A/N: Some things to go over before we start this chapter!

This is a shorter chapter and hopefully it doesn't seem too rushed. I am trying to get us to the good stuff so just keep hanging on!

I also wanted to remind you guys that this IS a gen fic with no pairings. I am mentioning this because in spite of events of this chapter, I don't want people to think/fear that I'll end up pairing Lance x OC. I promise that I will never do such a thing! You are safe here :)

That being said, enjoy chapter two! And if you have a moment, make sure to check out IcyPanther's contribution to this challenge, called The Purity of Sin and be sure to drop her a comment!

Thank you~

XXX

Unma and her people somehow manage to pull together to arrange a feast for them as guests on their planet and as Paladins of Voltron, a feat that Lance can hardly fathom because how exactly does an entire town rally together for a celebration without the aid of good old fashion word of mouth? Yet the Decibonians come together, garnish their community in glittery, shiny things and start prepping for a meal that smells absolutely mouth-watering.

Before being allowed to indulge in festivities, however, Allura insists that they dress for the occasion. This results in everyone filing back into the castleship to play dress-up with whatever Altean clothes Coran and Allura can find floating about. Normally their paladin armor suffices on these diplomatic meetings (and seeing as Voltron and the lions and their paladins are a main topic of conversation, it seems fitting to have the associated attire on, for show), but perhaps in the future they should look into obtaining some fancy looking space clothes for situations like these?

Thing is, Lance adores looking sharp as hell. His Mamá used to smooth his bangs back and tell him what a handsome boy he was; Lance honestly feels like she was really onto something there, and there is no shame in owning it.

He debates slicking his hair back for a sleeker, James Bond look, with the goo-based gel he created a while back, but instead decides to keep his hair soft and touchable. As a plus, ladies love a head of hair they can tangle their fingers into.

And after a prolonged look in the mirror it is confirmed that yes, Coran's old Altean garments leave him looking rather dashing. A little big initially, but Coran cinches it at the waist and fancies up the lapel with polished buttons and matching cufflinks. The result, Lance feels, is stunning. Mamá would be proud.

That pride keeps his posture tall as he makes his way to the next room where he finds a very disgruntled Pidge in a full-length dress that looks like it must have belonged to a younger Allura. It is white and pink and blue, donned with ornamental lace and sleeves that stretch out to her elbows modestly. The only thing really clashing the outfit is the deep-set frown on Pidge's face. She holds out her arms as Allura sits behind her to tie the sashes together in a unified bow. Lance knows from late night conversations that Pidge doesn't necessarily hate dresses; she owned a few before the Garrison, but they were simple, with single, solid colors. Nothing like this.

Still though.

It's abso-quiznacking-lutely precious.

"Aww, Pidgeon."

"Don't call me that," she deadpans as Allura gives a final tug to the bow and stands. She herself is adorned in a long flowy gown with all of her usual colors, her long hair braided and tossed over her left shoulder. Lovely as always.

"Alright, alright," Lance says, holding up his hands defensively, even as Pidge's glare deepens. "I'll stop using it but one day you're going to miss that nickname."

"Today is not that day, Lance."

"I just want it on record that I think you look adorable."

"Noted," Pidge grumbles, turning to Allura. "How long do these things usually run?"

"I don't know," Allura says. She fiddles with the folds of her braid, looking thoughtful. "But everything seems to be going well. Hopefully by the end of the night we will have gained another alliance for the cause."

Lance nudges Pidge on the shoulder "You just want to know how long you have to wear that thing."

"Well yeah. I just want this to go quickly."

Honestly, even looking suave as hell, Lance couldn't agree more.

XXX

"Gross," Lance whispers to himself, quietly so no one can hear. He decides that it might be best to just keep his lips sealed at all times, for the sake of… everything, really. But it appears that even out of hearing range of others he can't help but comment about things. He stares down at the green liquid in his cup, transparent like green tea—an offering from one of the busy bees hustling around the castle to prepare the celebration. Kafra, it's called, and against his better judgement, he gives it a second sip, only to come back with the same twisted expression. Softly, secretively, he confirms, "…still gross."

Of course, on a planet that doesn't have a set day and night, Lance doesn't know if it will be considered dinner or a brunch or whatever, but holy crow is he hungry. The kafra really isn't hitting the spot.

Everyone seems so uptight right now, too. Strained expressions and tense movements. If they were allowed to whisper, Lance is sure there'd be plenty of that.

A flash of white catches his attention; Allura's bountiful, braided hair bouncing on her shoulder as she briskly makes her way over to him, Draxis hot on her heels. He looks even less pleased than Allura.

"Lance." Allura's voice is clipped, but Lance can hear the anxiety in her voice that her face refuses to reveal. "Have you seen princess Unma?"

"She is missing," Draxis cuts in coldly.

Tiny alarm bells go off in the back of his head. No wonder the Decibonians have been silently panicking. "No... But, I don't think she'd go far. I mean, technically, this is her party?"

It's a wary attempt at easing Allura's distress. They can't afford to lose the alliance of the Decibonians and losing their ruler at their own celebration is a very bad way to start.

Allura purses her lips. "The others are already searching. Lance, could you—"

"I'm on it," Lance nods, gratefully discarding the kafra on the nearby tabletop. With a new sense of purpose, a wave of determination washes over him; he'll be the one to find Unma, redeem himself for his earlier transgressions, and then maybe, just maybe, Draxis—and Allura—will finally stop making those disappointed faces at him.

XXX

Problem: Lance doesn't know where to look.

He hasn't a single freaking clue.

He's lost, for one. But even if he knew his way around, Lance still doesn't know where a princess might run off to in a place like this, if she ran off at all. Personally he would want to make his way down the rocky catacombs beneath the city and bask in the gentle glow of their underground star map, but Lance doesn't know the way and he won't be able to find the princess first if he gets himself lost.

There isn't much he knows about Unma either other than she is pretty quiet, pretty kind and pretty pretty. Pretty like a flower.

Lance runs a hand through his un-gelled, touchable hair and breathes deeply. Girls like flowers, his mind supplies lamely. Which maybe isn't so lame of a thought because Lance finds himself moving towards to gardens just outside the city. It's easy enough to find since it's massive size can be seen even from the city's center, and it's not the worst place to look on this search and rescue or whatever this is, but he is surprised to see that the gardens are fairly secluded and lonely and most of the flowers are sweet but sad looking, like the plants themselves crave to be spoken to.

The odds of Lance finding Unma before anyone else is unlikely, he knows. But he wants it anyway. To be the one to find her and return her safe and sound to the people who adore her—how great would that make him look? Maybe he'd receive a peck on the cheek from the princess himself, and they'd be so grateful for his deeds that they'll even let him give a modest speech—

A rustling in the nearby bushes startles him. He jumps, unable to control the high pitched squeak that escapes his lips, but he is quick to clear his throat and follow up with a deep and manly, "Who's there? Show yourself."

He summons his bayard, forming a rifle and bringing the crosshairs to eyelevel. He directs it to the sound, his heart racing but he keeps his breathing steady, just like always, as his mind races through the possibilities. Could be something as simple as a squirrel or whatever creatures exist around here. It could very well be someone else out here looking for the princess, beating Lance to the punch on looking in the gardens. Or—Lance strokes the trigger with his finger—maybe there really is cause for concern and Unma has been taken hostage and this is her captor.

"Come out," he orders again, more gusto in his voice now that believes there could be a very real threat.

A voice responds to him, softer than he is expecting. "I did not mean to startle you."

The leaves shudder and a small figure emerges from the greenery. And. Um.

"Oh crap!"

Lance's eyes spring wide when he realizes he's pointing his gun at the princess of a planet they're trying to form a union with holy crap holy crap holy— the blaster dissipates instantly and Lance throws his hands up over his face to make an assortment of unintelligible noises into them, then freezes. Because, well. "Y-you… spoke. To me. Just now. You. To me. You just spoke to me."

Articulate as ever.

"Lance," Unma says quietly, talking even more, her arms outstretched towards him, causing Lance's brain to short-circuit. Unma not only remembers his name, but she says it beautifully. "Please. Please do not be alarmed. And please do not tell Draxis." Lance's mouth hangs open to speak but nothing comes out. Unma takes his right hand in both of her tiny ones. "Blue Paladin of Voltron, may I confide something in you?"

A lump in his throat threatens to choke him. What are the consequences exactly, of making the princess of Decibon speak? You know, the very thing he's been advised against doing from the get-go? Is this a trick? But Unma is speaking of her own free will—isn't that against the rules, though? Draxis made it clear earlier that things like this are frowned upon. Punishable. They can't punish the princess, though. Right? Lance imagines not, but they can still punish him for encouraging it.

But Unma is a lady in need who is coming to him of all people to reveal her secrets to, and Lance wouldn't be his mother's son if he turned his back to her. So despite the potential risks and the rules drilled into him by Draxis and Allura and just about everyone else, Lance whispers a raspy, heartfelt "Yes."

Unma squeezes his hand gently in a way that makes Lance feel trusted.

"Our people must embrace a change. The feelings of our hearts must be expressed with our voices, and not by the voices of others. These were the sentiments of my mother for as long as I can remember," Unma confesses. Lance listens with an intensity so fierce it is almost physically painful. The princess is talking to him. About her mother talking to her. About wanting their people to talk. "My mother… her dying words imparted this request onto me."

The weight of it all pushes against Lance's chest and he lets out a mouthful of air slowly, puffing out his cheeks. He keeps his voice soft and speaks carefully. "This is… a lot to take in, princess." He gently slides a thumb over Unma's small knuckles, a gesture that his older sister would do for him when he was being young and selfish and she wanted to console him. This planet does not belong to him in any sense; it is not his place to sway Unma's choices in what happens to it. To tell her right from wrong. But Lance can see that she is looking for guidance, a feeling he's had many times in the past, and the urge to help her is impulsive. "Have you mentioned this to anyone? To Draxis?"

She shakes her head, golden freckles catching the light. "I've confided in no one. I need my people to trust me. What if this change breaks that trust?"

Lance wants so badly to tell her that the shock of hearing her speak is not alarming or offensive in the least. It's incredible. And her people are insane if they were to think anything else. He also tries not to openly gush at being invited into Unma's secret little world, one that even her most trusted advisor and translator does not even seem to know about.

In her eyes, Lance can see how badly Unma longs to have her parents at her side. How much she misses them. The doubt and fear she is suffering at the unknown, at the possibility of letting everyone down… those are also things Lance knows intimately and his heart aches for her. It would seem that he and Unma, at their core, actually have a lot in common.

And at the end of the day, Lance is a gentleman with a bleeding heart who wants nothing more than to alleviate the things that ails other people. He is the leg of Voltron, a symbol of support and protector of the people.

"Princess, I'm sure your mother told you what she did because she believed in your ability to succeed. Look, I… I know it can be scary to be responsible for other people, but if you're going to be a good leader, you owe it to them and to yourself to be honest." He watches her expression to gauge her reaction, but she still looks unsure. If anything, her eyes look a little glossy, and Lance will be damned if he's going to be the reason a lady cries. "…but you already know this. Listen, deep down, you know what you need to do. What you want to do. And it will happen, Unma. But it doesn't have to be right away. Just, whenever you're ready."

The look on Unma's face reminds Lance of one of the many reasons he joined the Garrison. To help people.

"Lance, Blue Paladin of Voltron, I thank you. I take your kind words to heart, but please, do keep this between us for now."

Lance's chest quakes with the intensity of Unma's trust. He has no intention of breaking it. "Your secret is safe with me."

A beat passes. Lance opens his mouth to invite her to go back to the city with him, because everyone is worried about her (and Lance is still really hungry and surely dinner-or-what-have-you is almost ready by now), but the ground rumbles beneath his feet and a sudden, ear-piercing siren blares through the skies.

Lance whirls around to see lights flashing in the distance. "What's going on!?"

"It's the alarm," Unma explains, her voice cracking with worry. She is already running back towards the city. "We're under attack!"

And Lance, accustomed to dashing off towards the sounds of chaos with little to no knowledge of the dangers awaiting him, follows.