in his bones: the feeling of a flower opening its petals to the sun; the way the wind revels after it's pushed the storm clouds away. Almost like the forest remembered him.
Almost like he was coming home.
He called out Phichit's name again, but this time there was no answer, and Yuuri sped up. It was ridiculous, he knew, to be feeling this way, especially when his friend was so far ahead.
All at once, the night birds stopped singing. Yuuri heard a scream and a heavy thud, and then silence that was thicker than something thick settled on the trees.
Blindly, almost as if he were in a dream, Yuuri made his way toward the last place there was sound, the direction from which Phichit's scream had come, and stifled a sob when he reached his friend's body.
Phichit lay on the ground, still and covered in blood.
Yuuri covered his mouth and bent down, feeling for a pulse, heaving a breath of relief when he found one. Phichit was alive, for now.
A twig snapped, and Yuuri stiffened.
Something rustled in the bushes and he turned slowly, breath shallow.
With a snarl, a creature jumped out of the bush—something like the forest cats Yuuri had near his home, but smaller. Not that size mattered too much when you were about to die.
The creature tore into his leg with teeth the size of daggers. Yuuri's scream fell dull in the otherwise silent forest, but he managed to kick the creature off of him and scoot closer to Phichit. If he was going to die, he didn't want to go alone.
The creature snarled and leaped, and Yuuri braced himself for the end.
Instead, a different blurred figure knocked the creature out of the way, and Yuuri refocused his eyes to see… a poodle? Jaws locked on the creature's neck, dragging it away deep into the trees.
Moving was a struggle, but somehow Yuuri was able to pull himself into a seated position and assess the damage. He let out a pained whimper when he saw the chunk of skin missing from his left leg, but he was otherwise unharmed.
Phichit was a different story.
Blood pooled around him, and his breathing was dangerously shallow. Yuuri wiped away tears as he draped himself over his friend, begging any god that could hear for help.
"Please!" Yuuri sobbed. "Please help."
But the forest remained silent.
Yuuri's leg was beginning to throb with the adrenaline leaving his system, but he ignored it, and focused every ounce of his meager amount of magic on healing his friend, his brother.
It was hopeless, though. Yuuri just wasn't strong enough.
He was losing blood, too. His head felt light; his vision swam. Slipping fully to the ground, Yuuri struggled now to even stay awake.
And that's why Yuuri thought he might be hallucinating when a figure stepped out from the dense darkness, leaned on a tree trunk and crossed his long legs, pushed his silver hair away from his startlingly blue eyes, and cocked his head to the side.
The forest god smiled. "You called?"