There is a version of this story

where the ending is unbloodied and forgiving

(even if the ending is not happy)

where we learn peace or at least stillness and quiet.

but my love,

we are not the gentle version of this story

-(j.p.)

The crowd toasted to the victory of the newly crowned Prince Phobos in loud, joyous voices. Though whether any of them were sincere, he could not say. The castle was still exactly as his mother had left it; the room shone with golden light, and a massive crystal chandelier twinkled brightly above them illuminating the soft gold banners and white marble floor. The nobility clinked their glasses together loudly as the music swelled and ebbed, and dancers twirled on the floor gracefully. It reminded him of his mother's balls, where he'd been forced to entertain young noblewomen on the dance floor near endlessly. The memories this hall brought were unpleasant and threatened to sour the taste of his victory. So, though he was undoubtedly the main event of the evening, the Prince had remained sat at the high table by himself, sipping his wine, something he'd never been allowed to do. Many young women and men had tried to catch his attention, but none had succeeded. Many of his admirers had turned to his second in command in place of the Prince, and Phobos watched in dull amusement as a particularly forward young man led a struggling Cedric across the floor to a fast-paced beat.

But none of that mattered. He'd won.

When he received word his mother had passed in childbirth, he knew he would have but one chance to secure his throne. The Heart had passed to a useless infant, the Queen was dead, and the monarchy was in disarray with her sudden passing. His cousins, who each believed they should have inherited the throne, had split the Royal Army in two to bicker amongst themselves. The country was weak, and there would never be a better time to assert his own claim. Despite all these factors, his goal felt nearly unobtainable. Never had a male Escanor sat upon Leryn's throne, not even in regency. The members of his family and nobility who remained undecided had laughed in his face when he asked for their support. Defeat seemed imminent before he'd even truly started.

So, he turned to more undesirable avenues of support. People and creatures who'd been subjugated, hunted, and reviled during his family's dynasty. Shapeshifters, lurdens, and Silvans, and other manner of 'monsters.' They had also been suspicious of him. They would have likely rejected his alliance as quickly as his own family had, save for one fact. He already had a shapeshifter to vouch for him. One who had believed in him so much, he was willing to twine their fates together and follow him into war and beyond. Cedric's species of shapeshifter and his own family had a notoriously bad history. Perhaps the worst of any of the native peoples, and to see him standing proudly in his true form next to the Escanor Prince had filled the others with confidence in him he would have never gained otherwise. Even still, it took both of them a great deal of convincing and the promise of future favors to obtain their armies.

The allies they'd made had been nontraditional, to be sure, but they had still served their purpose. It had taken a little over six months, but together they brought the once-mighty Escanor dynasty to its knees and then placed him at the top of the rubble, ready to rebuild the world according to his vision. He put his greatest allies in positions of power, and though the human nobles that remained in the court had eyed them with distrust, with Phobos' protection on them, they could do nothing but stare. The irony of his army of misfits now running the country pleased him after they had all spent so long under his mother's and the other Queens' heel.

All those rebukes, all those sneers, all those put-downs from his mother and father and the rest of his blighted family. He could still hear them ringing in his ear, but now, those horrible words only made the corners of his lips curl in amusement. They had all been wrong about him. He was worth something. He was the ruler now. His parents were both gone, and his infant sister sat safely (for the time being) in her crib. Soon he would find a way to absorb his birthright from her and finally win against his mother. His mother, who'd coldly rebuffed him when he'd first excitedly showed her his powers, and told him 'there had never been a good sorcerer' and forbade him from practicing.

Phobos had never loved anything the way he loved magic, though. The way his fingers tingled when he called forth flowers, the rush of pure power that accompanied every spell he cast. There was nothing that matched those feelings, nothing. He never understood why his mother, who surely could empathize with his desires, rebuked every spell he attempted. She'd been the one who always let him sit and watch as a small child as she performed magic, the one who'd let him reach for the flowers of golden light she used to make for him. He'd watched as she doted endlessly on his female cousins, who possessed far less power than himself, feeling a deep emptiness inside, which as he grew older turned to rage. He wanted her to be proud of him, not them.

One of his most distinct childhood memories had involved him attempting to show up his cousins during their magic lesson. He thought, maybe, just maybe, if he could prove himself better than them, his mother would finally approve. They had been attempting to manipulate light energy, the trademark of Escanor magic. He'd managed to hold a shape for just a moment, but without any proper instruction and with his magnified powers, he'd quickly lost control and burned himself. His mother had stormed into the room at the sounds of distress from both him and the girls. She'd grabbed his badly burnt hands, and for just a moment, in a fit of childish hope, he thought she was concerned for him. Instead, she shook him by the shoulders vigorously, berating him about how he could have hurt the others in the room.

"You will ruin everything you touch with this magic! Enough Phobos!"

It was the first time he'd cried in public from his mother's actions, but that one had stung particularly deep. His magic was no different from hers; it wasn't bad. He was just like her; couldn't she see that? She hadn't even bothered to heal him from his injuries, hoping the pain would teach him a lesson. It had.

He'd never dared use his magic in front of his mother again or even to speak of it. Instead, he'd snuck to the library in the dead of night and poured over any book he could find about the mystical arts. Most were not even in his language, and of the few that were, they were often incredibly complex for a self-taught mage. The books not in his tongue were in the "Language of the Beasts," which was notoriously difficult to translate, and the few attempts humans had made at lexicons were sloppy and riddled with mistakes. It made his attempts to recreate the magic in those books both exceedingly tedious and hazardous. He hurt himself trying to learn many more times. He refused to let that stop him.

In time, he greatly outclassed all the magic users in his family. Except for his mother, and as long as she lorded over him, he would never be as great as he could be. Until her recent death, however, there was nothing he could do to remove her.

He found it morbidly ironic she'd died trying to bring her heir into the world when she'd had a suitable one at her side the whole time.

He'd gone to look at his sister once already. She was an unremarkable-looking infant, with nothing to suggest just how special she was. The Heart of Meridian…

He'd worked tirelessly to be worthy of that power, and she'd claimed it simply by an accident of birth. He'd had no desire for a sibling and would take what was his by any means necessary, but when he looked down at the baby with her tufts of white-blonde hair and tiny fists, he suddenly found himself wishing she'd been a male too. She'd be just like his mother, arrogant and uncaring, never understanding what it was like to always come in second place. Never understand what it was like to want something so much she ached but could never have it.

The music had started to crest as he felt the start of a foul mood begin to creep in on him with the memories he was revisiting. He looked out to the ball once more. The people were still dancing as if nothing had transpired like it was still his mother sitting at the head table and not him. It was time to retire, he decided. There was no need for him to dwell in his mother's ballroom any longer, and no longer could anyone make him do so.

Phobos took the height of the party to retreat to his chambers. No one noticed the unsociable Prince leave, just as they never had in all the other balls he'd escaped, or so he thought. He'd just made it to the entrance to his room when he felt a familiar presence drift to his side. Phobos fought to keep a small smile off his face while he was still turned away from the interloper. There was, in fact, one person who always noticed his absence.

"My Prince."

Phobos turned to regard with a raised eyebrow. Cedric's violet eyes were dulled with the little bit of wine he'd dared to drink (shifters didn't take to human spirits well), and his smile was the half-sided grin he reserved for Phobos alone.

"You didn't dance with me,"

Phobos cocked an eyebrow at the shifter, surprised at the boldness of his accusation.

"Did you want me to?" he asked. During Weira's reign, the two would often sneak away from their respective duties amid the parties to amuse themselves in the garden or library. The pursuit of black magic usually chased away any leftover frustration he'd carried at his mother.

Cedric smirked and chuckled. He then gestured to the clothes he wore, a black robe with red accents, similar in color to the ones he himself favored, that clung tightly to the upper half of his body. Phobos was sure there had been quite a few people in the ballroom who would have loved nothing more than to tear him out of it.

"It took me ten minutes to squeeze into this. I expected at least that amount of attention in return," the shifter eye's fluttered mischievously as he teased him.

Phobos' face twisted in derision at the shifter's unusual playfulness. Cedric was not usually quite so forward and informal in his advances. Perhaps he'd drank more than Phobos had noticed; he did have a particular fondness for it after all, despite its effects on him.

"Exactly how much did you have to drink?"

Cedric laughed softly and then smiled brightly at him without answering his question. Phobos shot him a scowl for the act. Cedric recoiled and pushed himself away, looking slightly crestfallen as he did. The Prince resisted the urge to roll his eyes even as the tiniest prick of guilt bit at him.

Such open affections had always been rare between them, and Phobos preferred it that way. All the affection in his life had always been false. His mother pretended in public to be the adoring mother and then barely spared him a glance in private. His cousins had never understood his sullen silences as he watched them practice their paltry magic, envious beyond reason at what they were allowed to do. They had never allowed him to be himself, always expecting him to be a bright, happy child, even when they gave him no reason to be.

Cedric, however, had never expected him to be anything other than what he was. The shifter never reacted to his sour moods, or outbursts save perhaps offering solutions to his problems if they existed. More importantly, Cedric found his magic fascinating and had always been eager to help him advance his learning even when it got them both in trouble.

It had been dumb luck that they had even met, as it was not in his nature to mingle with the servants. Cedric had been working in the library at the time and had spied Phobos attempting to recreate a complicated spell. His translation had been wrong, and his rune was upside down, throwing off the stream of magical energies when cast. Cedric had tried to warn him, but Phobos had coldly rebuffed him and threatened to have him whipped for even daring to speak to him. However, when the rune had indeed blown up in his face, he quickly sought out the golden-haired serving boy and demanded to know how he could know such a thing. Never in his wildest dreams would he have suspected to have one of the oldest and notoriously secretive species of shifters employed in his castle.

It was like a dream come true. Suddenly his knowledge could be expanded tenfold; translations from the "Language of the Beasts" were no longer sloppy and dangerous but written in a clear, elegant hand. Lore could be explained and referenced, spells cast without the worry of backfire. And above all, he had someone who watched him cast with wonder and awe and joy, rather than fear. Cedric couldn't perform magic, save his shapeshifting, but he loved it nearly as much as Phobos himself. It had been an easy friendship from there, that with time had transitioned into something more profound.

Even now, despite his offhand behavior, his presence further lifted Phobos' already high spirits. Pushing aside his previous distaste in his own uncharacteristic display, he grasped Cedric fiercely by the hips and pulled the other man to him possessively. The shifter smelt strongly of wine, confirming his earlier suspicions. Emboldened by Phobos' open affection, Cedric took the opening to twine his arms around his neck and feverishly kissed him.

Before Phobos could rebuke him or even reciprocate, Cedric quickly pulled away and peered at Phobos with hooded, playful eyes. The Prince tried to regard him coldly, but his body was betraying his facade of contempt and was already reacting in excitement to their previous closeness. Surely, today of all days, he could allow Cedric some foolishness, he decided.

Phobos pushed the door open to his chambers, and the two made their way inside. He watched Cedric's fingertips twitch as they brushed close to his own, but Phobos did not indulge this overly affectionate impulse. Wine addled Cedric's brain in unpleasant ways, replacing all his sharp edges and aloofness with an atypical softness.

Phobos led Cedric back into the innermost chamber of his quarters, as he'd done many times before. He felt that horrible familiarness at being in the castle again, just as he had in the ballroom. He half thought his mother might burst in at any moment and start chastising him for his taste in partners again. His choice to lay with those of his own gender had irritated his mother enough, but her wrath had been far worse when she'd caught him with one not even of his own species. Intolerance for the shifters had always been strong among the royals, and his mother was no different. Though the aftermath had been awful, he would never forget the look of horror and shock on his mother's face as she caught her son squirming and gasping on his bed, with a shapeshifter of all beings inside him. It had almost been worth the hour-long screaming match that had occurred and her promise to have Cedric executed. Almost.

The Prince sat down on his bed, smirking, entangling his fingers in Cedric's hair, and tugging downwards to lead him to where he desired him. Cedric, however, seemed to have other ideas on how to proceed. He planted one of his knees in between Phobos' legs instead and leaned in close, grasped his face, and kissed him intensely again. Phobos' was too taken aback by the assertiveness to stop him and instead instinctively reached for his hips once more to pull the shifter closer to him still. He ran his hands lustfully over the silk of Cedric's robes, and hair as the shifter's forked tongue skillfully slipped its way into his mouth.

I won.

Even as Cedric moved down and bit gently at the nape of his neck, Phobos couldn't help but continue to bask in his victory. He was unaccustomed to such...happiness. All his life, he'd spent desperately wanting to reach out and grasp what he knew in his heart should be his, only to have his hand swatted away by his mother. All his life being told that everything he wanted was never to be his. He was finally free. Free to rule as he saw fit, free to act as he chose, free to feel that rush of magic again. There was nothing he couldn't do.

Then Cedric pulled away from him without warning, quickly refocusing Phobos' attention on the present. The shifter balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, perfectly still. Cedric's pupils constricted into slits as he stared down owlishly at him, seemingly waiting for a reaction. Phobos reached out for him, trying to draw him back in. Nothing.

"What is your problem?" he asked, irritated at the interruption.

The wine had addled his head more than he'd thought because Cedric then forcibly pushed him back into the bed and straddled him roughly. His cold fingers pressed into his wrists as he pinned him into the bed, smirking down at him wickedly. His mouth pressed against his neck, and Cedric resumed his biting and nipping and sucking. Phobos desperately tried to hold back any moans that he might have embarrassed himself with. Then, once again, Cedric stopped and slowly slid himself down the length of Phobos' body and off the bed, his fingers deliberately ghosting his groin as he did. Phobos watched, equal parts annoyed and aroused as Cedric leisurely stripped off his clothing before him. Once he was nude, Cedric let his hair loose from its elaborate ponytail that he'd donned for the ball, and it fell elegantly around his waist, cloaking him a cape of gold. He was as near perfection as Phobos could picture. It always intrigued him how beautiful shifters human's forms looked, in some cases unnaturally so. The start of their relationship had been little more than academic curiosity, but even then, Phobos had to stop himself from throwing lustful looks at him.

He held back another groan as the nude shifter climbed over him, teetering back and forth as if he was unsure of where to settle. He kneeled between his thighs at first and pulled up his robes as if to pleasure him, and then abruptly moved to straddle him just above the waist again, rocking his hips against him. He finally settled himself comfortably in such a way that made Phobos very uncomfortable. His ever-cold hands cupped his face softly, and he looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Phobos was growing overly frustrated by his drunken indecisiveness and teasing and was preparing to grab him and roll them both over so he could fuck Cedric senseless (well, more than he already was anyway) and at least get some satisfaction when the shifter spoke.

"I love you."

Phobos froze.

He tried to remember if he'd ever heard those words before. Surely someone must have told him that before, maybe his father? Perhaps even his mother when he'd been an infant. What was Cedric thinking? Why did he think he wanted to hear that? He already knew. He knew. How could he not know? Cedric didn't have to say it. He didn't want him to say it. Did he expect him to respond? Could he even respond? Horrified, Phobos looked up at the shifter, but he hadn't moved and was still staring at him with the same soft expression, not seeming to care in the slightest that Phobos hadn't said anything back.

Finally, Phobos grabbed him roughly by the arms and flipped their positions, pinning Cedric beneath him harshly. He studied the other man's face intently, waiting for...something to ground himself with, a follow-up, a reaction, anything. Instead, Cedric kissed him yet again and wriggled his hips suggestively under him like he hadn't said such a thing in the first place.

Does he even know what he said? He wondered. The shifter was intoxicated beyond reason at this point. He was clearly just babbling whatever inane nonsense entered his head. Maybe...Maybe, he didn't mean anything by it. No one ever did, after all. This was all drunken foolishness that would be forgotten in the morning. There was no need to dwell on it, and there was no need to be so...alarmed by some silly, meaningless words.

Cedric opened his mouth to speak again. Panicked, Phobos hurriedly shoved his tongue into the shifter's mouth, stopping whatever drivel was about to come next as Cedric eagerly reciprocated the kiss. There was only so much he could process in one day. He would deal with this tomorrow when Cedric was capable of forming critical thoughts once more. For now, however, he had something else that could keep Cedric's troublesome mouth occupied. Sitting up, he grasped Cedric roughly by his hair and pulled his head between his legs, holding him there firmly to prevent any more nonsense from the shifter. It was his coronation day; after all, he deserved to enjoy his spoils.

Cedric was still smiling sappily up at him.

He rolled his eyes.

Even if they were terribly drunk.

Morning came with rays of golden sunlight that made him nauseous after the long night he'd had. A long groan from his side told him he wasn't the only one unenthused by the coming of the dawn. Phobos propped himself up with one hand to look at the other man. Cedric looked particularly worn after his night of inebriation, with dark circles under his eyes.

"My Prince," he greeted him upon noticing his eyes upon him, nodding his head respectfully. Then he clutched it in pain with a soft hiss. Phobos cocked his eyebrow in amusement,

"You had quite a night," he stated leadingly, curious if Cedric even remembered what had happened. He certainly did.

The shifter groaned as he fought to sit himself up, running his fingers through his golden hair, roughly trying to draw out the tangles so he could pull it back into its usual style. Then he glanced at Phobos, looking rather ill at ease like he'd done something to offend him. Perhaps he did remember then.

"I apologize for any embarrassment I may have caused, your Highness. I did not intend to indulge as I did."

"You did no such thing," he told him. It was a lie, of course, but Phobos certainly wasn't going to be the first to mention what had occurred.

'I love you.'

Phobos told himself it didn't matter, that it was just words. Silly, useless words that didn't need to be uttered again. They weren't like everyone who needed to sprout foolishness at the other for reassurance. Cedric had proven himself time, and again, there was no need for such inanities on his part. It had just been the alcohol that made him put such things to words. And Phobos would replay that loyalty with all the protections that his heritage could afford him.

And he did have something he wished to give to Cedric.

He left the shifter to his futile grooming and made his way to his vanity. He pulled small golden metalwork from its depths and eyed it thoughtfully. The Seal had been his mother's and her mother's before her, but now it was his to do with as he pleased, just like everything else in this world. It contained some small measure of power; to open any locks, mystical or otherwise (which he suspected was a metaphor of some sort considering who the Queen's usually gave the jewelry to). Truthfully, the most important thing about it was its shape as the Royal Crest of the Escanor Family, and if someone not of the family held such a thing, it had...certain connotations.

Cedric had been treated as barely a step above vermin in this castle, though Phobos found him far more noble than any of the humans that carried the title. He was far more clever than most humans as well and far more educated. Though Phobos had never learned where all his knowledge had come from. Cedric rarely spoke about his life before the castle or how he'd come to be there, but from what Phobos had gleaned, his childhood itself had been pleasant enough, but his transition from that to his life in the castle was decidedly not.

He hoped that if Cedric possessed such a thing, the human aristocracy would recognize his place above them. They would know who he was to him without the trouble of having to do so himself. Cedric, who'd been the only person to ever believe in him, who'd never expressed a doubt that he could claim what was his. The first person to look at him, not with fear and resentment, but softness. He'd never been wanted before, and not merely physically, but entirely wanted by someone never expected him to change, or put on an act, or even to reciprocate all his soft affection. Cedric just understood, and Phobos needed that more than he could ever admit, even to himself.

He held out the Seal before Cedric as he continued to fuss with his tangled hair, attempting to make the transfer with the least amount of dramatics and sentimentality as he could. Cedric's outburst last night had been more than enough of that. The other man looked to the Seal first and then to his impassive face, confused.

"My Prince?"

Phobos gestured for Cedric to take the artifact. "I want you to have this, as a sort of… a token of your rank and title, Lord Cedric. I could have given you land, I suppose, but living in the castle, I imagine you'd have little use for it."

Cedric looked at the Seal as if it might burn him, but he knew better than to tell the Prince he couldn't accept such a thing. Secretly, Phobos hoped Cedric knew just enough Escanor history to know the importance of the jewel itself. That he would understand it was as close as he could come to Cedric's own confession. He'd taken it from his dead father's neck for him, after all.

Slowly, carefully, Cedric reached out and took the Seal from Phobos. His face was stoic, but Phobos knew him well enough to see hints of pleasure at the gift. Though the events of the previous night had troubled him; he knew he'd chosen well enough when Cedric's only response was to kneel before him, look up in adoration and tell him in a calm and clear voice,

"Thank you, My Prince."

AN-

This has been something of a pet project of mine for a while, but I've started to really devote myself to it recently. Some of the chapters have been drabble WIPs in my drafts for years, and I've finally decided to put them together. This will be a chronological collection of drabbles. Related enough to be a chapter story but not necessarily meant to be read as one. That being said, they will all follow the passage of time from the beginning of Phobos' reign, as you can see here, to the end of the WITCH canon and then an epilogue. It's sort of a long-term look at the deterioration of Phobos' and Cedric's relationship. So from here, the chapters will contain some highly toxic interactions between the two, including dubious consent, self-harm, alcoholism, and suicidal idealization, so please be aware of this as you move forward. I will also give specific trigger warnings at the start of each chapter.

I'm not getting super into their backstory because it's not necessarily crucial to the story. But for those curious, basically, all you need to know is that Cedric is an orphan of war between his species and the humans, was taken to live in the castle as a servant, met Phobos, started a relationship, and got caught by his mom as referenced here. Weira was already at her breaking point with Phobos' behavior, and walking into a scene like that was the last straw for her. Phobos finally realized he would never get what he wanted from her and basically cut his losses and ran with Cedric. After they lived on their own for about two years in hiding. However, Weira then became pregnant, died in childbirth, and that's when they returned to claim the throne for Phobos.

And if things seem a little OOC right, they are sort of meant to be. They haven't become who they are by the end of the series. They have a few disasters to get through before that.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, -RoR