(Author's Note: prompt: a kiss because i have literally being watching you all night and I can't take any more.

This... didn't really go where it was supposed to.)

The moment the doors shut behind her Nine's already unfastening the clasp of the heavy robe from around her throat. It's been weighing on her for hours, thick black velvet lined in fur and edged with golden embroidery, and when she tries to shrug it from her shoulders it clings to her like a living thing.

She doesn't want this. She doesn't want any of this.

She doesn't want to be their Empress, but it became eminently clear when she claimed the throne that after centuries under Valkorion's rule the people of Zakuul had no idea how to govern themselves and worse, had precious little interest in doing so. They'll grow used to the idea- they've got to, she cannot and will not do this forever- but for now she sits on the Eternal Throne.

And with the Eternal Throne came the coronation, all the trappings of power, the robes and the crown and a heavy jeweled collar across her chest, and right now she wants them all off her body so badly she could scream.

The ceremony's over now, at least, though the ball is just beginning; the crown has to stay, she knows that. But she can rest now, if only for a few minutes, and this robe-

Oh, stars, why won't it come free? She shouldn't have sent the servants away- the collar needs to come off first, she thinks, and it's pinned onto her gown. Head buried in her hands as she sits down on the low stool before the dressing-table, she almost doesn't hear the soft slide of a door opening beneath her frustrated muttering. The footsteps behind her are less than subtle, though, the sharp tap of formal shoes on the marble flooring; bending forward, she reaches beneath her hems for the blade strapped to her thigh.

"You look-" Theron says as she straightens, catching a glimpse of him still tuxedo-clad in the mirror; oh, she loves to see him all dressed up, sleek and elegant- "like you could use some help."

She resists the urge to throw the knife at him. "Stars, don't sneak up on me like that. You know my nerves are shot."

"I wasn't sneaking." He takes another step forward for emphasis, and she can see a gap in the paneled wall behind him. "Unless using a secret passageway counts as sneaking, which it probably does, but the guards wouldn't let me past at the main door, so-"

She chuckles. "No one told me about any secret passages. So much for security."

"You're safe. Senya's watching the other entrance. She's the one who showed it to me when I couldn't find you." Theron pushes the panel closed before he crosses the room toward her. "It runs between here and the south wing- those were her rooms, she said, before-"

(They'd been happy once, too, hadn't they- Senya and Valkorion? Lovers sneaking into each others' beds, late at night and behind closed doors.

A parallel too close for comfort.)

"She would know,.wouldn't she?" Setting her blade down on the tabletop, she gestures toward the collar and the robe. "I do need help. I can't reach the damned pins."

"I'll get them," he nods, pushing the robe back off her shoulders, already reaching for the fastenings. "I was right about one thing tonight, though."

She smiles as the left side comes free, a weight off her chest both literal and metaphorical. "Hm?"

"You do look great sitting on that throne." Theron pulls the pins free on the right and the jeweled collar falls into her waiting hands. "I've been waiting to tell you that for hours. The most perfect empress I've ever seen."

With it gone she can slip free of the robe and oh, that's so much better, the heat of the fur gone from the back of her neck, and she sighs in relief. "Flatterer. How many empresses have you seen, hm?"

"Four. And five queens, and my point still stands. You look-" he goes to stroke her hair out of familiarity and stops, the gold-and-diamond crown and the pinned-up curls of hair beneath like a sign flashing warning- do not touch. Instead, he adjusts the drape of her neckline before leaning down to kiss her- "so unbelievably beautiful, and I've been waiting to do that all night, too."

She winds her arms around his neck, not letting him pull away, and he sinks down to his knees in front of her.

"I hate this," she whispers. "I don't want to go back out there, Theron."

"I know." He kisses her again, sweet and gentle. "You don't have to, if-"

"Yes, I do. You know I don't have a choice." She makes a face, her nose scrunching against his, and sighs. "I'm not sure I ever did. I'll save you a dance, though, I promise."

He stops, then, looking up at her as she lets him go, standing, smoothing out the skirt of the black silk gown; when she reaches down to help him to his feet he catches both of her hands in one of his but doesn't rise.

"Theron," she says after a moment, "what are you doing?"

He takes a deep breath, still on his knees in front of her, and reaches into his pocket. "Giving you a choice."