[Royals AU]
King Makoto crushed the Kingdom of Seirin, and was intending on setting the castle on fire when he chanced upon a secret passageway. Curious, he goes down the passage to come out into a room with a baby boy with an angel's smile. Recognizing the prince, he lifts his dagger to kill him but an idea forms in his mind, halting his movements...
Disclaimer
I do not own Kuroko no Basuke. Nor do I own Royals. They belong to their respective owners.
A/N
This popped up into my mind out of nowhere, during the course of my's reading Royals for the 7th time. If you haven't yet read Royals by Kryzanna, I vehemently suggest you do, before reading this. You can find it on AO3. Even if you don't feel like reading this through, I still suggest checking out Royals, it's hot stuff.
Now, I am writing this knowing that my writing is not half as good as Kryzanna's, so don't expect anything fancy, too. I stewed around and distracted myself with Business Before Pleasure, but it didn't kill the idea. So here I am, posting it here coz I don't have an AO3 account. And I'm hoping Kryzanna doesn't sue me, if the author finds out what I have done. XD.
...
The Seirin Castle walls loomed in the distance, thick and firmly built. It was at the very ends of the city, built right by a steep, deadly ravine with no means of crossing. The tall walls were as thick as the length of his horse's back, built with large, sturdy stone; without mentioning the second, equally thick layer of the walls. Surrounded by a man-made moat (the water no doubt supplied by one of the two rivers that ran through the city) that flowed round and down with fast currents to a deadly waterfall, down the merciless and bottomless ravine. The walls, with watchtowers and archer posts, were almost terrific. They did nothing to help hide the top of the castle and the tall towers they enclosed, but had done an annoying good job protecting it.
It made Hanamiya genuinely smile when he thought of how they had been run down, dead.
The royal farms, out of the castle walls, but surrounded by chest-high, stone brick walls, with fields of growing sprouts, ripening verdure and drying stems of all sorts of different sorts of vegetation, were all set aflame. The orchards were filled with men chopping down as many of the trees as they could, that would be left to die and perhaps, most preferably, catch fire from the farms. The animal farms were not spared either and were set ablaze, with only half of the livestock being led out - for the men to eat on the way home - to safety, all the rest of the bred animals being slaughtered. But King Hanamiya, didn't spare his surroundings any glances, his eyes were firmly latched onto the castle wall gates, which had been smashed open, the metal bars laying down uselessly when the turnpike wheel had fallen prey to several, carefully aimed, catapulted boulders. The wooden bridge, which had fallen into place, providing a way over the moat, the moment the turnpike had collapsed, invited everyone in.
The Castle was his destination. Because taking over the castle meant total victory over Seirin for him. It had taken quite some time to run down the defence at the borders, and through the whole of the mountainous land to reach the Capitol, placed on a wide, short mountain with what would have been a (strangely) completely flat top if it had not been for the soft, barely hills scattered on the top. His armies had met an even more fierce defence - led by the Queen herself (could you imagine that?) - at the City Walls and all through the fluffy, lush, green, ugly Capitol of Seirin which had turned out to be a very sizable and troublesome city. But his men had persevered, and they had run down everything right up to the very castle. The army, which had been quick to fall after their Queen had been captured, had all either been slayed, or had wisely taken flight. The homes had been destroyed, the shopping districts thoroughly trashed and set on fire, the grand mansions, workshops, buildings and inns all demolished. The schools, stables, and stadiums all broken down. The trees found on every road and route slashed down. The City Gardens were left alone, they'd run wild and ugly with time. Winter's Cup, their grand hospital had taken several generously flaming, launched stones and was a pile of what he thought was very hospitable rubble.
The streetlamps all lacked their lanterns (which had been smashed by his clever men). The king had ensured that the ruined city would not get a light of hope, even from the lampposts, and would stay shrouded in the dark.
King Hanamiya had come to vanquish, not conquer. And as soon as he, himself had set flame to that bastard Kiyoshi's Throne Room, he could make for his own castle and get the good night's sleep he so deserved in a peaceful state of mind. And country. It would also show his advisers, who had been so sceptical about attacking this early (he had them replaced by new, wiser advisers), that he was not just stone-hearted and had a clever mind under his crown studded with green gems.
His horse, a tall, proud white with grey forearms, jaw, tail and mane, trotted fiercely into the castle grounds, his chin not dropping despite the heavy armour fastened on his long face. It slowed its trot on the cobbled pathway leading up to the castle, as if he knew his rider wanted to drink in the sight of ruin and revel in the atmosphere of defeat. When it stopped, before the flight of polished, granite stairs leading to the great entrance doors, the King unmounted smoothly, no signs of walking bow-legged despite having been on his horse since the break of dawn.
He walked gaily up the stairs and stopped to inspect the smooth, finely-made knockers of Seirin husky busts, as big as the heads of the real, full-grown huskies, the heavy hoops hanging from bared jaws and teeth to fall on shaggy chests. The knockers were better than his, which featured enlarged raven heads, and cawing beaks. He pushed them open and stepped into the foyer which, once warm and friendly, was now quiet and cold. He strode into the castle, down silent hallways that had Kirisaki Daiichi men standing gaurd and not Seirin men. They saluted him as he walked by, several standing guard not too far away from human corpses, and bowed as he left them behind. He didn't spare them a moment of thought, he was thinking of the throne room, and was making for it. He knew his way around - having been invited over several times by their King - and it did not take too long for him to make it into the throne room. Hanamiya stopped at the entrance to the throne room and stood there for a brief moment, simply staring and feeling accomplished.
It was very different from his.
The thrones were set only five, dainty steps higher than the rest of the room, whereas his thrones were set on their own level altogether, accessed by stairs. Here there were indoor balconies, with his own men standing gaurd on now, around the room and snow white tapestries, with dark blue embroidery, hang up. His had no indoor balconies, but the edges of the room were three steps higher than the centre of the room (to give the snobby nobles someplace). There were several comfortable-looking chairs set in neat order in the room, potted plants in the corners, and cold torches on the walls, and there was a refreshment table at one of the corners. In his throne room every one, apart from him, stood, with plenty of space to kneel, like they were supposed to in the presence of a king. And the torches fastened to the wall were accompanied by assortments of weaponry.
He grabbed one of the filled glasses from the refreshment table, on a tray and sipped from it with a chuckle. He turned around, walked up to the king throne at the centre and circled it, inspecting it critically. His eyes roving up and down every inch of the seat. It was not that different from the other thrones, cushioned accordingly and decorated plainly. His throne room had only one throne: his, and it would not change anytime soon - if he ever got a wife, she could sit at his feet. The king stopped when he noticed a thin, black line under the base of the main seat.
The line was no bigger than a fine needle and ran from one end of the chair to the other. His eyes narrowed. No, it wasn't a line, it looked like.. part of a hole.. Hanamiya looked up and gestured at his guards. 'Come and push this throne,' he ordered.
They walked up silently and obeyed his command, pushing at the heavy stone seat with all their might. Just as he had suspected, the throne inched forward slowly, bit by bit, to reveal a ladder leading down. Hanamiya's eyes lit up. It had been quite well hidden and he might have missed it, or dismissed it, if Kiyoshi had not gone missing. A secret passageway. How marvellous. Perhaps it would lead them to the escaped king.
Hanamiya climbed down the ladder himself and turned around, looking down the dark passageway, before walking forward into the cold darkness. He nearly stumbled several times, when the passage turned to stairs leading down. But soon the dark passage became dim with a faint light escaping out through the bottom of a door. He pushed open the door, which gave way to a well-lit room with a crackling fireplace that kept it warm. He cautiously walked in, keeping in mind booby traps and perhaps a hidden king, who could spring out from a hiding place.
He would not mind taking him in a close fight.. maybe... if he found him.
The room was sadly empty, save for a mountain of blankets and quilts piled high a pace, or two, in front of the roaring fireplace. Slightly disappointed, he approached the structure curiously, and was surprised to find a face looking up at him. It wasn't Kiyoshi (of course), but a chubby face with soft, short hair which grew brown at the hairline, dark red beside the brown and bright, bright bloodred at the very centre. The peculiar colouring allowed him to recognise the cherub face. It was their kingdom's prince, king Kiyoshi's sister's son - little Kagami Taiga. Hanamiya could remember the feast the king had thrown for his sister's wedding, and the even bigger one he had thrown for her firstborn. Too bad she and her husband had been killed a year and half after he was born..
They stared at each other for a moment that seemed to drag on for hours, his grey-green, sadistic, cruel eyes gazing into the infant's purely crimson, huge, innocent and utterly loving eyes. It disgusted him. The warmth and pure, pure love infants always radiated (well almost all of them). His long fingers wrapped themselves around the bejewelled dagger tucked into his robes, and he raised it up on top of the babe's head.
He doesn't know why he hesitated, and would probably never know, infant's bones were soft and easy to cut through. There was nothing about the situation that could have made him hesitate. But he could blame it on the thought that he could take the boy and let him grow up in pain and suffering, in place of his missing uncle (who he had been planning to take back to Kirisaki to torture for a decade or so before making him jump off the tallest tower of his castle), creeped into his mind. But that was not enough to explain why his arms froze, the fact remains: he hesitated.
Hanamiya looked down at the small creature.
His hesitation and bewildered staring had given the child enough time to pull his arms (with some difficulty) out of their confinement under the heavy quilts, and reach up to clap his palms around the flat sides of his fine, iron, jewelled dagger. He stared at the miniature hands for a moment, wondering at the size of them, before looking down at the prince, who was giving the blade a big, glimmering gaze. The babe then looked up, past the sharp blade, at him for a second before offering him a wide, four-teethed smile, his pale, plump cheeks darkening into poppies and his tiny, forked eyebrows flying upwards.
Hanamiya's heart skipped a beat. This child had an angelic smile. Just as travelling storytellers had described him and the bards had sung of him. A smile that pulls at your chest softly and filled you with gentle warmth. And he hated it. With his thick eyebrows falling downwards, he pulled the dagger away from the boy and raised the weapon to strike him dead, again. The boy gurgled something uncomprehending and laughed, reaching for the blade that had been snatched away from his grasp.
A thought that passed across his mind and that was all it took for King Hanamiya to suddenly be smitten by the thought of it. He put away the dagger (much to the prince's whined displeasure) and put his hands down to pull the baby out of his makeshift cot. He was going to raise the child into a fine Kirisaki Daiichi man. What great pain would Kiyoshi feel when he found out that his deceased lovely sister's son had nothing but cruelty only bred in Kirisaki in him? How would he feel when the next time he layed eyes upon his nephew he saw nothing but cruelty in the place of the warm love he had last seen? The boy would grow up to be entirely loyal to him, King Hanamiya, he would never know anything about his uncle. And he could even have the boy himself put an end to Kiyoshi's life.
Now that was a handsome thought.
Hanamiya inspected the boy, who was wearing a grey, shrunken, male tunic, loose breeches which tightened at his knees and thick, blinding, white socks covered his tiny feet. His miniscule, warm hands reached forward and touched Hanamiya's cold cheeks softly, making the man glare at him with a glare that has repeatedly made children (and several grown men) cry.
The boy offered him one of his heart-stopping smiles.
King Hanamiya had a feeling he was going to make a great Kirisaki Daiichi man. Not one person in existence has smiled back so genuinely in face of Hanamiya's glare. He dropped him back on the warm quilt and turned around - he was going to have his men fetch it later - making for the passageway. Oh, he was going to make Kiyoshi regret ever hiding his nephew and not taking him with him when he was escaping.
~