Course Four: Lasagna Al Forno

"I called this dinner for another reason. I wanted to inform you of something."

The dinner had been terse, glacial like Shiva's frozen tit already, so Noctis wasn't sure what else his father could do. The constant jabs to his retinue, the cool questions, the way Prompto seemed about ten seconds from just dying, the amount of wine Ignis had already consumed, or how Gladio's ticking eyebrow has suddenly become the entirety of half of his face.

This night really wasn't going to get worse. It was, logistically, impossible.

The plates of steaming Lasagna Al Forno. It did look good; maybe not as good as Iggy's, because Iggy never put in the vegetables…. But it still looked nice.

Even though Noctis knew he wasn't going to get to eat it. There was no way it was going to happen, because he knew that tone of voice. That was the voice that his father used for bad news. That was the voice his father used when shit was going to hit the fan.

All Noctis wanted to do was crawl back into his bed, to hide under the covers. No… he wanted to be curled up next to his lovers, cradled between their bodies. He wanted there to be nothing but them, nothing but the sweet embrace of their heat and sleep.

He did not want to hear what his father was going to say, because he already knew it wasn't going to be something he wanted to hear.

"Noctis… you continue to say that you are not in a relationship with these men, so it is time for me to inform you that we received word from Altissia. They have agreed that a marriage should take place to cement our relationship. While Altissia is a democracy, they do have the original monarchy…"

"No. You can't mean her. No."

Regis's eyes flashed. "That's no way to treat your future queen. Helga is a spirited young woman—"

"She's forty!"

"Still able to bear children, I have been assured. But we should get you married soon, before that changes."

"No."

"Yes, Noctis. I invited you and your friends here to clear the air. Now that I know that you have no inclinations toward them, I feel confident in my decision."

Bang.

Noctis could feel the magic in the air. It was an undercurrent of electrical charge that was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. He could smell the ozone, like a morning after the rain where everything seemed to be so peaceful and perfect. He could even see it glistening in the corner of his sight, a pink layer that made everything glow like one of the opals in his mother's favorite necklace.

He was pretty sure wherever she was now, she was staring down at him with slack-jawed horror.

This really wasn't how he planned the night to go.

It was just supposed to be dinner. Just dinner.

Noctis snapped his fingers together, reaching into the ether to call forward the sword his father had gifted to him on his 16th birthday…

Only to find that in its place was…

"What did you do to my sword?" Noctis screamed as he looked up at his father, who was smiling with a full mouth of razor-sharp, gleaming teeth against the pink insides of his mouth. "The fuck is this?"

"Language!"

"Fuck you and your language-"

Squeak.

Noctis tightened his hand around the toy sword before throwing it to the side in anger. The fuck.

He could see that Gladio had gotten Ignis out from where he had managed to hide behind a piece of 3rd century woodwork that had once been part of the dinner table.

Now it was shattered into many toothpick-sized splinters.

Oops.

"You don't control my life!" Noctis shook his hand, trying to pull at his magic. "And screw you for trying to tell me who I can and can't fuck!"

Regis looked like a vein was going to burst on his forehead, and for a moment Noctis could feel only vindictive pleasure in it. It would serve him right. What the hell was this? What was going on?

Prompto was pressed up against the opposite wall and Noctis could see some of the Lasagna Al Forno still sticking in his Chocobo blond hair. In fact, from the roof to the walls to the Glaives staring shell-shocked at them…. Everything was covered in Lasagna Al Forno. Well…. Except for the king, who had managed to throw up his shield to protect from the flying dishes.

This wasn't Noctis's fault.

"Noctis, sit down before you cause any more damage to this room. We want there to still be a banquet hall for when you get married."

But it wasn't Noctis's fault, was it?

"I am not getting married to that she-beast. Absolutely not!" There was a tinge of hysterical fervor in his words, causing his voice to crack. Oh, Six. What would the Astrals think of a prince throwing a fit and accidentally letting off a little too much of his magic? And then, what would the Astrals think of his now feral panic?

He needed to get Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio out. They needed to get out of the room before his father did something in retaliation.

Screw Lucian glassware; it was a 3rd century hand-carved wooden table from the Rogue Star Queen's dynasty.

He had blown up something worth literally more than his life. There had been more than one king in their line that had died specifically for that table, or so the tales has been told to him. There was a special magic in its wood, and now… well, now it was a heap of very broken, slightly charred, wood.

Oops.

"Noctis, you need to calm yourself now, before you do any more damage."

Any more damage?

"I blew up The Rogue Star Queen's 3rd Century wooden table."

Prompto, still clinging to to the wall, whimpered. "Oh, we're all so dead. So, so, so dead." A zucchini slid down the wall behind him, plopping onto his shoulder. Prompto didn't even seem to notice.

Noctis turned to Gladio, whose hair had come loose. Ignis was bent over a bottle of wine, maybe the only thing from the dinner that had managed to be salvaged.

"We can see that," Gladio muttered, but Noctis quickly turned to Ignis, who was giggling as he tried to pull off the cork with his teeth.

"Noctis, control your temper! I have told you time and time again that you do not get to use the magic of the Lucii to break things!"

"It isn't like I can control it," Noctis snarled and snapped his fingers again. He couldn't warp out of the window without access to his sword. "It just happens!"

"You're going to need to learn how if you're going to become king," Regis's voice boomed, and Noctis had to wince at the strength of the man's voice. It wasn't often that Noctis could see that this man, his father, had been king for a long time. He was a strong man, even with his cane.

"Well, I want a rain check. Clearly I'm not made to be king material."

"It doesn't work like that, Noct," Ignis piped up as he finally managed to pull off the cork. Decorum was very much gone; Ignis wasn't even pretending to be the curt yet polite man he typically was. Instead, Ignis pushed himself to his feet and then took a long swig of the bottle of wine he had managed to save. "You get kingly no matter. Traditions and much thinking of kingly things. Yes, certainly."

Noctis turned to Ignis, cocking his head to the side.

"What the fuck."

"Yes, fucking indeed. We should get to it."

"I swear, the both of you! Language!"

But the advisor was far too gone; Ignis looked down to his bottle, turning to Gladio and leaned forward to grab a clump of lasagna from the Shield's face. "No wasting food." He shoved it into Gladio's mouth.

Even Regis seemed to have nothing to add, and Noctis was very, very sure that one of the Glaive was hiding his laughter behind a very long cough.

"I think…" Prompto started…. "Maybe we should… Noct… Maybe you should just…"

"Should what, Mr. Argentum? As I said before, is there anything you would like to tell me?"

"We've got nothing to tell you!"

"Then I should call Helga's father and let them know the wedding will take place soon."

Gladio twitched. Prompto banged his head against the wall, knocking more lasagna down. Ignis took another swig of the bottle. None of the Glaive so much as said a word.

They didn't breathe.

"Fine! I'm in a relationship," Noctis finally snapped. "Is that what you want to hear? Are you really that obsessed with my life that you need to know that?"

Regis pinched the bridge of his nose. "Which one?"

Noctis scrunched his face. "All of them."

Regis's mouth fell open, all kingly decorum gone.

Ignis choked and spit out his wine, the liquid dribbling down his chin.

Gladio's face froze, eyes wide and cheeks sucked in.

Prompto let out a pained moan and flopped onto the floor, prostrating himself down in the deepest bow Noctis had ever seen.

And Noctis snapped his fingers again, the ether opening up for his weapon….

Only to find that instead of his blade, the arsenal had decided to spit out the fucking toy sword yet again.

Squeak.

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