Inevitable Disclaimer: Voltron, its characters, settings, and other concepts are property of/copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd., Toei Animation Company, and Devil's Due Publishing. I am affiliated with none of those and make no profit from this work of fiction. In other words, please, please don't sue me.

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and I'm sure it'll show. Feel free to let me know what you think I'm doing wrong, what I might be doing right, or any thoughts you have in between that may improve this story. I tried to preserve some of the original aspects to the characters and worlds, while bending or even breaking others. While I mention certain events from the DotU storyline, I plan to veer pretty far from the beaten path—this tale features the dreaded Lotor/Allura pairing, for example. There will also be some characters of my own creation showing up eventually.

Expect some strong language, violence, sex (I'll warn you of that third one at the start of a chapter). We may even hit some morally grey or dark patches. These things happen in stories, I'm told. If you can live with all of that, then let's begin…

"Dulath nakar. Farewell."

She paused, gazing sadly at her swiftly fading patient. "Dulath nakar," she intoned. Taking a deep breath, she raised her scalpel, positioned it over her charge's midsection, and made the first incision.

"Baylarn. I am sorry, forgive me."

Tiny droplets of sweat started to bead her forehead. Not too deeply, she reminded herself. Cut to cure, not to kill. Her hand held steady as it guided the scalpel around a curve. Just a little more…

"Baylarn. I am sorry, forgive me."

The soft female voice was a faint echo outside the realm of her concentration. Here came the critical part. If she didn't angle the blade properly she would damage the patient, the infection would spread, and all this would be for nothing. Scarcely daring to breathe, she bit her lip, said a silent prayer, and went to make the final cut.

A trio of brash buzzes shattered her focus halfway through. Her hand jerked and her pulse seized up as the scalpel scratched a jagged line across her patient's silvery-green bark.

"Damn it!" Allura cried, then clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide at her own outburst. She glanced around her sitting room, half-expecting Nanny or Coran to leap out from behind the drapes and give her an earful for her foul language.

"Incorrect answer," the contralto voice of the castle computer's AI scolded her in their stead. "Drule language program, section two, basic phrases, failed. Please resume the lesson from the beginning."

Two failures in one. Setting down the scalpel with a groan, the princess of Arus looked down at her botched handiwork. She'd almost managed to cut away all the fungal growth plaguing her miniature virtis tree, but as Keith had so often reminded them during maneuvers, almost wasn't good enough. Unless she removed all the sickly yellow nubs marring its trunk, more would spring up until it rotted inside and out. Of course, thanks to the computer's interruption there would be a fresh rash of them all along the plant's new scratch.

"Please resume Drule language program, section two, basic phrases, from the beginning."

Ignoring the AI's demands, she let her shoulders slump. She'd looked through every book, every computer file, and even had Coran contact a few botanists at the Arusian Bureau of Agriculture. None held an alternative answer to curing the fungus. Maybe Pidge could think of something, though plants weren't the pilot of Green Lion's area of scientific expertise. Whatever the case, she had to do something. She'd had the small tree for fifteen years now—since her parents had surprised her with it on her fifth birthday. Back when all the Drule Empire had done was threaten, Voltron still slept, and they were a happy, whole family.

Losing their gift would be like losing them all over again.

Flicking back a few blonde wisps of hair that had plastered themselves to her forehead, Allura sighed and lifted the plant from her desk by its ceramic pot. She'd work on the problem tomorrow, once she'd had some rest. And, she hoped, when the weather cooled down a bit. Spring wasn't quite over yet, but the summer was already promising to break temperature records. Luckily, her bedroom faced east, so it only caught the sun for half the day. Leaving the entrance to the terrace open to catch the evening breeze worked nearly as well as the air cooling systems too. Ailing tree in hand, she crossed over into her bedroom and out through the glass double doors.

"Please resume Drule language program, section two, from the beginning," the computer nagged after her.

"All right, all right!" she snapped. "Just let me put this back outside."

After setting the sickly virtis tree back on its wooden stand at one corner of the terrace, Allura took a minute to enjoy the cool evening air against her skin. Or at least what little skin her pink nightgown allowed to show: face, neck, hands, feet, and an oh-so-tantalizing glimpse of ankle. She really had to talk to Nanny about making some changes to her wardrobe. She was twenty now—her childhood governess had to realize that. Surely the woman would see reason and agree that it was high time for the princess of Arus to start wearing clothing that befit the dignity of her status. Something that had fewer bows and ruffles and didn't make her feel like she hadn't lost her baby teeth yet, in other words.

Allura smiled drily at the pale, rising face of Arus' largest moon. Yes, and maybe Zarkon would suddenly become a pacifist and send robeasts to plant flowers on her planet instead. Nanny would blow her prim white cap through the atmosphere as soon as the topic came up—the woman still had her reservations over the propriety of her "baby's" favorite pink outfit. It may not give away all the details, but it certainly lets them have the outlines, had been her famous quote from that battle. Shaking her head, Allura padded back into her bedroom. She'd throw down the gauntlet over dress code some other week. Maybe once she could get her cousin Romelle and Aunt Orla to visit and provide some back up. And yes, a little backbone too.

"Let's get this over with. Computer, resume Drule language program, section two," she said, heading for the desk in her sitting room again.

"Basic phrases," the computer responded with what she swore was a hint of glee. "Ahdahn. Hello."

She started gathering the bits of removed fungus into a little pile on top of her desk to be thrown away. "Ahdahn."

"Actually, it's AH-dahn—more emphasis on the first syllable. And hello to you too, my dear princess."

Her heart dropped, then bounced back up like a rubber ball, wedging itself in the back of her throat. As though she were in one of the old horror movies Lance kept in his extensive film collection, Allura slowly turned to face the monster in her room.

He certainly didn't look the part, she had to admit.

His frame filled the doorway to her bedroom—not even Hunk was as broad. Just casually leaning against the jamb, he was tall enough for his head to nearly brush the top, the dimensions meant for someone of human proportions. It had always struck her as ironic that he hailed from such a dark planet yet his skin was the color of Arus' summer sky. The night air wafting in from the terrace stirred his white hair, several long strands falling over his shoulders. He watched her with eyes as bright and gold as flame. Their slatted pupils widened to capture more light, similar to a cat's stalking prey. Allura felt paralyzed by his gaze for a minute, her heart fluttering against her ribcage like a panicking bird.

He blinked, and the paralysis snapped, her sense returning. Shaking herself, she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Computer!" she shouted. "Sound the security al—"

How someone that large could move so swiftly and silently, she'd never comprehend. He'd crossed the sitting room by her third word. On the fourth, she felt his hand clamp over her mouth. The other gripped the back of her head, fingers burrowing into her bound hair. Her nose filled with the scent of fine leather from his glove with just a hint of machine oil, likely from the battle cruiser he had hidden somewhere in the woods nearby. He pressed in close, pushing her backside against the desk and cutting off escape.

"I'm thrilled to see you as well, Allura. Though, for once I'd appreciate it if you offered me something to drink when I drop by. Sneaking across the castle grounds and scaling the wall to your room undetected is thirsty work," Lotor, Prince Imperial of Doom, said. It was bad enough having to look at his trademark smirk filling up the castle control room's comm screen, but in person it was even more galling, if smaller.

Allura jerked her head and released angry sounds against his glove. Tightening her hands into fists, she hammered them against his chest, trying to reach his face. It felt as if she were striking stone, and all she got for the effort were low chuckles.

That's when she remembered the scalpel.

Making a mental note to thank Dr. Gourma twice over, Allura brought one hand behind her to grope along the top of the desk. The other she kept busy smacking away at Lotor in the hopes that he wouldn't notice what she was up to. Her fingers bumped into the pile of severed fungus, some blank papers left over from earlier in the afternoon, and—there. Cold steel. She grasped the scalpel, praying the sharp end was facing out.

Eyes squeezed shut, she struck.

Something caught her wrist halfway through its flashing arc. Eyes snapping open, she saw it had been taken captive by Lotor's grip. Stare locked with hers, he applied pressure until she thought her hand would swell up like a purple-red balloon, all circulation cut off. Allura watched, tears of frustration blurring her vision, as the scalpel began to slip from her numbing fingers.

"No…" she gasped.

Then gasped again when realization sparked in her mind: his hand no longer muffled her. She sucked in another breath, ready to scream to the computer to sound an alarm.

Unfortunately, carelessness wasn't among Lotor's many faults.

Her shouted command became a muted squeal as he sealed his lips to hers. Shock jolted through her, and the scalpel finally tumbled to the carpet. While he eased up on her wrist, he gave no quarter elsewhere. She tried to twist her head to one side or the other, but the hand that cradled the back of her skull kept her still while he kissed and even nibbled her tightly closed lips. It tickled, and she actually felt a crazy giggle bubble in her throat.

Just when her head started to swim from lack of air, he replaced his mouth with his palm once more. Breathing hard through her nose, Allura wished she were that hideous creature from an old film in Lance's collection—the one that had snakes for hair and could turn people to stone with a look. Lotor would have been decorating a corner of the gardens within the hour. Better yet, smashed to so much gravel and scattered at the bottom of the lake around the castle.

Lotor returned her glare with a gleam in his eyes and an even more infuriating smile on his lips. "I'm going to remove my hand now. I trust you'll behave and refrain from making a further fuss?"

In a way, it was fortunate he'd covered her mouth. She would have blushed to hear some of the words in her reply clearly and ruined the whole effect.

"Well then. I suppose I'll have to kiss you until you see things my way, won't I?"

Was there anything else on her desk to bash or stab him with? There was that heavy book on the founding of Arus, but it was too far back, out of her reach. A shame—nothing would have been more just than slapping her people's tormentor across his smug face with their history.

Some of the humor drained out of Lotor's expression, leaving it almost grave. "I'm here to talk, Allura. That should be harrowing enough without bringing your boy warriors and castle security into the equation."

Talk! She'd heard that punchline before. When he'd first taken over the incursions against Arus, after he'd destroyed the bridge over the Chozzarai River, on Planet Tyrus during the whole birthday debacle—talk was always on the bottom of Lotor's to-do list. Allura condensed her thoughts into a snort.

"I thought you might feel that way," he said with a grim smile. "Allow me to phrase it differently then. Either we can talk in relative comfort like rational people, or I can find something to gag you with. It's your choice."

Though not a person quick to anger by nature, Allura felt a hot flare of resentment spike her blood pressure. He invaded her world, slunk into her room, manhandled her, and now thought he could issue ultimatums? She would teach him that there was always a third option.

But step one had to succeed before the rest. First, she had to get him to let her go.

Releasing a sigh through her nose, Allura nodded with just the right amount of resignation. Life with Nanny had elevated her skill in that to an art form. Sure enough, inch by inch, Lotor moved his hand away. He kept his stare trained on her face, watching for any twitch of insurrection. She gave him the expected glare of moral outrage—anything less and he might have cottoned on. Like actors, they both had their roles: he the victorious villain, and she the defeated yet defiant damsel. If she played along he would never see what Lance called the twist ending.

At last Lotor gave her a little breathing space, literally and figuratively. With a causal air she didn't trust for a second, he folded his arms across his chest.

"There. You and I standing in the same room like civilized, sentient beings. And look—the planet didn't even stop turning."

No, but its pollution levels had definitely risen. She made a point of wiping a sleeve across her lips. "You claim you came here to talk," she said, putting the snooty, high-born lady tone Nanny had schooled her in to use for once. "So talk."

He pressed a hand over his heart, expression a parody of sincerity. "Your enthusiasm is touching, Princess. But I suppose haste is called for. Your self-righteous brat bodyguards have an irritating habit of interrupting us."

Despite the observation, Lotor took the time for a dramatic pause. Allura had to wonder how there could be enough space in one room to accommodate her, him, and his massive ego.

"I've come to the realization that I've been going about this the wrong way," he went on, nonchalantly causing her thoughts to derail.

Allura replayed the words over and over, rearranging them in every possible combination, but her mind refused to absorb them. She had to resort to a rather high-pitched, "Excuse me?"

The way he set his jaw and slightly dilated his pupils was his version of looking uncomfortable she realized. "I once read the works of a particularly famous Terran scientist. A brilliant man—decades ahead of his time. He once defined insanity as repeating the same action yet expecting a different result. I've come to the conclusion that I've been proving him right."

In the absence of logical thought, emotion rushed in the fill the void. Allura's expression froze over. "And what triggered this epiphany to strike exactly, hm? Seeing the faces of my people as your fleets and robeasts terrorize them? Watching our crops burn? Reducing our homes and businesses to smoldering rubble?"

His pupils widened a fraction more, but his gaze didn't shy away from the challenge in hers. "Like many of my most important decisions, it was made with you in mind."

A retort gushed up her throat like magma erupting from a molten core, but became lodged there, scorching, choking her. Did he expect her to, what? Feel flattered? Grateful? Or, following the crooked path his logic always took, did he blame her for his obsession? Either way, she wanted to disagree in terms of bare knuckles and cold metal. Terms even a barbarian like him couldn't fail to grasp.

At least some of that desire must have been transcribed on her face because Lotor held up his hands in a universal gesture of concession. "Though your current opinions would never allow the idea to take root, I do care about you."

She couldn't help it. Allura laughed. A harsh, ringing sound like a sword being drawn from a scabbard. Lotor bore her show of scorn with the stoic grace of a martyr, waiting for her to wind down to giggles before continuing.

"That's how I came to realize I've been using the wrong tactics when it comes to you."

Tactics. As though she were a fortress to invade. The last traces of humor evaporated from her face.

"So you finally figured out that trying to own me like some limited edition collector's item is a bad thing? And it only took you a little over an Arusian year. Congratulations."

"It's never been about having you, Allura."

Words couldn't express her contempt—at least not the clean kind. She solved the dilemma with a dignified huff.

Lotor's brows drew down like a swooping white bird over his eyes. "If that were the case, I assure you, we wouldn't be having this pleasant little chat. I'd be pinning you down on that adorable pink bed of yours and fucking you until the canopy collapsed on top of us."

His words popped the illusion of relative safety she'd blundered into. The very real threat of him, his size, his nearness, his frank tone and gaze, swept over her. Allura felt her muscles petrify, cold dread trickling down her spine to gather in a frozen lump inside her guts. He was the second biggest threat to ever loom over Arus, the son of her father's murderer and a killer himself, and obsessed with making her his. She needed to create an opportunity to drive him off, not pelt him with snarky quips all night.

"Point taken," she said, voice carefully neutral and, she hoped, placating. "So what…tactics…are you planning to employ now?"

He studied her tripwire tense posture for several moments. "I've come to make a request," he answered at last, mimicking her tone. "Not a demand, nor a threat. A request, plain and simple."

Paying her for favors. She couldn't imagine how that might add up to disaster. Keeping a tight leash on the sarcasm, she said, "Really?"

Her grip apparently hadn't been firm enough because a small frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, Allura, really. Starting tomorrow, I will feed information on the comings and goings of my father's cargo freighters, his top military officials, the weaknesses of certain bases, and all manner of goodies the Alliance could only dream of. If, that is, you find my request agreeable."

Allura caught her jaw before it fell open completely. Inside intelligence hand delivered by the Prince Imperial himself? That, as Lance would put it, was nothing to thumb her nose at. Assuming Lotor's offer contained anything resembling truth. Her surprise matured into suspicion.

"What price tag comes attached to this generous offer?" Only five easy payments of her self-respect probably—insult to injury included.

Lotor looked away, out toward the velvety blue that had spread beyond her bedroom windows. The command for the computer to sound the alarm sprung to the tip of her tongue.

And teetered there, hesitating.

Not due to any actual interest in his hollow offer—she'd be out of her mind to entertain for a second that he might risk treason and change his ways for anything, let alone some harmless favor. It was just that he still stood within arm's reach. He needed to be farther away. More preoccupied.

Or maybe…well, maybe if she heard him out—pretended to, of course—and acted like she agreed to his mad request, he would leave quietly. Then she could alert the rest of the castle. Perhaps the Voltron Force could capture him before he got off world in the bargain. Yes. Yes! His intrusion turned into a victory for Arus. An example of making the best of a terrible situation if she'd ever heard one.

"I want you to give me a chance."

Lotor's voice, almost a sigh, caught her midway through her mental pat on the back. Allura jumped a little, her plot fraying at the seams. "I…you what?"

His eyes flicked over to rendezvous with hers before they darted back to the window. "Information to thwart my father's operations in exchange for you and I getting to interact beyond firing missiles and laser cannons at each other. It's a reasonable request. More than reasonable. It's profitable for Arus."

Though she stayed silent, tilting her head in a show of thought, it wasn't to chew on what he'd tried to feed her. The second she heard it her mind spit the poisonous notion out. Oh, the offer would be profitable for her planet in the short term, no doubt. But the one who stood to gain the most from the Voltron Force and Alliance chipping away at Zarkon's power was currently looming over her, one boot tapping on her carpet as he waited for her response. With the old space pirate preoccupied by dwindling resources and soaring defeats, he'd probably never notice his son creeping up from behind until Lotor's sword ran right through him.

She was young, maybe naïve at times, but Allura didn't qualify for stupid.

Lotor didn't need to know that, though. Victory was all he had eyes for.

"You and I interacting. What sort of…interaction did you have in mind?" She had to control her gag reflex while she said it.

Lotor released a long-suffering sigh. "Contrary to what I can almost hear you thinking, no, I don't mean sex." His lids grew hooded, eyes flickering like candleflames beneath them. "Though I've thought about it, Princess. Often," he confessed in a low voice that she swore took on substance, gliding across the gap between them to brush against her skin.

Wishing she had an extra layer of clothing on, Allura folded her arms across her chest. She had to lick her dry lips twice before speaking. "So what then?" Her voice had too much in common with the castle's mice.

He didn't lose the hungry predator expression. "You were practicing Drule when I came in, weren't you?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat around her thumping pulse. "The Alliance's translators felt they had a deep enough understanding of your language to release a learning program."

"Well, they were wrong. Any Drule child off of his or her mother's teat could have told them as much."

Allura welcomed the wave of annoyance, letting it scour away her nerves. "What does—"

"I can teach you."

Arus' sworn enemy and would-be conqueror tutoring her in his people's speech. She could see it now. Lesson one: How to address one's Drule masters properly.

"And how are you planning on doing this?" she asked, more to keep the ball rolling than from any belief he intended to follow through with the offer. "Should I have a ladder installed on my balcony?"

A thin smile stretched his lips. "Appreciated, Allura, but a bit too conspicuous, I think. I'll let myself in, thank you. I've never had too much trouble in the past, after all."

She dug her nails into her palms to refrain from slapping the hint of a smirk off his face. "And are you going to keep up the tradition of popping in unannounced, or will you tell me when I should expect you?"

Allura anticipated hearing anything from a long list of excuses and evasions.

The answer he gave wasn't among them.

"Tomorrow I will send you—via a third party, of course—your first gift of information. From there, I'll call on you, let us say…three Arusian days afterward? In the evening, like now. That should give you plenty of time to prepare a trap for me, should the mood strike."

Her mouth opened to release a soothing denial, but Lotor staved it off with a raised hand.

"You're no fool, Allura. You don't believe a word I've said up to this point. Talk, as you humans have noted, is cheap. Only actions will suffice here."

He leaned down, an avalanche of white hair spilling over his shoulders. Allura pressed herself into the desk to avoid it brushing against her. At that range, she could feel his warm breath on her suddenly clammy skin, and see her pale reflection in the dark mirrors of his widened pupils. Her heart felt like an icy hand had clamped around it.

"I put my faith in you, Princess. I do it in the hope that one day you might do the same for me."

Her tongue did nothing but trip over itself while he turned on one heel with military precision and strode out of her room without a second glance. She heard nothing—no drapes being pulled aside, no click from the glass doors, or scrapes against the stone terrace. Only a lingering whiff of fine leather and the taste of his lips on hers provided proof she hadn't hallucinated the entire encounter.

You're no fool, Allura.

The alarm. She needed to alert security and the guys before Lotor got away.

I'll call on you, let us say…three Arusian days after?

Instead of shouting at the top of her lungs, Allura found herself headed for the balcony. She swiped aside the drapes, feet slapping on the cool stone as she hurried to the balustrade. Moonlight edged the grass and foliage in silver. Shattered into millions of glittering ripples on the surface of the surrounding lake. No sign of the Prince Imperial shone in the darkness. But unless he had sprouted wings somehow, it would take time for him to get to his cruiser. All she had to do was give the word.

I put my faith in you, Princess…

Allura's hands squeezed the railing until the knuckles became as white as its stone.

That…that smug…devious…blankety blank. He knew she could reject him. That she could resist personal or even political gain.

But she couldn't deny her own better nature.