Disclaimer: I do not own Voltron: Legendary Defender or the characters.


Memory Lane

He had been back in London for less than a week, and already he looked forward to his next banishment.

Galra Corp was a mess, as he knew it would be. His father's people worked in a competitive environment, and with their leader in a hospital bed, there was no structure, no guidance to see that their bickering and infighting worked toward a grander purpose. Then again, his father's grander purpose had long ago been lost to his own pettiness and need to destroy his enemies, even at a cost to himself. But without him there, the people who worked beneath him clawed for a stake in the company, sought to prove themselves as a better replacement than the son Zarkon despised.

"Fires of Purification?" Lotor groaned as he looked over the email Acxa forwarded to him.

"Yes, sir," she said from the chair she occupied in his office's receiving area. "Sendak has sent this idea of his to every department supervisor and developer."

"He wants to go into war-torn countries and stir up even more violence and insurrection in order to bolster weapons sales… Well, my father obviously did a splendid job grooming him to be his successor. He is as much a diabolical villain aspiring to be a dictator as Zarkon." He was almost tempted to anonymously send the email to the UN securities commission, but he did not need Galra subjected to major war-crime investigations while he was in charge. And he knew for a fact Zarkon had at least a third of them in his pocket, so it would be futile to undermine the company that way. He slumped over his desk and rubbed his temple. "Draft a missive condemning this barbaric practice. It lacks creativity and is quite illegal, not to mention immoral. We have been fortunate thus far avoiding investigation, but as we have seen on the other side of the Atlantic, it is only a matter of time before someone gets too greedy and draws attention to that which we prefer to hide. We need to focus on stabilizing these countries. Focus on our private security division, offering it to whoever we desire to be the winning side, and helping them reclaim their country. From there, we reap the rewards given freely by a glad ally who will not stand in the way of my father's mining and extraction operations."

He fell back in his chair with a sigh. "It is as though these people do not understand how to create and control puppet administrations. They live in a country with a long history of colonialism, and yet they do not care to study it. Unfettered chaos cannot be sustained in the long-term. Now is a time for a stable solution."

"They won't like that," Zethrid offered where she stretched out over the couch near his office door. She had made herself comfortable there as soon as Acxa shut the door. She split her attention between the meeting and the woman perched on the back of the couch. He had spent most of the meeting actively ignoring Zethrid as she tickled Ezor's ankle or played with the woman's long blonde hair as it dangled down from her high ponytail. Their flirting rarely interfered with work, so he allowed it in the privacy of his office. Once the door opened to anyone else, though, they knew well enough to cease their activities.

He flicked his fingers to dismiss Zethrid's comment. He already knew that it would not be well-received. That did not concern him. He was the executive in charge, they were to follow his orders. When his father returned, they could do as they like while he was sent to rot somewhere else.

Though, he had no plans to rot anywhere this time. He would go where he pleased.

"Now, what of this Puig contract I hear we are on the cusp of losing?" he asked.

Narti flipped through the stack of files on her lap where she silently sat opposite him at the desk. When she found the contract, she held it over to him while Acxa explained. "It is a small factory in Marrakesh that your father contracted to fabricate filaments for radio comms. They assemble one part of hundreds. It is highly specialized work."

"And the reason we have allowed the contract to lapse?" he asked as he scanned the contract details himself. They held an exclusive contract with the factory. It may as well be owned by Galra, they were not allowed to sell these filaments to any other operation, could not create anything similar for other companies. He was surprised his father didn't just buy it out entirely.

"The company found a cheaper method of production," Acxa explained.

"Of course, they did." He hummed in thought as he flipped to a page detailing the financial status and holdings of Puig and its owner. "He does not have enough capital without Galra funds to keep the factory open. Three-hundred people will be unemployed if he does not find a new contract or financial partner." He stood from his desk to pace near the window, reading the intelligence his assistants gathered on Puig's current fiscal options. "They have other contract options available now…"

"Yes, but Galra backed mercenaries have been known to attack shipments that are not protected by the corporation. Without Galra's protection, they are vulnerable to lose all profit from the contracts."

"So, they need protection, which is why they have hesitated to take these other offers… In favor of a buyout." He chuckled as he scanned the page detailing the buyout offer Puig received. "Altea is the only company with a private security team, which Voltron would of course have full access to. But, what could she need this factory for?"

The reason did not particularly matter. The factory had been under Galra contract, and the Altea family surely wanted to seize any holding they presumed to be weak.

"And why hasn't Puig taken the offer yet?" he mused, frowning at the file.

"They may be waiting for a better offer," Acxa suggested.

Lotor hummed, narrowing his eyes on the file as he ran a finger over his lips. "What would my father do?" he murmured. A question he often asked, if only to do the opposite. Here he needed to keep up appearances as the temporary head of Galra.

"Lotor," a woman called from the door as it opened without even a knock to warn him.

He restrained the urge to growl at the interruption but still sneered at the woman barging in on his meeting. Of course, he could not avoid her forever.

"We are in the middle of something," he said, dropping his tone to be cold and distant. "If you wish to speak with me, make an appointment with my assistant."

"A mother does not need an appointment to see her son," Honerva snapped back.

Lotor sneered again but nodded his head to signal his assistants leave.

"What do you want, Witch?" he asked once the door shut behind the girls.

"Lotor, must you continue to call me that?"

"Would you prefer Hag?"

"I would prefer you call me mother."

He threw the Puig file on his desk as he let out a short laugh. "Oh, now you desire to play the role of mother. When your coked-up husband is bedridden, leaving you without a proper puppet to maintain control of this corrupt corporation, you look to the son you never wanted for help."

Honerva sighed as she grasped the back of the chair just occupied by Narti. She hunched over, shut her eyes as her long white hair spilled over her shoulders. She looked so old in that moment, far older than she was.

"Spare me your melodrama, Lotor," she said, glancing up at him with that exhausted look he knew was designed to make him pity her. He almost did… almost, but she had dug her own grave long ago.

Honerva Daibazaal had once been a renowned scientist employed by Altea Industries. She moved to Galra Corporation shortly after meeting Zarkon through the Voltron Foundation, when Altea and Galra still shared their resources. His father had fallen in love with her brilliance and beauty, and she had loved him for the endless support he gave to her research, no matter how absurd others may have thought some of her experiments. Their ambitions and goals matched perfectly. It had the makings of a wonderful marriage. But Honerva's brilliance drove her to push limits, to obsess over her research into literally everything that sparked her interest. She stretched herself thin, wore down her body, but rather than pull back and rest like any rational person would, she relied on any chemical she could ingest to give her the energy to keep going.

She started with Adderall, moved to harder amphetamines, and then landed on cocaine as her preferred stimulant at three in the morning when her latest bio-engineering project failed to produce the results she sought. His father looked the other way at first, pretended that it was not a problem. From what Lotor gathered, he didn't even try to intervene when they learned she was pregnant. All that mattered was that she continued her research, the defining element of her whole life. And then Zarkon went from ambivalent denial to directly enabling her addiction, swiftly followed by joining her in it.

"I have already heard complaints of how you are managing the company," Honerva said.

"And you are surprised?" He feigned his own shock, earning a glare from the witch. He brushed off her irritation and turned to stare out at the lovely view of the Thames his office had. He clasped his hands behind his back and straightened. "Every time I have been given a modicum of authority in this place, the people grumble and complain. They drink in my father's vitriol and contempt for my methods and spew it back out when he is not here to provide it."

"You will be the company's downfall if you continue to interfere."

Good, he thought to himself. "Warmongering is not a sustainable business model. Nor is sucking the planet dry of its resources. If anything is to be the downfall of this corporation, it is my father's greed and disregard for the consequences of his actions."

He heard Honerva sigh behind him. "I called you back hoping you had learned your lesson. All I request is that you keep your head down, conform to your father's ways, and maintain the status quo until he returns. Is that really so difficult?"

Lotor snorted, turning to glance at her over his shoulder. "Impossible. I will do things my way. Never his."

"Lotor…"

"I am not my father. The sooner he accepts that, the better." He turned to snatch his navy blue blazer from the back of his chair. "And the sooner you accept that I am not your son, the sooner we can move on from that regrettable chapter of your life."

"Will you at least attempt to adhere to his dress code?" she said through clenched teeth.

Lotor looked down at his navy blue suit and waistcoat, blue button down shirt, and vibrant orange tie, and then looked over Honerva's black and red dress-suit ensemble. All of his father's underlings followed the strict color pattern he preferred for his workers. It was drab and droll, and he loathed the uniformity. His assistants had no choice but to keep to it while he was away, but now that he had returned, they were free to follow his guidelines while in the building – black, varying shades of blue, and orange if they so desired a brighter color. He even allowed Ezor to streak her hair with whatever colors called to her, Narti was allowed to wear her favorite black hoodie whenever she felt overwhelmed, Zethrid could wear purple or pink or blue lipstick if she desired, and if Acxa was ever inclined to stand out, he would welcome it. They were his employees, after all, even if their pay came from the company coffers.

He did not answer the witch as he grabbed his phone and headed for the door.

"At least cut your hair," Honerva hollered at him. "Your father has been asking you to be more presentable in meetings for years."

He longed to flip her off, tell her to sod off, but he knew better than to acknowledge her nagging. She did not care about his suit or his hair. She did not care about his methods. All that mattered was controlling a pawn, but he was not her pawn and never would be.

"Where are you going?" she snapped as he opened the door and stepped out to see his assistants waiting for him. "You have work to do here."

"I have work that requires my presence elsewhere," he explained. "Apologies, but perhaps we can reschedule for… Never."

"Wait, Lotor," she called just as he began to turn away. The pleading in her tone gave him pause. It sounded so weak, so frail. She almost sounded human. It was enough to make him look back at her, to take in the deep wrinkles cutting down her cheeks, the sunken amber eyes that dimmed as though she mourned for something she lost. "Can we have dinner tonight?"

He heaved a long sigh and wished he had continued to walk away.

"I need to talk to you…" She glanced around him at the women who were far too curious about their conversation not to eavesdrop now that the door was open. "I am attempting to make some changes in my life…"

He barked a harsh laugh. "Ah, yes, I believe I read an article about your stay at some glitzy detox resort. I wish you success on your… what? Fifth attempt?"

"I am serious this time, Lotor," she hissed. "We need to speak."

"Oh? Wait a tick, is this the stage where you make amends with someone you wronged?" His lip curled in distaste. "Then no, I will not have dinner with you tonight, or any other night, Witch. You can crawl around on your knees, apologizing and begging for my forgiveness until you are blue in the face, but it will only be a waste of your time and my own." He walked out of his office. "Besides, you and I both know this will not last. It never does."

"Lotor," Honerva called after him as he waved for his assistants to follow. "Lotor!"

"Acxa," he whispered as he led the way to the lift. "Ready my jet. I wish to leave for Marrakesh tonight."

"Yes, sir. Do you want a pilot?"

He thought for a moment. "No." He could use the time in the cockpit to clear his head. "Ezor, pack a bag. I will only be gone for a day, so just the essentials."

"Got it, Boss."

He opened a group text to message the four the rest of his orders so that his mother did not overhear.

'Acxa, do you have properties lined up?'

'Four. Two are in Southwark. One in Lambeth. And another in Camden.'

'We'll start in Southwark. Send me the addresses and we'll meet there. Narti will come with me. Zethrid, see that we are not followed.'

'Any means necessary?' Zethrid texted, followed by an emoji with an eager grin.

'Avoid murder, but yes. By any means.'

'Fine. No murder.'

She was going to assault at least three people. He had an entire account dedicated to her legal defense, but she literally fought for every second of privacy he had in that hellhole of a company and it was more than worth the cost.

They went their separate ways at the main level. Zethrid followed him merely to crash into anyone else who followed him to the executive garage. She would then follow him in his company car, cutting off anyone she recognized or felt suspicious of until he navigated the London streets well enough to lose any other pursuers. Acxa and Ezor went out the front door, turned in separate directions. Acxa would have her motorcycle parked in another lot, Ezor would take the tube to his flat.

It was a sunny and humid day that weighed him down as he walked to his Aston Martin. Mid-day traffic would not be as horrendous, but the unseasonable heat would make it worse. He slipped off his blazer at his car, tossed it into the backseat, and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up as he got in the driver's seat.

He wanted to sink back and sigh in relief after escaping his mother's persistence. He wanted to allow himself to relax, to breathe, but he had too much to do and could not be at ease just yet. A night in Morocco would garner him a measure of freedom to shake off that conversation, even if he had business to attend to the next day.

A flutter of movement beside him drew his attention to Narti. He had found her in Nigeria, in one of the witch's laboratories. She had been there since she was a girl, undergoing one operation after another to save her eyesight. The surgeries had been a success, but she had been torn from her family, treated like nothing more than another experiment, isolated from all manner of human affection and care. The trauma rendered her mute. She relied on signing to communicate early on, but now she preferred to text to protect his privacy should any of their conversations contain sensitive information; unless they were alone.

"Do you need me to drive?" she signed to him.

He snorted. She was more perceptive than any would suspect. Only Acxa could read his mood better, and that was only because she had been at his side for a decade – the longest of all his assistants, ever since his father dragged him to Hong Kong on a business trip when on break from university. "I appreciate the offer, but I will be fine." He smiled as he started the car. "I could use a cup of coffee. Shall we make a quick stop before meeting Acxa?"

"Poppyseed muffin," she signed as her request.

"Of course," he agreed. "Lemon square for Acxa?"

Narti nodded once.

He felt free enough to let out another laugh as he pulled from the garage with a squeal of tires on asphalt. An afternoon away from the office was sure to lift his mood.


"Please, Allura," Hunk begged from his knees beside her desk.

"The food in the cafeteria is perfectly adequate, Hunk," she said, sighing at the man's grimace. "What is wrong with it?"

"I mean… I don't want to offend…" He looked away with another grimace. "Coran is in charge of the menu, right?"

"He is. He is a splendid cook." She could not help but defend her friend. She had grown up with his cooking. She was more than fond of it.

"Yeah… see… He isn't." Hunk winced when he met her gaze and she could only guess what her expression gave away. This conversation was a waste of their time. "Okay, hear me out. He isn't bad, he just… Has he ever heard of spices? Like… at all?"

"Of course, he has heard of spices. His best mate is a British Indian, for heaven's sake. He is well acquainted with spices."

"Then why won't he use them?" Hunk was growing visibly frustrated as he scooted closer and pleaded for her to understand his point of view.

"I'm with Hunk on this one," Lance chimed in. "The pastries and desserts are great, but we've had the same thing for lunch every day this week."

"I don't know. I think the food's alright," Pidge offered. "Could use some variety, but it's not as bad as the Garrison cafeteria."

All the Americans made the same disgusted expression at the memory of their time at the Academy.

"Pidge, Pidge, Pidge," Lance said as he set a hand on the woman's shoulder with a solemn shake of his head. "So innocent. So naïve. I feel bad for you."

Pidge smacked his hand away and glared. "What does that mean?"

"Next time we go back to the States, you're having dinner at my abuela's. You'll understand then," he offered as an explanation.

"No, that won't be necessary," Hunk said. "If Allura would just give me a little creative influence over the kitchen, everyone will taste the difference tomorrow."

"Hunk is an amazing cook," Shiro said.

"Do you people not have any work to be doing right now?" Allura asked as she stared at the five Americans scattered around her office.

Keith had perched himself on the low cabinet built into the wall beside her desk and mindlessly played with a pewter lion that had been in the place he now occupied. A glass screen hung on the wall behind him, part of her video call interface connected to everyone at Voltron, as well as her father at Altea.

Shiro sat on her desk. Hunk and Pidge had taken the chairs in front of her desk, though the former now knelt beside her as he took to begging for her to allow him this request. And Lance leaned against the back of Pidge's chair.

She had no idea why Hunk's request required all five of them to be there. Moral support, perhaps? Were the Americans banding together against her already? Keith did not even appear to care a whit about the food she provided at no cost to them. He was just there because everyone was there.

"Listen, I love fish and chips as much as the next man," Hunk continued to argue. "But just a little variety is all I ask for. Burritos! Burritos are amazing! They have everything in them that you need! Just… please! Let me have the kitchen."

Allura turned to Shiro. "I assume you are on their side in this?"

Shiro shrugged. "I will say, staff morale depends on the outcome of this negotiation."

"Thank you, Shiro," Hunk shouted.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and prayed that this did not turn into a disaster. "Fine."

She sighed at the celebratory shout, and immediately yelped in surprise when she found herself swooped into a tight hug from the large man who had only moments before been on his knees.

"Thank you. Thank you. You are the best," Hunk said as he jostled her side to side. She couldn't even return the hug. Her arms were trapped at her sides in his tight hold. "You won't regret this. I'll make my mom's pork recipe for lunch tomorrow. It's the best on the island. You'll love it."

"Yes. Yes. I look forward to it," she said as he squeezed even tighter. "Just… please release me, Hunk."

"Oh, sorry." He dropped her back to her feet and stepped away with a large, nervous grin. "Got a bit carried away."

"It is fine." She waved off his embarrassment and threw herself back into her seat. "If I had known your meals would be this important to you, I would have asked Coran to sit down with all of you beforehand."

"Well, I expected a lot worse than fish and chips," Lance said. "Don't Aussies eat bugs sometimes? I swear I saw that they eat these… maggots?"

"Oh no," Allura moaned as she slumped over her desk. She could hear him sprinting through the building already. The Americans remained oblivious to the ensuing chaos.

"Witchetty grubs," Pidge corrected Lance. "They're actually supposed to be pretty –"

"Aussie!" Coran interrupted as he crashed through her open door. His usually pale complexion was completely red – either from his run through the building or his anger, she could not be entirely certain. "Aussie!? Did you just call me an Aussie?"

"Well, yeah." Lance blinked in surprise. "You're from Australia, aren't you?"

Shiro pressed his hand to his face and sighed. Allura rubbed her temples. Coran spluttered in offense.

"I. Am. A. Kiwi," Coran hollered.

Lance cocked his head to the side, but Keith was the one to ask, "Like the bird? Or the fruit?"

"Americans!" Coran shouted as he stormed over to Allura, blustering the whole way. "I see what you mean, Princess. We are doomed. These heathens don't even know what a Kiwi is."

"Now, Coran…" She tried to ease his temper with a soft smile. "It is a simple misunderstanding."

"Aussie, Allura! Aussie," he shouted. "The sheer audacity of even suggesting it."

She sighed and turned to Lance. "Coran is from New Zealand."

"Ooohhhhh." She watched realization dawn on all but Shiro.

"So? Do they eat bugs in New Zealand, too?" Lance asked.

Coran cleared his throat and calmed. "No, but I've had those grubs before. Alfor bet that I couldn't stomach one." He straightened and pat his belly. "Ate thirty before I thought I'd vomit those little buggers back up. Showed him what's what."

"It is not fair when you have an intestinal worm to help you out, mate," a deep voice retorted from the doorway, the unexpected guest startling everyone in the room.

"Father." Allura cheered, unable to help herself as she skipped across the room to greet him. Finally, someone with some sense.

"Darling," he greeted with a wide grin that his thick white beard could never hide. He shifted to brace a box he held against his hip to return her hug with his free arm. He was not much taller than her and easily leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I hope I am not interrupting."

She pulled away with a sigh. "No, no, our workday derailed long ago."

"Coran's fed us fish and chips all week," Hunk explained.

"They were ready to mutiny if I did not give them control of the kitchen," Allura added. Alfor nodded sagely, his lips pursed in thought as if this were a dire problem.

"What's wrong with my menu?" Coran shouted.

"Nothing, my old friend," Alfor said with a teasing lilt as he went to greet Coran. He patted his friend on the shoulder, then leaned in with a glint in his eye. "But, spices. Salt and pepper do not count."

"I love your dad already," Hunk hollered in an excited rush.

"I hope you conceded," Alfor said, looking to her.

She sagged forward. "Yes, father. Hunk has the kitchen now."

"You won't regret it, Allura," Hunk assured, his promise joined by nods from those who had tried his cooking.

"So, Alfor - Can I call you Alfor? Have you tried those bugs?" Lance asked.

"Why, yes. They have a nutty taste about them. Though…" He grimaced. "They look utterly repulsive. I had to shut my eyes. Honestly, I've eaten far stranger things in my lifetime. Hardly my first shot at eating an insect. In India, there is this tribe that uses red ants in -"

"Father," Allura interrupted before they could discuss all the various ways to cook bugs. She stood straight with a forced smile. "May I ask what brings you to the city today?"

"Oh! Right." He moved to set the box he carried on her desk. "I was called in to Altea suddenly. Mishap in the lab that needed my attention. And your mother has had me occupying my free time of late by cleaning out the attic. We came across some old photos she wanted you to go through, see if there were any you wished to keep."

"Awww, are they baby pictures?" Lance asked as he rushed to the desk. He would have snatched the box, but Shiro and Pidge smacked his hands away. "What? Don't you want to see our boss as a little kid?"

Hunk and Pidge tilted their heads in obvious interest. Even Shiro and Keith sent curious glances at the box.

"No!" Allura commanded as she rushed around to her desk and slammed a hand over the box. "You will not!"

"Oh, come now, dear," Alfor chided. "There's nothing embarrassing in any of them." He paused to scratch his beard and narrowed his eyes on the box. "At least I do not believe there are… I am certain your mother has the ones of you in the bath with Romelle. It should be fine to let them see."

"It is inappropriate," she hissed. "They are my employees."

"Yes, yes." He waved off her excuse. "Though, it seems you have developed a very laid-back work environment. Suppose that is to be expected with such a small staff, all around the same age. You already seem like you're becoming good friends with them. And I adore the business casual attire you have allowed."

He gestured at the others that all dressed in casual slacks and button downs. Pidge and Hunk were the most casual of them all, wearing cargo pants and t-shirts that day, but they had been hard at work in the laboratory that morning. She realized within a single day that they worked best in regular attire, and, as her father said, it was a small staff. There were no real boardrooms or investors to meet with. She could allow them their comfort in the office, so long as they actually did their work.

Even she had traded in her suit for light blue capris and a loose blouse with a soft pink cropped jacket that day. It was insufferably muggy that morning and she knew it would only grow warmer as the day went on. Their building did not have air-con, so it was imperative she dress for the heat.

"It would not hurt to let your friends see you with your hair down, as it were," Alfor added. "All in good fun." She sent him a withering glare, but he ignored it as he slipped the box out from beneath her hands. "There are some adorable ones in here," he said as he rifled through the photos. Her employees quickly surrounded him to peer over his shoulder at them, while Allura fell back into her chair with a heavy sigh. "Your mother is thinking to make a scrapbook with the extra copies we have at the house. Hopefully it'll be done the next time you visit."

"Awww, she looks like a real princess in this one," Pidge chirped, snatching a photo up to show to the others.

Allura's curiosity piqued at their cooing. She leaned forward, just enough to signal her interest, and Pidge held over the picture. She guessed she was nearly ten in the photo, dressed for a ball as best she could remember. Her light blue gown shimmered in the camera's flash, her mother stood behind her in a pink gown, and they both wore matching gold circlets. She supposed it was all very regal, especially with the circlets on their brow.

"Ah, that was at Lady Trigel's estate outside of Cardiff," Alfor said. "If I remember, that is the night you spilled grape juice on your dress and sulked all through dinner. Bless my child, she did not tend to throw loud conniptions back then, but she could sulk like a princess. Ah! Here it is." He found a picture of her from that same evening, her dress ruined by a dark purple stain. She sat curled up on a chair, arms hugging her legs to her chest to hide the worst of the stain, while she pouted in the camera's direction. She could only assume her father had earned her glare by laughing at her misery. "It was just a dress, darling. Easily replaced."

"I loved that dress."

"You were growing out of it and would have needed to be fit for a new one within a month, anyway." He waved her off. "I swear, this girl shot up overnight."

Everyone snickered as they passed around pictures. Sometimes they cooed.

"So, is this the reason everyone calls you princess?" Lance asked as he held up yet another picture of her in a fancy gown. She was sixteen in that one, dressed in blue, white, and gold for a friend's debut.

"Ah, no, that's probably my fault," Alfor said.

"But, we haven't heard you call her princess once," Hunk pointed out.

"Yes, er, no. I don't call her princess, nor does my wife. But, my middle name is Kingsley, so many of my college mates and business associates took to calling me King. Which of course makes Allura my princess," Alfor explained.

"But, Coran hasn't called you King," said Pidge.

"Ahh, no, he only calls me King Alfor if I've annoyed him." Alfor laughed as Coran took on a smug expression, his mustache twitching with humor. "But I do believe he's the first to call Allura princess. The nickname stuck ever since."

"Wait! Is that baby Allura wearing a Viking helmet?" Lance yelled.

Everyone crowded around as Alfor chuckled nervously. He turned the photo so Allura could see her cradled in another woman's arms, an ill-fitting horned helm perched on her tiny head. Her infant face was alight with laughter, even as the helm tilted forward to cover her eyes. She smiled despite the pang of loss in her heart.

Better times.

"Zarkon was always terrible at gifts," Alfor joked.

"Wait, Zarkon?" Keith asked, pulling back in shock. "The Zarkon that is the reason this place hasn't been operational in years?"

"Ahh, yes." Alfor's own smile was solemn as he stared down at the picture of his old friends. "He and I were once quite close. We were mates all the way back in college, and I met Honerva, his wife, in secondary school. She and my wife were classmates in Manchester. Very good friends." He chuckled quietly. "This was Zarkon and Honerva's first time meeting Allura. She was only… ohhh, two months old. Not even that. Only a few weeks later, we learned that Honerva was expecting." Another sad laugh. "Our friends had been trying for years. I thought they had given up to focus on their careers, accepting it as fate that they would never conceive."

An awkward silence fell over the group before Lance broke it with a question.

"So, how did you and Allura's mother meet? Probably some ball, right? That's how you English nobles meet."

Alfor's laugh was deep and long. "No, not quite. At least not all the time. I suppose I had a crush on Melenor for years, but our paths rarely crossed long enough for us to meet until I was… Oh, seventeen. I had seen her at gatherings, dinners, balls, but she lived just outside Manchester, and I had all my schooling in London so it was a rarity. But, it was rather serendipitous that my school had taken a trip to Paris around the same time that she was there visiting an aunt. I saw her at the Louvre. Felt as though Cupid himself shot an arrow through my heart. Swore I staggered back in surprise to see the Lady Melenor standing beside me at a painting I can't even recall because its beauty could never rival hers."

Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and even Shiro cooed at the tale.

"I almost fumbled my chance to introduce myself properly. I followed her around like a lost puppy all day until she spun around with the most captivating smile and said, 'Sir, if you continue to stalk me, I will have no choice but to have your testicles in a vise.' We were nearly inseparable ever since." He sighed wistfully. "Sometimes you just know when it's meant to be. Even Zarkon fell prey to Cupid's arrow…" He cut himself off, but the expectant stares of her employees urged him to continue. He chuckled nervously. "When I introduced Zarkon to Honerva, he was struck speechless. The buffoon stammered some polite 'Nice to meet you,' or some such, and swiftly spun on his heel and walked away. He was so speechless, I did not hear him utter another word for a week. And we were flat-mates at the time! They married only three months later. It was truly fate for them…" Another sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Funny thing fate is…"

The next heavy silence was broken when Pidge squeaked in delight at a picture. "Oh! Who is this cute little boy with her?"

Any trace of a smile Allura wore vanished, even as her father broke out into a wide and delighted grin. Her heart twisted too painfully for her to smile.

"That is little Lotor," Alfor announced. "Zarkon and Honerva's only son. Ahh, he was such an adorable little scamp. Truly…" His elation dimmed when he noticed her forlorn expression as he handed the picture over to her. She took it, despite the heavy weight in her chest. "That was at Allura's second birthday party," Alfor explained.

The room was decorated in balloons and streamers as she sat perched in her mother's arms, while Honerva held Lotor. The boy was a little over a year old at the time and had been captivated with her thick curly hair. Honerva could barely hold him still as he leaned out to pat Allura's thick mane, all smiles and laughs. His mother had not been pleased by his squirming. She wore a scowl in the photo and struggled to pull him back.

Another pang to her chest.

"I have a lot of him in here. Whenever they came to visit, he and Allura were practically joined at the hip," Alfor said as he fished out a stack of photos. "Here he is modeling his first school uniform for her. He was three at the time."

"Wow, so young?" Pidge asked as they stared at the picture of him standing straight, his hands clasped behind his back like a well-trained prince. He was supposed to look dour and grim, but with Allura standing in front of him in a simple dress, he grinned proudly until his father barked at him to look serious, as a man was supposed to.

"Why, of course. Never too early to start a child's education," Alfor said.

"Yeah, but…" Pidge glowered at the picture. "The way he's standing, he looks so much older…"

"But he's still tiny," Lance pointed out. "Scrawny, too. Allura looks huge compared to him."

"Yes, well…" Alfor cleared his throat and glanced to her. "The… uh… circumstances of his birth were… less than ideal."

That was a polite way of saying that he had been born weak because his mother was an addict.

"I've seen some pictures of him over the years. He's grown quite a bit. Towering gent, from what I hear. He just needed some time to catch up," Alfor added.

"Oh, you're in these," Shiro said, cutting into the ensuing awkwardness to hold up a set of photos that had been taken on the same day.

Alfor laughed when he saw them. "Ah! Allura, surely you remember this day," he said as he held the photos over.

She laughed even with the despair that came with these memories.

"Are you wearing real armor!?" Lance asked as he leaned over to see them better. "And is that a sword?"

Alfor chuckled. "It is not so hard for me to come by real armor."

"We were playing Castle," Allura explained.

"Castle? Is that like playing House?" Pidge asked.

"Something like that, I suppose." Allura snickered. "I was the princess…"

"Of course," Lance interjected.

"My father was my knight-in-shining-armor," she continued, pointing to her father in his silver armor. He was so happy and young as he played a silly children's game. "I was… five at the time?" She looked to her father.

He nodded. "It was the first time you made up the game… Well, the first time you played that variation with Lotor. We always played knight and princess, but the dragon was normally just a hedge. Not a little boy in costume."

He chuckled as he tapped a finger on the boy in the dark purple and blue costume. Lotor's arms were raised, fingers curled to resemble claws, and his mouth was open as though to let out a mighty roar at the knight trying to save her. Allura could not help but laugh at how endearing it was.

"Lotor was the dragon. He had captured me, the beautiful princess that he would treasure more than all the gold and jewels he hoarded," Allura explained with a watery laugh. "He was very upset when he learned that he was supposed to lose so that the knight could save me."

"He cried for an hour," Alfor announced. "It was a lucky thing his parents had left him with us for the weekend. Even his governess wasn't there to correct him." He winced when he realized just how Lotor's parents or governess would have ended his tantrum. "He very much wanted to keep the princess."

And he had been raised on the ideology that he could never lose at anything, even a game of pretend. Death was better than defeat.

"Allura was the one to come up with a very clever solution that made everyone happy… Well, except for her dear old dad." He feigned a sniffle, but quickly grinned when she swatted his arm.

"I decided that Lotor wasn't a dragon at all," Allura explained. "He was a prince under a terrible curse, one that could only be broken by true love's kiss." She found the photo of her pecking Lotor's cheek as he cried. It had startled him enough to cease his sobbing. He sat straight, his eyes wide, and mouth gaping open. "From that day forward, he never had to be a dragon again. He was my prince charming."

"Awww," Pidge and Hunk cooed. Shiro wore a warm smile. Keith had grown bored with the conversation. And Lance stood back rolling his eyes.

Better times, she thought sadly.

Her expression must have shown her mood better than she wished. Alfor cleared his throat and scooped up the photos with Lotor in them. "You can go through these later, darling," he whispered as he tucked them back into the box. He straightened once all the photos were hidden away. "Have you had lunch yet?" he asked.

"No, not yet."

"Splendid. Then will you join me? Your mother wants me to pick a few things up at the market before I catch the train back, but we can have tea and sandwiches first."

"That sounds lovely. Everyone - break for your lunches and then get back to work," she ordered. She wanted to see some proposals, ideas, anything.

She grabbed her phone, tucked it into her handbag, and stood to take her father's arm when he offered it. She waved goodbye at the others as her father escorted her out and breathed a sigh of relief the moment they exited the building.

"I do apologize for rekindling such bitter memories, dear," her father said as he held the passenger door of his car for her.

"It is quite all right." She blithely waved off his apology as she slid in. "I have not thought of him for years. It was nice remembering."

A bitter lie. She thought of him every time she read about Galra or Zarkon, his name briefly mentioned to remind the world he did exist. She thought of him on the rare occasion someone bothered to write an announcement of his latest achievement, though those had been sparse to begin with, and non-existent since he finished his business degree at university. She thought of him whenever she attended a dinner party or charity function, surrounded by shared acquaintances that would whisper about him when they thought she did not hear. He was never at the same gathering as she was, they always seemed to just miss their opportunity to reunite, as though fate itself sought to keep them apart.

Fate, or their fathers.

"Funny thing fate is…" she whispered to herself as her father drove toward Borough Market.

"What was that, darling?" Alfor asked.

"Oh!" She straightened in alarm and turned to smile at her father. "I was just reminiscing still. About how you and mother met. I've heard that story thousands of times, but I still love it."

Alfor chuckled. "Yes, I am sure that is what you were thinking about," he teased. "You do not have to share your thoughts if you do not wish. I know your opinion of my broken friendship well. I am certain that has not changed over the years."

She frowned at him. Of course, it had not changed. As much as she loathed Zarkon, his son had been innocent. They did not have to destroy her own precious friendship just because they could no longer see eye-to-eye on anything. As an adult, she knew that it would not have been easy to feign civility with each other for the sake of their children, but she continued to feel annoyed that they could not at least try.

"I have my regrets," Alfor confided. "And I am sure Zarkon does, too…" He grimaced with doubt. If Zarkon regretted anything, he was not inclined to show it. His pride meant too much to him to ever admit wrong about anything. "But, please understand, dear, that the situation was much too complicated to have a solution that appeased everyone. They were too far gone."

She pursed her lips, turning to glower out the window. She knew now that Zarkon and Honerva's addiction had changed them into monsters, but there had to be a better way than cutting them from their lives entirely. It was too late to change that now. Too many harsh words had been said, too many attempts to ruin the other. Both sides felt betrayed. Both sides felt wronged. It was a bitter fate.

Her father parked in a lot two blocks from the market. The conversation was put to rest as they walked arm in arm, her white heels clacking on the street to break the silence. He picked a quaint little café outside of the main market. They made polite chit-chat as they looked over the menu while waiting in line. All of lunch would be spent carefully avoiding the bitter topic of the Daibazaal family. They would tip-toe around it while discussing Altea and Voltron, she would ask about mother and the juniberry fields, and he would do his level best not to say anything that might remind her of the summer days she and Lotor spent playing among those flowers, or helping her mother and the seasonal staff with the harvest, or the time Lotor toddled into a vat of boiled berries, knocking it over onto himself and dying his soft white hair lavender.

For a friendship that only existed for five or six years of her childhood, there was a lot to be avoided.

They moved over to the pick-up counter to wait for their drinks – jasmine tea for her father, a cappuccino for herself. Her father had just begun to tell her the latest advancement in Altea's power core technology when his phone rang in the breast pocket of his white tweed blazer.

"Ah, darling, I must get this," he said, excusing himself. "Just be a minute."

"Of course, father." She waved him off as he hurried outside to answer the call.

It was just past the typical lunch hour, so the shop wasn't over-crowded, and being outside of the main market meant it would not see the rush other cafes and restaurants saw from the perpetually busy open marketplace. There were ample tables open, and she eyed one by the window as she waited for their drinks. It was a lovely sunny day. She could watch the people out enjoying it while she ate.

"Allura…"

She startled at the deep voice behind her. She thought her father had returned, but the voice was too young, and much too awestruck, too quiet, almost uncertain. She turned to see who called her.

She felt her whole world change at the sight of an impossibly tall man with long, flowing white hair and the deepest, darkest blue eyes she had ever known. Almost purple in the right light. The familiarity was instantaneous, slamming into her with enough force to leave her breathless. She gasped and then continued to gawk as she questioned her whole reality.

It was too much of a coincidence. Too… serendipitous.

"Lotor?" she asked, still uncertain that it was truly him. He looks just like his mother, she realized as she watched him step closer, gaping at her with wide, stunned eyes just as she did to him. He had Honerva's angular features, her sharp jaw. Perhaps his cheeks bones were more like his father's, his ears a bit, too, and Zarkon was undoubtedly where his height was from. Towering gent, indeed. She almost laughed remembering what her father said. She was a tall woman, herself, but she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes as he came to stand in front of her.

Tall and lean, she noticed. His navy-blue waistcoat fit in a way that brought attention to his broad shoulders and trim waist. His suits had been oversized as a boy, made for him to grow into, but now he was a man and his attire made her painfully aware of just how much he had grown and changed over the years.

"Allura," he repeated, this time with more certainty, his surprise and confusion turning into a glint of excitement in his eyes. His lips tugged into a hint of a smile, and she had never known a heart could race as fast as hers did in that moment.

"You… are… You… ah…" She stammered and then laughed at how she must sound like an idiot. "You're in London again."

"Yes," he chuckled.

They both stepped forward and a moment passed where neither knew what to do next. As children, they would barrel into each other for a hug upon seeing each other. Lotor had sprinted across the lawn of her estate once and knocked her into the dirt while his governess admonished the behavior.

"A gentleman does not greet a lady by knocking her on her rump and staining her dress," Dayak would holler as she snatched him by the collar and set him on his feet. She knew even then that it was a kinder correction than he would have received had his father been there. He still flinched when Dayak raised her hand to brush dirt from his collar with more force than necessary.

But they were no longer children, and it certainly would be improper to greet one another with a hug, even if they did not fall to the floor from it. They had not seen each other in over twenty years. A hug was too informal.

"Ahh, it is good to see you again," Lotor said as he held out his hand.

"It has been far too long." She grinned as she took his hand. A polite touch, warm and soft. Tingles ran up her arm that she strove to ignore as she held his gentle gaze.

Overwhelmed with the depth in his eyes, she glanced down to their joined hands. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing golden brown skin a few shades lighter than her own and a forearm that rippled with slender, defined muscle.

A forearm should not be so attractive.

She shook away the errant thought and focused on the slender black leather cords wrapped around his wrist. She tilted his hand and giggled at the heavy silver skull dangling from the simple bracelet. It did not fit with his casual, but otherwise polished office attire.

She glanced up at him and cocked her brow in silent curiosity.

He snorted. "An insidious remnant of a rebellious phase," he explained as he slipped his hand from hers.

"How scandalous," she teased while pulling her phone from her purse. She showed him the back, prompting him to chuckle at the white and pink case covered in a large glittery skull. It was cuter than his, with a crystal tiara on its head, but she still held onto parts of her own goth phase. She could not call it a rebellion. Her father had not even batted an eye when she came home one day with pink hair and black lipstick. Her etiquette tutor threw a conniption, but her parents just helped her redecorate.

"Alfor," a server called from the counter.

Allura nearly jumped in surprise at the reminder that her father would be along again any moment.

"Alfor?" Lotor asked, his gaze snapping from hers to search the shop. "He's here?"

"Ahh, yes," she said as she turned to the counter where a tray sat with her cappuccino, a pot of tea, and an empty cup. "We're having lunch together. He just stepped outside to take a call. You must have just passed him."

"Oh." He breathed out a sigh, as though relieved, and then turned to her with another smile. "Let me," he offered, reaching for the tray before she could take it. "Where are you sitting?"

"By the window, please." She pointed to the empty table and led the way. She felt so giddy at his mere presence. It was silly, but she could not help the excitement welling up in her chest. "Thank you," she said as he set the tray on her table. "You did not have to."

"I wanted to," he said easily.

"Well, thank you. Ahhhh…" She did not know what to say next, but she became distracted when she noticed the woman hovering at Lotor's elbow. She was dressed in a crisp blue suit but wore a slim hoodie over it despite the warm day. She was as tall and lean as Lotor, a dark shadow following in his wake. The tight, natural curls of her hair were cropped short, fitting her long, slender face beautifully. Her eyes stood out in bright contrast against her dark skin and the shadows of her hood. The sclera had a yellowish tint to them, while the irises were a vibrant purple. Those eyes flicked silently between Allura and Lotor, curious and intrigued, while the rest of her expression remained neutral. "Oh, how rude of me. It seems that you are not alone," she said, pointing to the woman.

Lotor snapped his head around, surprise flitting over his face. "Oh, no, my mistake," he said, clearing his throat as he stepped back for her to see the other woman better. "Allura, this is Narti, one of my assistants. Narti, this is Allura Altea," he introduced, waving between them.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Allura said as she held out her hand.

The woman stared at it a moment, then met her gaze, and then glanced at Lotor who cocked a brow at her. Finally, long, slender fingers wrapped around her own. Narti inclined her head to silently return the greeting. Allura wondered if she was shy, but as soon as she pulled her hand back, Narti gestured something to Lotor.

Sign language, she realized.

"I know," he said with a sigh. He turned to her with an apologetic smile. "I wish I could stay and catch up, but I have an assistant waiting with a realtor. I cannot keep them waiting long. And I should not interrupt your lunch with your father."

"Oh, of course. Of course. It was wonderful seeing you again, Lotor." She refused to be crestfallen at the brief reunion. It was good to see him again, especially after the flood of memories that day. He looked well, and that was most important to her.

He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed his head. Just like her prince would, she mused.

"I will leave you to your lunch," he said. "Perhaps we can catch up another time."

"Yes." She nodded, though she hoped she did not look over-eager. "I would like that."

His smile returned, this time wide enough to let her see a peek of a white tooth. She felt warm and light-headed, but she endured as she watched him turn away. He flashed one last look at her as he escorted his assistant to the counter, and she all but collapsed in her chair.

She tried not to stare as he placed his order, took care to look away every time he glanced her way while he waited for their coffee. She tried to remain calm and collected, all while a frantic energy swelled to life in her chest, a sense of panic that an opportunity was slipping by.

She made a decision as soon as she heard them call his name and snatched a pen from her handbag. She scrawled her number on a napkin as quick as she could and jumped up to catch him as he headed for the door.

"Here," she said, thrusting the napkin to him as her cheeks seemed to catch fire. "If you ever want to have lunch or get a drink… To catch up," she explained in a rush while he stared at the napkin. His gaze slowly cast back up to her. "If… if you wish to, that is."

Lotor's gaze softened. "I would be delighted," he said, gently taking the napkin with a polite nod. "It was a pleasure running into you here… Princess."

The way he said the nickname was like a soft caress. It took every ounce of willpower not to sigh like a demure lady and melt to the floor. She covered her mouth to muffle her giggle, afraid she would sound too much like a schoolgirl with a crush. She was just happy to see him again. After so long. All grown up. Into a handsome man.

"You, as well," she returned, bowing her head as she stepped away.

He waved as he led his assistant out the door and she hurried back to her table to watch him hand his iced coffee to his assistant while he took out his phone. He paused just in front of the window as he typed in her number, and then waved his phone at her just before her own chimed.

'I am free Saturday night if you would like to join me for a drink' read a message from an unfamiliar number. She glanced at the window where Lotor waited, his coffee once more in hand for him to sip at while he waited.

She grinned and quickly responded. 'Saturday would be lovely.'

'Is 7 all right?' he texted back.

'Perfect.'

She watched his smile form. 'I will text you the place when I return to the city. We can meet there if you wish.'

'I look forward to it.'

He was grinning even wider than before as he slipped his phone into his pocket and waved, turning away as soon as she waved back. His assistant lingered a moment longer, glancing between her retreating boss and the shop while she balanced her own phone with a paper bag and a carrier that held two coffees. Allura did not know what to think when she hurried off, a thumb flying over the screen of her smartphone.

The assistant's behavior did not matter. She was too elated to care what the woman might think of the encounter. Her giddiness lingered as she read and re-read their simple messages.

Her cheeks still burned with excitement when her father returned, startling her as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry that took so long, dear," he said as he slipped into the seat across from her. "You could have drunk your coffee while you waited on me. No need letting it get cold."

"Oh, I was… just lost in thought. Forgot all about it," she said, picking up her warm mug to take a sip. It had cooled more than she would prefer, but she smiled and refused to complain. It was her fault for getting so caught up in Lotor's presence.

"Are you feeling all right, darling?" her father asked suddenly, pausing in the middle of pouring out his tea. "You look rather flushed."

She straightened in her chair. "Oh… it's just… so warm today. The unseasonable heat must be affecting me quite strongly."

Alfor's brows knit in concern. "Perhaps you should have a rest this afternoon. I can take you home after we eat."

"No, no. I am fine, father. Just warm." She slipped her jacket off and fanned herself. "No need for concern."

He remained unconvinced and stood. "Then at least let me fetch you some ice water. Our lunch should be out soon, too. I want you to eat every scrap on your plate, young lady. You need proper nourishment if you're feeling ill in this weather."

"Yes, of course, father," she said, knowing better than to argue or make any further excuses. They were all lies, after all. She could not tell her father that she had just run into Lotor Daibazaal and planned to meet him for drinks that weekend. Alfor may have once adored the little prince when they were children, but she did not know what his thoughts would be of the man now that they were grown.

Their families were meant to be enemies, after all.

With that thought, her excitement soured. She did not like hiding anything from her father, but for now she would keep this reunion to herself. Once she knew where her father may stand on it, she would tell him.

She hoped she would not have to keep it a secret for long.


"Give me the phone, Narti," Lotor commanded as soon as they were in his car. She had remained one step behind him on the walk back, so he had not noticed her furious typing until they were a foot away and he finally bothered to look at her.

His mind had been too engrossed by thoughts of the woman he had just run in to. He had not planned to see her quite so soon, but he was elated at the happenstance meeting, and further excited that she had given her number unsolicited. He had not expected her to take such initiative. He was glad of it, though.

But first, he had to put an end to the gossip.

"Narti," he warned when she continued her typing. He reached for her phone and she twisted her body – mindful of the drinks in her lap – to keep it just out of his reach. He leaned over, grateful for his longer limbs, and nearly snatched it, but Narti grabbed him by the wrist, holding him firm so she could finish her last response.

She handed over her phone without any further argument, her expression perfectly neutral, though the glimmer in her eyes reminded him of a cat that was far too pleased with herself. He sneered at the smugness and turned away to read what the girls were chattering about this time.

"I do not pay you to play paparazzi and gossip behind my back," he growled as he read through all the messages. Ezor was delighted. She cooed and asked questions about Allura. Narti responded with a picture of them talking at the counter.

He glared at Narti from the corner of his eye.

"Not behind you back, sir," she signed.

He held the phone up and pointed at the picture. "That is my back, Narti. You were literally standing behind me as you talked about my personal affairs."

She shrugged, signing, "You know what I mean."

He growled under his breath and scrolled through more messages while Narti sipped at her iced coffee. The rattle of ice against her straw and the noisy slurp all felt unnecessary, and he just knew she was watching him with that same proud look in her eyes. She was far too pleased with herself.

Acxa, bless her heart, was more concerned with how much longer they would be and whether they would get her a coffee, too. Her loyalty was unquestionable, and she was smart enough not to press on this subject. Not unless she had to, and he hoped that she never would.

Zethrid asked what the odds of him getting laid were. He was unsurprised by the crass question, but it still left him perturbed. He was not interested in seeing Allura again because he wished to get her in his bed. He merely wanted to reconnect with an old friend.

That was what the tightening in his chest was all about. The swirling and fluttering in his stomach, too. She was a good friend when he was a boy, and she could be again if he played his cards right.

And she was the key to ending his accursed life.

Anything beyond that were just remnants of a boyhood crush churned up by wistful nostalgia. All those memories flooding back at the sight of her were nothing more than the idyllic fantasy created by a little boy trapped in a household rife with contempt and anger and abuse.

She was the princess with her moonlight hair running through an endless field of flowers until their rich scent clung to her in a way that he could never associate the flower with anyone but her.

Narti tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

"She's cute," she signed.

He sank back in his seat, handed her phone back, and shut his eyes to rub away the threat of a headache.

Cute is an understatement, he thought to himself. Breathtaking, more like.

The buzz of excitement he left the coffee shop with was quickly replaced by a sense of dread and doom. He was in for a world of trouble if this reunion reached the wrong ears.

He forced himself to turn serious, to focus on the work ahead of him, and straightened as he started the car.

"If this gets out, all four of you are fired," he warned Narti.

She stiffened, her eyes dulled. "We wipe all our conversation logs at the end of each day. No one will know," she explained in a rapid flurry of signs.

He narrowed his eyes on her with one last silent warning, and then nodded to show that her reassurance was enough to appease him.

He really did not want to hire new assistants. Loyal ones were so hard to find.


A/N: Writing silly fluff is hard. But so worth it.