Most of his memories were foggy. He could not remember much before his execution—mostly that he'd lived a simple and boring life. It didn't take a genius to figure that his life grew more exciting when he met Viktor. But even with trace knowledge of his own background, as he held the sword in his hands he knew immediately that he had never even seen this much steel before.
"Your stance is incorrect. Keep your weight even, and face forward at all times. Hold your sword firmly." He felt a hard jab to his legs, widening them more. "…Better. But you need to be looser—less tense with the blade."
"So I have to be loose but firm?" Yuuri asked dryly. He got a frown from Lilia, and he braced himself once more to be hit again.
"When you hold a sword," She said, a sneer growing. "There is no room for reservations. To pause is to die. Flow with each movement, but make each movement with confidence. Do you understand?"
"…Yes." He did not understand.
"Then why are you still so tense?" She slapped his leg once more with the stick in her hand. For a few more minutes, she continued on like, this micromanaging his stance and telling how high or low his sword to be, where he should place his fingers and whatnot.
"Hm." She stepped back, finally, examining him with a hand to her chin. "Good. We're reading to begin."
Yuuri stood stock still in fear of messing up as she crossed the yard to retrieve her sword. When she came back into view, she held it up in practiced grace. She began to show him the basics to attacking and parrying, and to carrying his weight with the sword.
"Now that you understand the basics," Lilia said after a while of running through a few simple motions. "We spar."
Yuuri nodded, trying to keep his nervousness at bay as she straightened her back. Her expression looked very serious.
She lunged forward with her sword without warning. Yuuri barely had enough time to lift his sword and parry her attack. Their swords met with a loud cry of metal, and the vibration made his hands shake to the core. He looked at her in surprise at the sudden attack, worried she might have skewered him, but she drew back and came in with an overhead slash.
"What are you doing?!" He asked as he blocked her sword, again shocked at the strength and the reverb it sent out.
"You must tap into the strength that lies dormant inside you." Using her sword as leverage, she ducked underneath his block and went in to strike. Yuuri didn't think she would harm him, but her movements left his side wide open. She slashed at his exposed side, cutting deep.
Yuuri fell to the ground, his sword clattering from his hand as he clutched his side in agony.
"You must also learn to harness your healing abilities." Lilia lifted her sword and inspected the blood there. "We have no use for a servant that cannot do even the most basic of things. Only through pain, trial, and error will you learn. Pick up your sword and fight,"
She held her sword forward, pointed at his neck.
"Or I will kill you."
Yuuri huffed, clutching his shirt where blood soaked through, marking the stark white red. All he could do was glare utter malice her way as he reached for his sword, holding back pain. He knew she was serious.
While forcing himself to his feet, sword as a brace, he tried to concentrate on the wound on his side. Yes, he did seem to have remarkable healing capabilities. The scar on his arm, in only a day's time, was fading into nothing, becoming seamless skin. Skin without a single mark on it. But it didn't occur to him that he could control it.
"Focus on the pain, then banish it away. Imagine your flesh knitting together until it is healed."
"Can't you see I'm trying?" Yuuri snapped as he held his sword up, wavering. He was getting quite dizzy, blood loss he supposed, but he had to concentrate. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on dispelling the pain and healing his wound.
"I will not wait forever." Lilia said impatiently. When Yuuri opened his eyes, he saw her stepping forward, preparing to slash at him once more. He tried his best to deflect her blow with his sword and step out of the way, but the impact nearly sent the weapon flying from his hand.
"Please… just—just give me a chance!" He said pleadingly. It took so much effort to dodge her, and the unrelentingly look in her eyes made him fearful. Concentrating on healing seemed so impossible. "I can't heal myself with you yelling and trying to kill me!"
"You think that in battle your enemy will wait for you?" She asked, incredulous. "Do you think they will stop when you hold up your hand, begging 'one second, I need to catch my breath'? In the heat of battle you must learn to adapt. Assess your enemies' strengths and weaknesses, center your mind, and focus on healing as you gather your wits. Learn to channel your inner strength. One day, you will never have to worry of injuries. But that day is not today!"
She stepped to the side, bringing her sword up in an arc and dashing his sword from his hands. He watched as it flew from his hands and landed in the distance, blade down in the grass.
"Never take your eyes off your enemy."
Suddenly Yuuri was looking at the sky—he was thrown onto the ground from the force of her sword cutting into his chest. It was much deeper than the wound on his hip, he could feel it already, but all worries of the growing pain disappeared when she stepped forward, sword pointed at his face. He closed his eyes in fear once he saw her raise the sword, expecting a blade through his forehead. He heard the grass next to his head crunch, and slowly he opened his eyes and saw his pitiful expression reflected in steel.
"Consider this your first lesson." Lilia said, disappointment strong in her voice. "You have an hour to heal your wounds. After that, we continue our sparring session."
Abruptly, she turned and walked away, leaving him on the ground. Yuuri looked back up at the cloudy sky unblinkingly.
"I hate this." He whispered to himself. "I hate this so much."
He blinked when he felt something plop against his face. A raindrop. Then another. Soon, an entire downpour.
He didn't bother getting up—he was in too much pain, and as Lilia said, he needed to heal himself. If he couldn't figure out how, he would likely bleed to death before she even got back. So he closed his eyes and concentrated. She said to focus on his pain. Oh yes, it was definitely there. Now that someone wasn't holding a blade right under his nose, it was clear and distinct. If he moved in the slightest, it felt as if someone was cutting him all over again, so he stayed still. Banish the pain, she said. Focus on knitting his flesh together. He imagined someone sewing him together like a torn doll. Fixing and mending the tears in cloth from years of use. He imagined himself anew.
Yuuri gasped at the cold feeling that washed over him, over his wounds, as his skin began to mend itself. Just as quickly as it had taken to cut the flesh, he could actually feel the wounds on his chest and side closing. And a prick of cold on his forearm, where his scar was, despite the fact that he thought it was healed.
He sat up, looking at the bloody tear on the front of his shirt. Sure enough, the skin there was smooth, as if nothing had touched it. He reached up to his neck, but, to his dismay… the scar was still present. It did not seem to be disappearing any time soon, alongside the soreness he occasionally felt in his throat.
He looked at his hands, about to pull up his sleeve and see what was wrong with his arm when he heard a noise coming from the forest brush surrounding the back of the house. There was a soft mewling coming from a bush at the far end. A tiny kitten, hiding from the rain beneath the leaves. Yuuri cocked his head to the side and stared at the cat. It meowed once more, pressing itself further into the bush.
"You too, hm?" He asked wistfully, resting his arms on his knees. He pushed up the sleeve to his shirt and gasped.
Where there was once smooth flesh, a strange pattern of spiraling lines, like wings, appeared on his forearm. With a tiny half-heart in the center.
"More wine, your highness?" The courtesan, Charlain, offered, bending over delicately so as to display her bosom while she held the bottle up.
"No." Viktor set down the glass and propped his feet up on the table, letting his hand linger down to stroke Makkachin's head. Charlain sat back down next to his comrades, who sent him disapproving glares.
"You used to be the life of the party." Christophe let his head fall back against the frame of the settee, sighing. "Unstoppable, charming, charismatic! Now we are surrounded by gorgeous men and women, and you decline the wine?"
"What's there to say?" Viktor shrugged dismissively.
"None would deny you any of your whims, prince Viktor." Another courtesan offered hopefully, to which he frowned.
"I told you," Jean-Jacques, still in good spirits, sat forward and shook his head. "It's not limelight and thrills to bring him from this slump."
"Ah, but the excitement of a hunting trip would?" Christophe asked sarcastically.
"What else to invigorate the mind. He needs to bring his mind away from…" He paused. There was no worry of the courtesans or gossip spreading; by now the entire kingdom knew of the witch that tried to trick Prince Viktor. No, it was that they were talking as if he were not present, or like a child unaware of the adult's conversation. They looked down awkwardly, and Viktor felt himself grow impatient.
"Bring my mind away from Yuuri?" He asked. The group of them, courtesans included, tensed at his audacity.
"Don't say the witch's name!" Jean-Jacques hissed in a whisper, as if Yuuri would suddenly appear behind them all.
"I'd rather you two didn't dance around the subject like it's a poisonous snake." Viktor said, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair.
"We know, we know." Christophe explained apologetically. "We just don't want to be insensitive, your highness."
"I know." Viktor sighed, pushing aside his annoyance. "You're only trying to help. But lately everyone's 'help' has just felt… insensitive. Fake. Even my father is calling in a priest because he thinks Yuuri's… curse… is still present."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Jean-Jacques asked. Christophe slapped his friend on the leg as Viktor's frown deepened.
"What Jacques means," Christophe clears his throat. "Is that it might be best if a priest banishes these bad thoughts. You might feel just a little better."
Viktor stopped tapping his fingers, clenching the armrest instead.
"My, how late it's gotten…" He sent a glance over to the window nearby, admiring the stars. "Perhaps the two of you should be heading home. It wouldn't do well to oversleep tomorrow."
Christophe and Jean-Jacques both sent him worrying looks, but who were they to try and deny the prince when he made a demand.
"You needn't worry about the courtesans, I'll send in the payment." Christophe offered, sending a flirtatious wink towards one of them.
"Consider that hunting trip?" Jean-Jacques asked as he stood, leading the courtesans with him.
"Consider it considered." Viktor said as he crossed one leg over the other. His friend nodded, still worried, as the three left the guest's lounge. Once they were gone, Makkachin hopped up onto the settee and settled himself, though his father hated it when he did that. Viktor was always quick to spoil Makkachin, though—good mood or not.
A few moments passed and Viktor heard clanging footsteps approach from the hall. The entrance was an open arch, so Viktor could see already it was one of his personal retinue. He was short, and seemed petite even with a full suit of armor. With his helm removed, it was reaffirmed that he was still but a boy, even with the lengthy mop of blonde hair. Still, Viktor did not underestimate any of his personal guards—they were all demons with the spear. The guard bowed deeply once Viktor noticed him, then stepped into the room and dropped to one knee.
"His highness your father wishes to speak with you at once. The priest has arrived." The young guard said. Viktor leaned forward and took one foot off the table.
"I thought that wasn't until tomorrow." He remarked angrily as he stood. The guard was taciturn, leading him silently into the hall where Viktor's remaining retinue stood. Three other soldiers—more than what he considered normal. All things considered, his father considered it pertinent that security be heightened. Viktor saw this as nothing more than his father displaying his acting skills.
Walking down the silent and dimly lit halls, Viktor couldn't help but to wince at the bare spot on the far wall of the castle foyer. There stood a portrait of his mother and father in their prime youth, but next to them was nothing. Viktor remembered the argument over that painting, after his father had found the sketches Viktor kept hidden in his room. He threw the painting into the fireplace, saying it was nothing but a reminder of "that witch." Viktor looked away, moving on.
The conjoined monastery held a room of prayer and worship to the entire Nikiforov family line, all of Viktor's ancestors. It was a place where private ceremonies and blessing happened, and a priest in holy garb waited inside, alongside his father and a maidservant. Behind him, Viktor's guards bowed before taking their leave, leaving the four of them alone.
"Yes… This curse still lingers strongly, like a fever." The priest tutted lightly, beckoning Viktor forward. "And like any sickness it will take time to purge. Come now, young lord, before the basin."
It took Viktor all his effort not to roll his eyes as he complied and kneeled before basin of water. The ritual was similar to when he received blessings on his birthdays, so he expected the cold water splashing over his head. The only difference was the hymns the priest chanted, and the repeated process. Cold water, more chanting. Cold water, chanting. It went on for a few minutes until finally the priest lifted Viktor's head. He took some foul smelling herb from a tiny dish in his hand and made some sort of marking on Viktor's forehead.
"Keep an eye on him," The priest explained as the maidservant wrapped a cloth around Viktor's shoulders, protecting his clothing from the water as he dried him off. "As the curse leaves him, he may become ill."
"Will he be well in time for the ball?" Viktor's father asked, seemingly more worried about social extravaganzas than his own son. The priest nodded, waving his hand dismissively.
"He shall be in perfect health; I assure you your highness."
"Good," His father smiled, that same smile that meant he was planning something. "Very good. Come, Viktor. You must be exhausted, let's get you ready for bed."
Viktor eyed his father suspiciously but nodded as the maidservant helped him to his feet and took the towel away, opening the door for the three as Viktor's guards surrounded him.
The night was still young, in his opinion, yet he was tired nonetheless. Sleep would do him well, he thought as he once again passed the hanging portraits.
Viktor, charismatic though he liked to be, couldn't help the certain shyness at bearing himself to another person. Though he was often dressed and assisted with his elaborate clothing by maids and the like, it was a rushed process with no intent behind it. It did not hold the same intimacy as undressing in front of one's lover. Being shirtless like this made him feel… self-conscious. But unwrapping the modesty cloth around his mark, especially with another person watching—it had him aflame with worry. He felt like a nervous wreck, which was why he opted to lie down, hiding his chest as he propped his face up with his arm. Yuuri looked down on him, sitting on his bed with alongside him with a face drunken on love.
"Beautiful…" Yuuri covered his mouth as soon as he said the word, his face bright red. Viktor couldn't help but to smile. It was relieving that he wasn't the only one nervous.
"Let me see," Viktor asked as he reached up, taking Yuuri's hand from his mouth and cupping it in his own. "Your…"
He trailed off nervously, and in the dim candlelight he saw Yuuri nod, and his tension dissolved just a bit more. Gingerly, he unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt, folding back the cloth to reveal his own, matching mark. Viktor sighed; doubt plagued him continuously—such a miracle surely couldn't be happening to him—seeing Yuuri's mark for a second time filled him with such profound… ah, he couldn't find the word for it. Joy? Gratitude? Elation?
Love?
"Don't move," Yuuri took his hands from Viktor's, fumbling across the latter's bed for his sketchpad and charcoal. "Stay just like that."
Viktor laughed, earning a slightly frown Yuuri.
"It's funny how you shift like that. You turn from this shy cute man, to this focused painter with beautiful skill… how do you do it."
"I… can't help it." Yuuri held his sketchpad up, hiding his face from Viktor's view as he sketched on. "Whenever I see such a beautiful opportunity, I get scared that I might miss it."
Now it was Viktor's turn to blush.
"And here I thought I was the charming." He said, reaching over to tap Yuuri's leg, wanting attention. "Just who is seducing who here?"
"Be still, you're acting like a child!" Yuuri laughed as he added just a few more finishing touches. "Here, look."
Even in such lighting, Viktor could see the beginnings of something beautiful. It was himself, looking on wistfully with the light and shadows dancing across his face and bare shoulders tenderly. He was leaning against his arm, exposing his mark in an almost tempting way.
"This would make a beautiful painting." Viktor said, and Yuuri nodded his agreeance.
"Perhaps tomorrow night, I could come back and…" He offered, trailing off and looking to Viktor for his permission. Viktor pushed himself up into a sitting position, smiling mischievously as he took Yuuri's sketchbook and set it on the far end of the bed.
"Yes, tomorrow." He took off Yuuri's glasses, brushing his bangs back as his lover looked on with a dazed expression. "But tonight I have other plans."
Gingerly, Viktor cupped Yuuri's face and brought him in for a gentle but passionate kiss. It took his breath away, feeling the soft compliance of Yuuri's lips made him eager for a deeper embrace.
Viktor was draped over Yuuri, arms on either side of his head whilst he memorized his body. He wondered idly if this was the perfection Yuuri saw in his paintings; hair tousled and blouse slightly undone, with a background of satin sheets. Lips slightly red from rough kissing and a dreamy and lustful haze covering his cheeks. He was pure art, and Viktor was afraid for a moment that his unskilled hands would ruin him.
Yuuri reached up, brushing a hand down Viktor's cheek, down his neck and stopping at his chest, resting his hand over his heart.
"You look scared." He said, and he hit the nail so firmly that Viktor blinked in surprise. He laughed beside himself, dropping his head and taking Yuuri's hand into his own, placing a soft kiss on the back of it.
"I am."
"You don't have to be."
"Part of me still can't believe this is happening." Viktor explained. "I'm waiting to wake up from another wistful dream, a dream of something I can never have."
"But this isn't a dream. This is happening—"
"Part of me is also scared that I'll ruin this somehow." Viktor cut Yuuri off, a pang of fear going through his chest. "To say or do something to make you hate me… or to falter and somehow hurt you."
"Viktor, don't even have those thoughts." Yuuri took his hand from Viktor's, lifting his lover's face so that he could see those tear-filled eyes. "There nothing you could ever say to make me stop loving you. There's nothing you can ever do to hurt me."
"But you don't know that," Viktor looked down, unable to meet those deep brown eyes that seemed so sure. "God, you don't know that."
"I do." Yuuri huffed, pinching Viktor's cheeks. "Why dwell on what could go wrong? Why not think of everything that's gone right?"
Viktor smirked, pulling Yuuri's fingers away.
"I'm supposed to be the one who's charming and witty, secure and self-confident…but you're the one giving me the support." Viktor laughed once again at the irony of it all. Is this what a soulmate is supposed to do? Break down your emotional barriers until you're a wreck filled with worry and longing? If so, well then… he wouldn't trade it for the world.
"That's what I'm here for." Yuuri brought Viktor in close, and once again his breath escaped at the feel of Yuuri's lips against his own, and the perfect way he smelled and tasted. "And I'll always be here for you. I promise."
Shameful thing, it was. Yuuri was not good at keeping his promises.
