Arthur, Prince of the Winter Sidhe, Lord of Air and Darkness, and Ruler of Tor Hibernis, woke with a start to a knife prick at his throat.
So this is how it ended. Barely a month from being crowned he was going to die in his own bed at the hands of some nameless assassin. He sighed. He wasn't ready to die.
"Don't move," the man whispered. "you'd bleed out long before your guards would reach you."
Arthur frowned. Any competent cutthroat would've killed him and been done with it. "If you want me to beg, you'll be disappointed."
The man laughed and pulled back his hood. "I'd hardly expect that of you, love. Your reputation as a stone cold bastard precedes you."
Arthur froze. Fear, real fear, shot through his veins like ice. "As does yours," he whispered. How was this possible? Arthur's room was at the center of Tor Hibernis; at the heart of Winter's power.
King Eames, ruler of the Summerlands, stared down at him with unreadable eyes. "Arthur, darling. Tell me something, I've been wondering. Is it true you told your father that the attack on Tor Aestas was foolish?
Phantom pains of his past anger and loss surfaced briefly. So that's what this was, Eames only wanted to rub in painful memories. Let him, then. Arthur wasn't going let a summer demon see his pain. "It was. Your soldiers gutted the King of Winter like a common criminal and mounted his head on a spike. My people would never consent to a treaty now." He shrugged like it hadn't bothered him then; wasn't still agony to remember now.
Eames tilted his head as if killing people hardly mattered to him. "But you wanted peace?"
Arthur flushed with anger. Of all the people to ask him that. "You bloody fool. Of course I wanted peace."
Eames studied Arthur intently. "How far would you go for it?"
Arthur closed his eyes. He thought of his family, dead from war. He thought of all the beggars missing limbs in the city streets, and all the sad eyed children with missing fathers. "Anything," he whispered.
Eames nodded as if Arthur had passed some test. "And what if I told you there was a way?"
"Why should I trust you?"
Eames leaned down and grazed the tip of Arthur's ear with his lips. His breath was hot and smelled of summer spices and ocean breezes. Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Because I know a way. To end it. All I need is your trust."
To trust a summer demon; it was unthinkable, revolting. Arthur scoffed when he realized what the man was suggesting. "I'm not going to surrender and watch my people become slaves."
Eames blinked like the idea hadn't even occurred to him, then chuckled. "You think quite badly of me, darling."
Icy rage exploded in Arthur's chest. This man had killed hundreds of children, and if the reports were accurate, laughed as he'd done it. "You have no right," he snarled. "No right at all, to call me that. I'll kill you and paint the walls of the Tor with your entrails-"
Eames adjusted the knife slightly; a small drop of blood welled up along the edge and Arthur fell silent. "They told me you were too angry'" Eames commented casually. "That you'd die before agreeing to treat with us. But I didn't listen because I thought- hoped really, that they were wrong."
Arthur bared his teeth. "Killing a man's family will do that."
"Your father marched an army into my capital on our holiest holiday, and began indiscriminately slaughtering civilians. Of course I killed him."
Arthur closed his eyes and remembered the day on midsummer it had happened. He'd argued that Eames would be too strong on Midsummer, but his father had laughed. Eames would be drunk, he'd said. He would die with a courtesan in one hand, a wineglass in the other, and surprise on his face. There would be peace.
But on the night of the attack, Arthur had seen summer lightning blossom across the sky in angry lines, like retribution, like judgment, and he had known. He was already planning the funerary arrangements with numb, mechanical motions when the news of the King's death had come the next morning.
Eames sighed, bringing Arthur back to the present. "We've both lost people. And I'm sorry for that. But if you would just forgot about the past and trust me, we could save so many lives."
Arthur willed the anger and pain in his heart into smoothness, like the surface of an icy lake. "What then, would you have me do?"
All the amusement and flippancy left Eames in the blink of an eye and he suddenly looked tired and sad. Arthur blinked. Perhaps he really did want peace. Perhaps he really knew a way to-
"Marry me," Eames said.
It was like being hit over the head with a bludgeon. "What?" he asked weakly.
Eames smiled almost tenderly at him and sprang back from the bed, pocketing his knife in the process. "Think it over," he called as he left the room. " I'll be back later for your answer."
After Eames slipped away silently, Arthur rose from his bed and went to sit on his balcony. In the far distance, he could make out the glittering golden lights of Tor Aestas, in stark contrast to his own castle, which glowed silver in the moonlight.
The King of the Summer Sidhe, the Lord of Tree and Flame, had just asked Arthur to marry him. He felt hysterical laughter bubble from his lips. It was ridiculous. Eames's people didn't tell the truth; they were liars, blood thirsty backstabbers who danced in the entrails of their victims and raped the survivors with abandon. He shivered. All his life he'd heard of their depravities and their king, he'd heard, was the worst.
But Eames hadn't seemed like a demon. He'd looked like a man, and a… surprisingly attractive one at that. Arthur frowned and absentmindedly painted frost on the bench next to him, letting the icy patterns soothe him. Arthur could almost relate to the weariness he'd shown when he talked of his dead subjects.
So many dead. Arthur closed his eyes. If there was a chance, even the slightest chance that Eames's plan might work, he owed it to his people to at least consider it.
His mind made up, he padded back inside, staring over his shoulder at the distant Summerlands for a moment before he shut the door. Now, the only problem would be convincing his regent that he was not, in fact, insane.
Twenty minutes later, Arthur silently conceded that it was easier said than done. He glanced at the walls of the regent's office, hoping they were strong enough that Cobb's shouting hadn't woken up every inhabitant of the Tor by now.
"This is madness, and you know it!" Cobb shouted. The regent punched the wall in controlled fury then spun around to glare at Arthur.
Arthur shifted in his chair and ignored a twinge of resentment at being treated like a disobedient child. He was almost twenty; he would be king in his own right in less than a year. But Cobb had cared for him all his life. It wouldn't do to respond heatedly anyway; Cobb would only think him childish. "He seemed serious enough," he offered.
Cobb swore. "Of course he seemed serious, he's the bloody Summer King. He's a treacherous snake; he can appear to be anything he wants. You're lucky to be alive."
"He had me completely at his mercy, and he didn't kill me."
"This time. And he wouldn't kill you, he wants Winter subjugated at his feet, your people broken under his heel, your body chained up in his bed-"
"That's enough," he bit out, a bit too sharply. "Do not forgot whom you are addressing."
Cobb rolled his eyes and held his hands out in a placating gesture. "I meant no disrespect. But swear to me you won't engage him again. If he tries anything, anything at all, promise me you'll call your guards."
Arthur eyed Eames the next night and sighed. "My regent ordered me not to speak to you."
Eames snorted. They were sitting in chairs like civilized people this time, and Eames had magnanimously kept his knife sheathed. "Is he your regent or your nursemaid?"
Arthur gritted his teeth. "He's trying to protect me from what he perceives to be an incredibly dangerous threat."
"And you don't perceive me as such?"
Arthur studied Eames, not quite sure how to respond, lest he let his very real fear show. "Any man with such power can be a threat," he replied carefully.
"I'm not a threat to you, Arthur."
Arthur had no idea how to respond to that. They sat in silence for a moment. "Have you ever heard of Oberon?" Eames asked suddenly. "Or Mab, or Titania?"
Arthur shrugged. "They're myths and legends."
Eames shook his head. "They were real. And they each ruled both Winter and Summer as one. It's possible."
Arthur closed his eyes and let himself imagine a world like Eames described. The two courts, coexisting in peace. It was an achingly sweet dream. Arthur knew, in that instant, that he would do anything to make it a reality. Even sell his body to a summer demon. Anything. "So you want to marry me."
Eames smiled and reached over to rest a hand on his knee, making Arthur shiver slightly. "It's the only way our people would accept a treaty. It would be a marriage of equals; I wouldn't try to take away any of your power and I trust you'd do likewise. I won't pretend that it would be easy, but it would show we were serious about peace; give our people an example to follow."
Eames's hand was feverishly hot on his leg. He'd heard that Summer blood ran hotter than that of his own people, but he'd never been this close to one before. The heat was making it difficult for him to think. Every nerve screamed that the creature before him was foreign, wrong, dangerous.
He held his ground. Eames was right; if he couldn't sit calmly now, how could he expect his people to be peaceful? That was the root of it. He had to set an example. As a ruler, his own wants were unimportant. Duty first, as his father had always told him. He took a deep breath. "Then I accept." He was proud of how little his voice shook.
Eames smirked and he raised his hand to caress Arthur's cheek. "Brilliant, Love."
Arthur jerked away from the touch like it burned. "To make this clear, Eames. I will go through with this for my people's sake, and I will do my best to see that the peace keeps." His eyes blazed with anger. "But you killed my father and I am not, and will never be, your Love."
Eames didn't move his hand from Arthur's face. "Of course, Arthur."
In the early morning, Arthur slipped from his rooms and padded through the silent halls of the palace to his throne room. It was dazzling; the light filtered through the frost on the windows and spun golden patterns on the floor, flickering across the carpet like the ghosts of dancers, reminders of an age when there had been time for dancing.
Arthur barely noticed the beauty. He sat down on the floor with a sigh, staring at the portrait of his father that hung on the wall intently, as if it might have answers.
"I still think this is crazy."
Arthur looked up to see Cobb enter. He still wore his night robes, and his bloodshot eyes belied a long night spent sleepless. Arthur gave him a small smile, though his heart wasn't in it. He doubted himself too much at the moment; listening to Cobb rage about his idiocy was not going to be helpful. "Perhaps it is crazy. But I have to try."
Cobb sat down next to him with a grunt. "Your father, or Mal, or any of the other's we've lost, wouldn't want you to do this for them. Your people wouldn't ask this of you-"
"It doesn't matter what they ask, it matters what they need. They need peace, Uncle. And I can give it to them."
Cobb put his head in his hands. "I've watched over you since you were a child, Arthur, and the thought of you as a helpless catamite in that bastard's bed-"
Arthur patted Cobb's shoulder with a calm he didn't feel. "It won't come to that."
In truth he had no idea what would happen in that regard, but he knew, with an icy certainty in the pit of his stomach, that if Eames demanded it he'd concede before letting the fighting continue.
Cobb smiled sadly. "So stubborn. Like your father. I suppose you really mean to go through with this?"
Arthur nodded.
"Are you going to tell Duke Nash?"
Arthur winced. Nash had nothing to do with this. "He'll find out eventually."
Cobb eyed him. "You don't think perhaps he should hear it from you?"
Arthur shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Why would he need to hear any sooner than anyone else?"
"No reason, I suppose."
"Well then."
"Well then," Cobb repeated with a resigned sigh. "We need to begin making plans. I'll draw up an official speech for you. I can have it ready by tomorrow afternoon. If you can have Eames send his secretaries over as a show of good faith, they can begin working with ours to plan the legalities. And we need to figure out where your wedding is going to be." Cobb paused, and stared at Arthur like he wanted to hug him. "I love you Arthur, but you're a grown man now. If this is what to want, I'll do my best to help you."
Arthur nodded, doing his best to ignore the lump in his throat.
The preparations took off like a sudden storm in the days that followed. Summer's delegation, headed by Eames's sister Ariadne, arrived the next evening. They promptly began doing whatever they could to unnerve the staid Winter courtiers, following Ariadne's example when she took one look at Cobb and began kissing his jaw enthusiastically.
"Ari's very passionate about forging a lasting peace," Eames said dryly when Arthur mentioned it to him later.
Meanwhile, Arthur's castellan had almost had an apoplectic fit when he walked into a spate of drunken debauchery in the royal ice gardens, and he'd heard scandalized murmurs about how the Summer sidhe dared to go about holding hands in broad daylight.
Still, Arthur had to admit they worked hard when they put their minds to it. A treaty was ready for signing in less than a week, and the marriage preparation was almost finished. Or so he'd heard. Arthur had tried to help, but after being shooed out of conference rooms by his staff he finally decided to leave it in their more than capable hands. He limited his involvement to giving a speech about peace and tolerance that was frankly much more optimistic than practical, then kept to the castle. Too many of his subjects were upset; he didn't want the city's banshees starting riots at the sight of his face. Of course, staying indoors had it's problems too. Namely, Eames.
"Hello Darling,"
Arthur stiffened as he felt thick arms encircle him and hot breath ghost across the skin of his neck. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asked.
Eames laughed. It was booming and carefree; Arthur almost asked how a leader in wartime could ever manage to sound so untroubled. "Oh, there are lots of things you could help me with, pet," he murmured behind Arthur's ear.
Arthur gritted his teeth. This was why he couldn't stand Eames. Any combination of syllables, no matter how inane, managed to come out of the man's mouth as innuendo. "If there's nothing specific, I'd prefer if you disengaged yourself. I wouldn't want to unnerve any of the servants."
Eames pulled back, not looking sorry in the least. "Be lucky we're spending the winter in your castle then. In mine, engaged couples greet each other with kisses."
"Oh," Arthur said faintly.
"Interested in bridging the cultural divide?" Eames asked with a smirk.
Arthur bit his lip. He thought Eames was joking, but- "I wouldn't want to, um, alienate your people," he said, staring at the floor. "If you think they'd be more supportive of the treaty if I…"
He faltered. In truth, public displays of emotion were taboo in all of the Winterlands, but especially in the court. He'd had lovers before of course; he wasn't a child by any means. All the same, he'd never kissed anyone in public before. It just wasn't done.
"Arthur," Eames said, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. "I'm their king. They'll do as I tell them to, regardless of whether you kiss me or not." He frowned.
Arthur wondered if he was thinking fondly of his own court and cursing fate for giving him an untouchable ice prince instead of some sensuous summer nymph. "But-"
Eames patted his shoulder lightly. "Truly, don't worry about it." He smirked. "Though I am going to kiss you at the wedding. Your regent was kind enough to inform me that it would be perfectly acceptable to do so. Though he did turn an odd shade of red when I asked him."
"Please don't give my regent a heart attack. And it's a wedding; we're expected to kiss."
Eames favored him with a sparkling grin. "And you're quite sure you don't mind?"
Arthur scoffed. "I think I can handle it."
