Dragon's Consort

A/N: Lol, sometimes I'm amazed by the craps I can write.

Lance

"I kept thinking about you the whole day."

Lance nearly spilled his drink when he caught himself repeating those words in his mind, again.

"Your Highness, is something wrong?" his most trusted advisor, Agatha, asked. "You have been doing that a lot today."

"Doing what?"

"Nearly jumping out of your seat." She answered before she put off her glasses and settled it on the middle of the desk. She leaned slightly forward on her seat across him and said, with a very serious tone, "Listen, I know that the pressure is weighing down heavily on you. I told that old man Oak that forcing you to choose a Consort isn't going to do much good if you're not happy about it," she shrugged, "But you know that old gruff and the other councilors, they think they know what's best."

Lance gave her a confused look.

"Lance, I truly believe that you don't need to feel pressured to choose a Consort," Agatha continued. "Your happiness is all that mattered. If you're happy, the dragons will be happy, and then everything's going to be just fine. You don't have to listen to old man Oak, just do whatever it is that makes you happy."

"Whatever makes me happy?" Lance tried the words in his mouth and thought of what he would do if he was indeed given such a freedom. He gazed out of the window, and then, once again, those words rang through his mind. "I kept thinking about you the whole day." The words sounded more and more seducing with each repetition. It sounded huskier and darker, filled with promises of pleasure he hadn't dared indulge himself in after a long, long time. A jolt of excitement shot through his spine as he imagined what he would do to Steven once he had that exotic beauty writhing and begging beneath him.

His pale skin would be flushed, his silver eyes would be glazed with wanton desires. Lance would claim those perfect lips as he thrust deep inside-

Lance jumped out of his daydream with a jolt, and he let out a growl.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me, Lance?" Agatha asked, a rare concern filled her voice.

Lance shook his head and rose, "I just need to take a walk."

He left the room without saying another word.

Steven

His brother often told him that he was a devious little shit. He was often praised by many for being cunning and smart. Back in his adventuring days, his brilliantly hatched plans got him out of troubles all the time. Steven was undoubtedly gifted in when it comes to using his brain, and yet last night, for the very first time in his life, he felt utterly dumb. Not just utterly, but devastatingly dumb. He felt as if his whole world was beginning to fall apart, his walls and reality all crumbling down around him into dust and rubbles. He had never felt so stupid, so clueless, so dense… He is the King, Steven kept on replaying those words over and over again in his mind ever since he first woke the morning after, and trailing behind it was a vivid flashback of all the interactions they shared in the brief time together. I am an idiot, the vicious loop ended with that thought, before he began again with, he is the King.

He went through the morning almost mechanically. He didn't argue with his valet over the tightness of his corset, he didn't greet any of the young lords or ladies as he entered the breakfast hall – a mistake which did not went unnoticed by that screeching woman from orientation day whose name Steven hadn't bother to learn – and he didn't even know what he was doing until a clear voice suddenly cut through his line of thought.

"Look out!"

Immediately, he turned his gaze towards the source of that voice. However, before he could see who had yelled out so urgently, he felt a sharp coldness penetrated his chest and took the breath out of his lungs. At that moment, as he was falling onto his back, his seemingly-stuck mind began to reel once again at full speed. Ice magic, his mind quickly concluded. His eyes quickly traced the trajectory of the attack, and saw a small figure standing in the distance. Just a child, his alarm went off, he wasn't in any real danger. It was just an accident. Damn it, where have I wandered off to? He gritted as he closed his eyes, trying to find out the amount of damage the attack had inflicted upon him. His chest felt cold, almost frozen. He tried to inhale, but that action sent a painful chill through his body. Frost Spear, he concluded the name of the spell and horror crept up his heart. Where the hell did a mere child learn such a dangerous spell? His body finally came in contact with the ground, and yet the pain caused by the impact was minute compared to the pain he experienced from just trying to breath. He opened his mouth, trying to get air into his lungs by an alternative way, but it didn't make any difference. The pain was cold and merciless.

He knew Frost Spear, an old friend taught him that spell a long time ago. It was lethal, yes, but there was a way to counter it. But how? He screamed, his mind scrambling in the dark for the right answer. None came. The pain was meddling with his mind, and the coldness was spreading to the tips of his fingers. HIs mind was still madly scrambling for an answer. Fuck, I can't die like this! He gasped, trying to breath, but his lungs shrieked in protest. No… Not like this…

"Lord Steven!" He heard voices, all calling his name. Cracking open his eyelids, he saw that many faces were all staring down at him, fear and concern written on their faces. Steven wanted to yell at them to do something, but he couldn't even breathe without hurting himself.

"Out of the way!" a voice snapped, commanding and fierce, yet there was a hint of fear. The crowd gasped, made funny noises that Steven couldn't comprehend in his current state. He didn't know if Frost Spear also cause the victim to become delirious, but at that moment, Steven saw Lance, his face unreadable and yet Steven noticed that there was a glimpse of panic in his eyes.

Steven couldn't hold back a smirk. This is your damn fault.

Lance

A few minutes before…

He's getting better, Lance couldn't hold back a small smile of pride as he watched his son trained with one of the royal mage. They were training down there on the palace's courtyard, practicing simple spells and combat skills. Even though his second son, Kyle, was only eight years old, many told him that he showed great talent for wielding magic. He grasped spells quicker than any kid of his age, and he was able to demonstrate them to quite an astonishing level of perfection. He was also very serious and diligent in his training; it seemed as if that boy was born to study and delve into the mysterious world of their ancient magic.

"Your Highness."

Lance glanced to his side, and noticed that the Commander of the mage Division was standing there in the hallway not far from him. Lance had heard her footsteps coming, she was always in her heavy boots and so her footsteps were easily noticeable. He acknowledged her with a look, before he returned his gaze to his training son. The royal mage had brought along another child who was slightly older than Kyle, and it seemed as if they were going to spar. This should be interesting. "Commander Jasmine. What brings you here?" he asked absently as he observed the two children taking their positions.

"I came here to report about the wyverns," Commander Jasmine said, her voice sweet and calm. With the way she was dressed in her full black uniform, shoulder guard, and a sword attached to her belt, nobody would have thought that she would be capable of producing such a gentle voice. "They are a lot calmer today, some of them even tolerated riders on their backs."

"Good to hear," Lance replied distractedly, his eyes still on the spar.

Commander Jasmine observed the King curiously, before she followed his gaze. She smiled as she watched Kyle sparring. "Ah, the young Prince looks lively today, isn't he?"

Lance smiled, "He sure does."

Jasmine chuckled lightly, "He reminds me of you when you were younger… So eager and bright." She scanned the yard for a moment, before she asked, "Where is Keith?"

Lance chuckled, "He's probably with Commander Morty, crying after him to teach him how to wield the sword or something. He doesn't really have the patient with magic." His smile broadened as he thought about his first-born son, Keith. Even though they were born from the same mother at almost exactly the same time, the two of them couldn't be any more different. Kyle was quiet, reserved, patient, and calm, whereas Keith was fiery, short-tempered and could be obnoxiously loud when he wanted to be. Kyle was also gifted with the talent of wielding magic, whereas Keith was given no such gift. Still, despite their differences, they got along remarkably well.

Jasmine smiled as well, "He thinks a sword is much cooler than magic."

"His mother taught him that," Lance said as he rolled his eyes, "Fed him stories of evil witches and heroes with shining swords… I still don't understand how Kyle is unaffected."

Jasmine laughed, "You really don't know?"

Lance looked at her again, "Know what?"

Jasmine was about to open her mouth to reply, but then she caught something out of the corner of her eyes. Interested by what she caught a glimpse of, she leaned over and looked down on the other end of the yard. A group of people were moving through the yard and was walking in the direction of the royal riding ground. "The lords and ladies of this year's courts," she murmured as she studied them.

Lance followed her gaze, and was nonetheless amazed when he found himself quickly spotting a certain silver-haired young lord. His heart thumped against his chest as erotic images began to fill his mind. He quickly looked away in embarrassment. It felt inappropriate to think of such things when his subject was nearby. To take his mind off the disturbing fantasy, he gazed back down at his son, who at that moment received quiet a nasty hit to his shoulder. The boy cried out in pain, before casting a spell which he aimed at his opponent's head.

"Kyle, no!"

Lance watched with disbelief as the royal mage grabbed his son's opponent out of the way, and as Frost Spear shot out of Kyle's palm and went flying straight ahead towards-

"Look out!" the royal mage shouted to warn the lords and ladies to get out of the way, but his warning came a bit too late.

Jasmine gasped, and for a moment, Lance forgot how to breathe. The attack had hit Lord Steven right on his chest. No… He watched with widened eyes as he saw that young lord fell onto the ground. And at that moment, he felt something he never thought he would ever be able to feel again. It was pure, gut-wrenching fear. NO! He climbed the baluster and swiftly jumped onto the ground.

"Your Highness!" Commander Jasmine cried out in shock, for it was quiet a daring leap.

However, Lance landed on his feet safely, almost gracefully, and then he proceeded to rush towards the fallen lord. His heart was racing, and yet his sweat was cold. In his mind, he was turning through every memory he had about Frost Spear. It's not fatal! It's not fatal! It's not supposed to be fatal! He kept on screaming to himself. "Out of the way," he commanded the people crowding Steven as if he was commanding his wyverns. They parted after they heard him, and gasped audibly when they recognized who he was. Lance paid them no mind as he got down on one knee next to the young lord and pressed his palm against Steven's chest.

Steven's lips had lost its lustrous shade of red, and he was grimacing with every breathe he took. His body felt cold, even with the layers of clothing that separated his palm and the skin beneath. With unrivaled desperation, he gathered his power in his palm, and channeled his magic into Steven, hoping that it would work, or least do something to counter the spell. Please, let it work, please please, please. His palm glowed in a warm orange light, and the glow then flowed into Steven's chest.

Lance didn't realize he was holding his breath until the pained look on Steven's face disappeared, and he loudly exhaled. His magic had worked, he knew from the start that it would work, but the dread was still there nonetheless. He had never been so scared in his life. Even as he slipped his arms around Steven and lifted the unconscious young lord, the dread was still in his nerves.

His son, Kyle, had approached during the whole ordeal. There was a guilty look on his face as he stopped before his father. For an eight-year-old, he was adorable with his short red hair, puffy cheeks, and brilliant blue eyes. Added with the fact that he was looking guilty, he was the epitome of adorableness. The sight of his son like that would have touched him if he wasn't so poisoned with fear. He stood before his son and looked down on him coldly.

"P-Papa," the boy started, fidgeting nervously under his father's cold gaze. "I didn't mean to hurt him. It was an accident."

Lance could have said something, anything really, to make his son felt better about the whole situation. Ideally, he should say something to scold his child in stern and wise manner. And yet at that moment, he found no wisdom of a father in him. All he felt was fear and rage. It froze all the warmth he felt towards his own son.

"You could have killed him."

Those words struck Kyle as if it was a physical blow. No, not because of his words, but because of his voice and the way he spoke those words. The child began sobbing and then crying.

Lance didn't even bother to comfort him as he turned around and walked away.

Steven

The first thing that Steven became aware of was the weight of a heavy quilt over his body. And then he heard the loud crackling of burning firewood. For a moment, he thought that he was back home in Rustboro, slowly stirring to another cold morning of snow, snow, and more snow. He tugged the quilt more tightly around him, not quite ready to get out of bed just yet. It still felt cold, despite the quilt and fire, perhaps it was still lte in the night? A dull ache which he felt in his chest when he breathed suddenly reminded him that he was no longer in Rustboro, and that he had been attacked by an ice magic.

Quickly, he opened his eyes, and found that he was lying on a huge bed in an unfamiliar room. It wasn't the room which he had been assigned to when he first came to Blackthorn. For one thing, this room was a lot larger. He didn't dwell much on his new environment though as he suddenly recalled what had happened earlier before he passed out. I'm not dead? He pressed a hand against his chest. A chill went through his body, but he could also feel his own heartbeat. He was still alive. Someone must have saved me. And only then did he remember seeing the King before he fell unconscious.

Quickly, he sat up.

Oh, shit.

The King had saved his life.

And all the problem which had been bothering him before the assault came crashing back on him. This time, however, he didn't let it overwhelm him as before. He scolded himself internally for being distracted by such a irreparable problem in the first place. Sure, he had acted a bit out of line, but the King didn't look pissed, his head was still intact after all. And yes, maybe he just screwed up his astronomically minute chance with the King, but that didn't mean anything. He wasn't interested in the King from the beginning. I'm such an idiot for worrying too much, he bitterly thought. He then pushed the issue with the King to the back of his mind and focused his attention on his current state.

His chest still felt rather cold, and every breath he took still chilled his lungs, but he was alive, and breathing wasn't such a problem, so he deduced that he was alright. That was really dangerous though, Steven thought as he recalled the attack that had struck him, was that an attempt of assassination or what? For a moment, he thought of the possibility of a scenario where someone found out he had been hanging around the King and thought that he was a threat who needed to be eliminated, but then he shook the idea out of his head. It was just too ridiculous. He had seen a child in the distance when he was falling. The child was young, and so not likely to harbor any ill-will towards him. An accident… Still, how did a mere child cast such a dangerous spell? By the Dragons, Blackthorn is a much more dangerous place than I first thought.

Just then, he heard the door of his room swung open. Turning his gaze, he saw that the King had stepped into his room, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Your Highness," Steven greeted him as respectfully as he could in his state. Just act normal, keep it cool.

"Lord Steven," Lance returned as he closed the door shut behind him. Then he walked over and stood next to the bed, "I see that you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Cold," Steven replied with the first word that came to his mind. "But I think I'll be fine." The King was dressed in a black coat embroidered with red dragon. Thinking back, it was the same coat he wore when Steven saw him the second time. For a King, he didn't seem to bother dressing up like one.

The King was silent for a moment, studying Steven with his intense golden eyes, before he spoke again, "That spell… It's a dangerous spell, but it's nothing fatal."

"I know," Steven replied, trying his best not to look nervous by looking around or fidgeting. It was hard though, he found that he couldn't look back into those intense eyes for long. "I know a thing or two about magic." He wanted to elaborate, but then realized that he really couldn't afford nervously babbling off in front of the King. Lance was the King after all, he most definitely didn't have time for stories about his past.

"The coldness might disappear in a few days," Lance said after a short, awkward pause.

"Might?" Steven asked, slightly surprised by the stress on that word.

"I did my best to counter that spell," Lance explained. "I have never been faced with this kind of predicament before, and so I am not quite sure how this will turn out in the end. But trust me, I am doing my best to find a way to help you."

"Oh…" Steven finally found the excuse to look down at his own hands. So there was a chance that he might end up with this constant coldness for the rest of his live? It was absurd to hear, but not plausible either, since he perfectly recalled that he had thought he was going to die. The damage the magic had done was probably severe enough to leave a permanent damage. Well, this sucks… The coldness, he could probably tolerate, but the slightly chill he felt every single time he inhaled? Probably not. It was getting irritating.

"I would like to apologize to you, on behalf on my son."

Those words caught his attention again. The gears quickly turned in his head. His son? He's apologizing on behalf of his son? So then… That means… He was nonetheless dumbfounded. So it was his son? He recalled the silhouette of the young boy he saw in the far distance. A part of him was angry that Lance had allowed his son to learn such dangerous spell before the child even knew the meaning of responsibility, but another part of him had let the issue go. The child was innocent, he was sure, and really, he didn't harbor any hard feelings towards anyone. It was mostly his fault, if he hadn't been daydreaming, stuck in a vicious cycle of his own thoughts, he would have been able to sense that attack coming, he would have been able to avoid or even block it.

"I didn't know where he learned that spell from, but I can assure you, he will be punished severely."

Something in Lance's tone made Steven feel guilty all of a sudden. It was harsh, it sounded more like a threat he was more than willing to carry out than anything else. "He's just a child," Steven quickly said. "There's no need to punish him. He didn't know what he was doing."

"He harmed you."

Steven looked at the King again, wondering why it mattered so much, "It doesn't matter. I'm alright." Besides, it was his own son, why would he be unnecessarily harsh to him?

"No, you're not." The King insisted.

Steven was nonetheless at a loss for words. He didn't think the punishment was necessary. The culprit was just a clueless child. And sure, he got hurt and all, and there might be a possibility that he would have to live with the coldness and chill for the rest of his live, but it didn't matter considering that he grew up in Rustboro, the northern-most province in the whole map. Coldness and chilling air were a part of his childhood. So, really, there was nothing to fuss over. So why was the King being so insistent?

"I'm alright," Steven repeated again in a weak attempt to argue, "This is nothing. I'm fine, really."

The King studied him with yet another unreadable expression on his face, before he finally nodded and said, "If that is the case, then you have my sincerest gratitude."

Steven nodded in return, "You're welcome." Silence fell between them. The silence was as heavy as it had been last night. Steven hated this kind of silence that hung between them, he had never felt so pressured to say something. "I…" he hesitated, before he recalled that he hadn't expressed his gratitude to the King for saving his life. Without a second thought, he grabbed that thought and quickly spoke, "Thank you, for saving my life, your highness."

"Oh, yes…" The King nodded, "You're welcome."

The silence fell between them again. So fucking awkward. Steven felt like killing himself right there and then. Back home, he was known as the smoothest guy in town. During his travel, his ability to play with words had saved him countless of times. And yet, why was he so tongue-tied when faced with the King? It used to be easy before Steven found out that Lance was the King.

"I will leave you to rest some more," Lance successfully broke the silence over them, and Steven was secretly grateful. "If you are in need of anything, please do not hesitate to call," he said as he pointed at the bell placed on the bedside table next to the bed. "Please rest easy. And do not wander off without supervision." He added the last line after a short pause.

Steven couldn't hold back a small smile at the last line. "I understand."

"Rest well, Lord Steven." The King then turned around and walked out of the room

Steven watched as the door closed, before he finally laid down on the bed with a loud sigh.

Unexpectedly, things just got weirder.