A/N tl;dr: Xerxes AU with elements of 03, manga, and Brotherhood. Endgame EdLing. Ishvalan!Elrics, royalty!Envy, suitor!Ling. Intrigue! Betrayal! See end of chapter 1 for full (AO3) taglist/more notes. Crossposted from AO3.
1900
Sweat poured down her brow, and wispy chestnut hairs fell out of the bun and clung to her clammy skin. She laid in a birthbath, clutching the hand of her lover, her breath sawing in and out as the labor wracked her body.
The slavewoman screamed, her head thrown back. Birthblood bloomed, bright and fresh, in the pool. She convulsed. Van Hohenheim, the Prince of Xerxes, looked pained. He squeezed and kissed her hand, and grimaced when she moaned again. The birthslave, thigh deep in the water tinted red with blood, knelt and lifted a baby from the pool.
"A boy, milord," the old woman sloshed over and laid the squalling child in Van's arms. Tears ran down his face, and the Ishvalan slavewoman reached for the boy weakly.
"A boy, Van," she breathed, smiling up at her lover. He leant down to her, and their foreheads met. He chuckled weakly. She took the boy and held him to her breast. Water lapped at his kicking legs.
Karima looked down at the boy, and his cries quieted. He blinked up at his parents. His eyes matched his mother's, a warm, light umber.
'Hello, Amir. Amir Alphonse," she cooed the name they'd chosen for him, Ishvalan and Xerxesian, those two names representative of the marriage that his parents could never have. She traced the curve of his chubby little chin with her hand. Van offered the boy his finger, and he took it with a baby's vice grip. He smiled, joyous, eyes dewy with tears.
The prince froze, withdrew his finger, and looked up when he heard footfalls echoing into the birthing hall.
They'd figured him out. After a year of secrecy, of privacy, of managing to hide the purest happiness Van had ever known— they'd figured him out.
"Dante, Lust," he said carefully, a tense greeting.
Dante strode toward the birthbath, mulberry robes swirling behind her. Lust followed, lifting her skirts and pulling a face when she got close enough to see the bloody water splashed around the tub.
The women stared impassively down at the boy. Amir whimpered. Karima shushed him and kept her head turned down, avoiding the gaze of the royals. Hohenheim stood and met his wife's gaze. He took a deep breath and went to reach to her, then stopped himself.
"Envy has brothers, Dante," he murmured, holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, she still loved him enough to understand.
"That bastardborne slave is no kin of my child," spat Dante, her lip curling, "no more than Edward is, Van."
Usama. She spoke his Xerxesian name like a curse. Van was stunned. He'd— he'd been so careful, tried so hard to hide his true family from this woman he had once loved, to protect them from her— but it had all been for naught. She knew. She knew everything. Dante's fists were clenched tight at her sides, fury evident in every line on her face. Van stared, shocked, full of fear and dread for his sons. For Karima. For himself.
Alphonse began to cry.
"I just— I want a good life for them, they don't have to be princes, Dante, I just want them to be free—" Hohenheim tried to explain, voice still gentle despite the strings of panic tightening themselves around his throat.
"This cannot continue. I will not allow it," Dante interrupted him, her eyes fiery. Van became acutely aware of a din in the hallway— the sound of the palace guards marching towards them.
"What— Dante, what is this—" he began, but he was cut off when Dante knelt and wrestled the babe out of the Karima's arms. Karima wailed and tried to climb out of the bath; Lust swung a kick toward her head with her heeled boots and knocked her back into the water.
Two guards, armed with spears, shoved open the heavy doors to the birthroom.
"Get this traitor out of my sight! Take that whore Trisha back to her quarters. And find that other bastard child of theirs, too," Dante commanded. She'd spat out Usama's Xerxesian name like it curdled in her mouth, and she did the same to Karima's.
Hohenheim made to protest her words as the guards advanced on him, but Dante wheeled on him. Quicker than even he could see, she backhanded him across the face with one hand, Amir still tucked in the crook of elbow, screaming. Her inhuman strength caught Van him off guard despite his knowledge of it, and he went sprawling to the ground.
"Do not deny that little rat's existence," she hissed, "I know he's here. You think that I never heard talk of the toddling slave boy whose hair shines like gold, Van?"
A guard knelt over Van and pulled him up onto his knees, then wrenched his arms painfully behind his back and cuffed them together.
"Dante," Van croaked, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, "please." She looked down at him impassively. The image of her before, with a different babe swaddled in her arms, dragged its way to the forefront of his memory. She did not look away when she spoke, though her words were not directed to him.
"These runts need someone to feed them," Dante told the guards, voice cold "so we can keep them alive. They belong to the royal family, after all."
She swept out of the room, with tiny Alphonse squalling in her arms. Van Hohenheim hung his head and wept.
1917
Perfect beings had no gender. They were God's image, the embodiment of the Truth. This was a belief of the alchemists and, therefore, a belief of the people of Xerxes. The desert society was built on the values of alchemy, and their most central value was that of equivalent exchange.
This is what Ling was taught in his culture lessons. Well, "taught" is a loose word— more like he learned it by reading the encyclopedia volumes that Fu gruffly tossed his way every day. As a prince of Xing, he had to know as much as he possibly could about the countries that he would be working with when he became emperor— presuming, of course, that the twelfth in line for the throne would (could) ever secure the throne.
Ling could. He had a plan.
Xerxes had alchemy. Alchemy had— according to those dusty old schoolbooks— Philosopher's Stones. Philosopher's Stones gave eternal life. Ling's ailing father, the emperor of Xing, wanted life, more desperately than anything. And Ling? He wanted the throne.
Ling needed a Philosopher's Stone. Ling needed Xerxes.
Simple.
So, when word reached Xing that the Circlet of Xerxes, Envy, had come of age, and that the Highborne sought a suitor for them, Ling left the winding rivers and rolling hills of Yao lands and set into the desert beyond Xing without a second thought.
Astride his camel, he narrowed his eyes and looked out across the sands over his caravan. After many long, hot days and freezing cold nights, the ancient city was finally visible on the hazy horizon.
Xerxes. His mother seemed to think he was absolutely mad when he announced his plan to make for the remote nation, but even she, who had constantly told Ling throughout his childhood that he did not need to chase the emperor's favor and title, knew that his plan was the only way that the Yao clan could survive.
The emperor's mind was failing. The stronger clans, those closer to the throne, were funneling supplies and funds from the capitol and into their own lands, starving millions of other Xingese without a thought.
The Yao clan, far from the capitol and from the inner circle of nobles, was no exception. Soon, their stores would be running out, and they'd only have what they were able to grow on the lands and catch from the streams to survive. To feed twenty thousand men, women, and children.
Ling had to succeed.
Edward stormed into his and Alphonse's shared quarters, sweeping aside the heavy, scratchy woolen curtain that served as their door. The rough, sandstone-carved room was still cool, but the blazing desert sun had risen enough to begin beating through the cheesecloth that Ed had hammered onto their tiny window to keep the lizards from crawling in.
"His Royal Dickhead," began Edward, throwing his hands in the air and pacing the length of the room, "wants a cool bath, but he doesn't want to go to the palace spring, he wants the public fountain, but he doesn't want to go to the public fountain, he wants me to bring the water back—"
Alphonse stared at his brother reproachfully, and when Edward paused in his rant to take a deep breath, he sat up in his bed and chided him with, "You shouldn't call the Circlet 'he', brother, they aren't—"
"Envy screams at me that he's a boy every single time he hears me say 'they,' and I don't want to listen to it anymore. He doesn't give a damn about what Dante says, and besides, it's a personal thing. I may hate his guts, but that doesn't mean that I can't respect his ugly ass," Edward interrupted with a scowl.
Alphonse bit his lip. "Just don't say it in front of her," he murmured.
"I'm not stupid, Al," Edward grumbled, pulling a face.
"I dunno…" Alphonse teased his brother with a smile. Edward rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Al pushed himself off his mattress, stretched, and cracked his neck.
"How are you feelin' today?" asked Ed.
"I'm alright, I th—" Al coughed once, and then again. He knelt over, his thin body shaking. Ed approached his brother and rubbed his back until the fit passed.
"It's dry out today, and windy. The sand is kicking up. Maybe you should wear your mas—" Ed began, but Al, breathing hard, shook his head.
"It scares Wrath," he explained. Ed pulled a face, conveying that he clearly didn't give a single shit about what did and did not frighten the little princeling.
"He's sweet, Ed, and just a little one. Xerxes isn't his home. I don't want to scare him any more than he already is," said Alphonse gently. Edward pulled another face.
"Just take it with you," Ed said. He went to their wicker chest, knelt, and pulled out the mask, along with some clothes, which he tossed to Al. The mask was a simple thing that Pinako had made for Al during one of his rougher sicknesses, tightly-woven cheesecloth with straps to tie it onto Al's head during days (like today) when it was particularly difficult to breathe. The clothes matched Ed's own. A beige tunic, dark brown pants cinched at the ankle, and a deep eggplant-colored sash fastened around the waist, with matching cloth strips worn as a headband and a left-hand wristlet.
The linens marked them as slaves; the sash, headband, and wristlet as belonging to the Highborne, the ruling class of Xerxes. They'd worn the strips of colored fabric since the day they were born.
Ed continued to paw through the chest until he finally found what he was looking for. He stood awkwardly, hugging a package wrapped in a thin blanket and tied with leather straps to his chest. He half-stumbled to his bed and sat down heavily, then began to unwind the straps from the package.
"Envy is literally doing this just to be a pain in the ass," he whined to Al, "I know it! He knows I have to change out legs and everything!"
"At least you have a heavy-duty leg to change into," Al reminded him sternly, slipping on his wristlets.
"I'm sure Envy just wants to look good today. Their suitors are supposed to start arriving," the younger boy continued, pulling off his shirt to change. Ed chanced a glance at his brother and chewed on the inside of his cheek when he saw exactly how visible Al's ribs had become.
"Amir…" he started gently as his younger brother pulled his tunic over his head. Al's eyes snapped to Ed's.
"I'm fine," he replied shortly. Ed knew better than to push it, and he returned to the task of unclipping his indoor prosthetic. He lifted the lightweight brass leg onto the bed and heaved the heavier bronze outdoor one to the floor. He hated it. It made his fucking stump hurt. He glared at it for a moment, then finally strapped it on.
Al padded across the room and watched his reflection in their tiny hammered-brass mirror as he tied his headband across his forehead. Ed stood and stamped his leg against the floor to make sure it was attached well, then walked over and gave his brother a squeeze around the shoulders.
"I'll see you tonight, Ed," Al leaned his head against his brother's shoulder for a moment. Ed released him and pulled the sash off Al's shoulder, then gently fashioned it around his waist for him. Al smiled softly, his dark red eyes meeting Ed's golden ones in the mirror.
"Yeah. Hopefully they'll make something decent for dinner," Ed replied lightly as he headed toward the door, trying to hide the worry in his voice.
While his envoy set up camp just outside the city gates, Ling handed off his camel to one of the hired desert guides and meandered over to the food supply tent. He badgered one of the women in charge of their stores and gifts for the Highborne until she gave him a rice cake and some salt cod. Yao clansfolk knew better than to deny Ling food because at this point it was impossible to tell if his food-related collapses were due to his dramatics or his middle Xiao-ke.
After his snack, he took a swallow of his sugary ginseng tincture and set off to explore the city. Lan Fan followed at a distance, his ever-present shadow.
Ling wandered aimlessly, taking in the sights. Xerxesian architecture was truly amazing, all tall pillars and beautiful carvings inlaid with precious stones. Dry, hot winds blew, stirring up a thin layer of sand atop the sandstone streets and fluttering the colorful linens hanging from windows, doors, and clotheslines stretched overhead.
As he drew closer to the city centre, he encountered more and more Xerxesians going about their daily business. Street vendors hawked their goods; Ling caught a few of the Xerxesian words as the salespeople described their flatbreads, spiced cucumber relish, goat cheese and lamb-and-onion kebabs. His mouth watered, and he finally gave in and bought kebabs, one for himself and one for Lan Fan.
He waved it around in the air because he had literally no clue where she was, as usual. She was way too good at her job. After a few moments, she appeared beside him and ripped off her mask, but kept her hood drawn low over her face.
"Young Lord, you are being reckless," she hissed. She still snatched the kebab and took a bite out of it, albeit angrily. Ling grinned and sucked a tiny onion off the end of his skewer.
"There won't be any assassins here," he said cheerfully, watching passersby and ignoring the curious stares he and his companion were attracting. Xerxes was isolated both geographically and culturally; he doubted any average citizen had ever even seen a Xingese person.
"No Xingese, surely, but I don't doubt that the other suitors would try—" Lan Fan began with urgency, but Ling waved off her concerns and ambled ahead of her down the street. She scowled at his back, took another bite of meat, and followed him.
After a few moments of silent walking, she spoke up again.
"We are supposed to be at the Highborne's palace by sundown. Their letter said to expect a small feast before our party can settle into our quarters. You need to prepare. Let's go back to camp and have a bath drawn—"
"I want to try out the Xerxesian public baths! I should familiarize myself with the culture, after all!" Ling interrupted her again, his voice light and happy. Lan Fan deadpanned.
"I seriously doubt the Highborne, the royal family you will be married into, bathe in public," she stressed, looking like she was ready to smack the prince upside the head and drag him back to his tent by the ear.
"I want the people to love me just as they love their own. It will help me, Lan Fan," Ling said as he met her eyes, suddenly serious. She chewed her lip for a moment, then nodded, though her eyes betrayed that she was still anxious.
"Right, then!" Back to his normal sprightly self, Ling tore the last bit of meat off his kebab, tossed it into his mouth, and dropped the stick into one of the public trash baskets that peppered the streets of Xerxes. "A bath, and then we can head back to camp to change!"
He took off, and Lan Fan melted into the crowd, grumbling something about how the Young Lord would just get sweaty again on the walk back to the camp.
Ed was finally on his way back to get the last jug of water to fill up Envy's stupid bathtub.
The jug was heavy. His leg was heavy. It was absorbing the heat and radiating it back up at him. Ed was fucking sweaty. He could feel blisters forming where the brass rubbed at his stump. He was fed the fuck up with walking and with Envy's bullshit.
But mostly Envy's bullshit.
Grumbling to himself, Ed trudged over to the edge of the bath, careful to avoid stepping down into the gently-sloping blue painted tile where water pooled. One, because he didn't want his leg to get wet. Two, because slaves were not permitted to get in.
It was for free citizens only.
Sure, people like Ed and Al could draw water here. For their masters. But God forbid they step into it.
Scowling, Ed held out the jug and caught a stream of the water merrily shooting out of one of the sun-shaped fountains along the edge of the pool. As the liquid drummed against the inside of the jug, filling it slowly, he watched the freeborn children splash around, shrieking in delight, while their parents tried to wrangle them into a scrubbing.
Suddenly, a small but clear voice rang out close by.
"Wow! Mommy, look at that man!"
Ed glanced up and saw a young child, dark-skinned enough that he may be of Ishvalan descent, pointing towards the southern side of the pool. His mother grabbed his hand and hissed some sharp words; probably something about how it was rude to point. Ed scanned the area where the child had pointed. There, a young man was unwinding his traveler's scarf and stripping off his dusty-looking outerwear.
His hair was inky-black and poker-straight, a far cry from the sun-kissed, wavy locks of the Xerxesian people (excepting, of course, the Highborne) or the light hair so typical of Ishvalans. His skin was smooth and tanned, dark in the way that only travellers were, and the corners of his bright eyes narrowed into perfect points on each end.
This man was from Xing.
Ed knew as much from listening in to Envy's courtship lessons, as well as from a book that Izumi had once brought Alphonse as she was secretly teaching the two of them to read.
This man must be one of Envy's suitors. The first to arrive.
This man was also staring directly at Ed.
And Ed's jug was overflowing, splashing water directly onto his feet.
"Shitting hell," he swore and jumped back, sloshing even more water onto the tile in the process and ignoring the dirty look that the nearby mother shot him. "Fuck," he swore again softly (but with feeling) as the water crept up the bottom of his pant legs.
Ed heard sniggering and sharply looked up at the Xingese suitor. The man's shoulders were shaking with barely-contained laughter; he had one hand pressed to his mouth. His eyes were alight with glee when they met Ed's. He felt his face heat up and he scowled at the man before slapping a cork on the jug, slinging it over his shoulder, turning on his heel, and stomping back towards the palace.
Whatever. They'd get a serving girl for the chaperoned meetings between this man and Envy, and the guy would get some random slave boy assigned as his aid during his time staying in the palace. Ed could just ignore and avoid the guy until Envy inevitably ripped his heart out of his tanned, toned chest. And ate it.
Ed all but forgot about the encounter by the time he managed to slog all the way back to the palace— he was busy scheming, trying to think of some creative ways that he could swipe a flagon of cactuswine from the feast tonight without Dante noticing. He was sure that Envy wouldn't give a shit, but the Circlet's mother was a whole different matter.
Ed had seen her fury before. He wasn't about to bring that upon himself, or Alphonse.
But the Highborne sure did eat some good food, and the feast would offer plenty of distractions…
When he was absorbed in his thoughts, it didn't seem to take as long to get back to the palace— still didn't make his fucking leg hurt any less, though. When he arrived, he took the back way to Envy's room— a series of side hallways that he wasn't entirely sure anyone else actually knew about.
At the Circlet's quarters, he kicked the door in lieu of knocking and shouldered his way through the massive wooden monstrosities without waiting for a reply. Envy's bed was huge and unmade, pillows scattered carelessly in the floor. Ed scowled. He'd have to pick that up later, of course.
Ed made his way into the bathroom, the clanging of his leg echoing through the room and up against the high ceiling. He uncorked the water jug and unceremoniously dumped it into the circular tub embedded in the floor. The room itself was a huge circle, with massive arched, open windows set every few feet, draped with thick linens to keep out the winds and peeping eyes. The floor was inlaid with a tile pattern, the central tub a bright, sunny yellow, geometric tendrils of orange and yellow swirling out from it towards the room's edges like sunbursts.
"Magesty!" Ed hollered, "I've got your bath!"
"Quit fuckin' yelling," the Circlet retorted as he loped into the bathroom from his attached balcony. He was clad in his typical fashion: entirely inappropriately. His hair was yanked up into a bun, and he wore a light green tunic and simple brown pants, both of which he'd taken a knife to. The tunic fell to his navel, where he had secured it by knotting it through itself. The pants were showing an absolutely excessive amount of thigh.
"Your ass is hanging out," Ed observed drily, turning to fetch the goat's milk soap, sweet-smelling almond and citrus oils, and scrubbing stone as Envy stripped. He heard the water slosh around and knew that the Highborne had stuck his foot in the water to test the temperature, as always.
"If you say you've changed your mind and want a warm bath I'm gonn—" Ed started, rounding on the royal and marching over to the tub wielding the bar of soap like a weapon.
"Shaddup, pipsqueak, it's fine," interrupted the Circlet, rolling his eyes. He reached up and jerked his hair down from its bun. It spilled down his back in a green-black flood. Envy sank into the water while Ed stirred in the usual bathtime concoction. The princelet didn't react when the shorter man reached across the bath, yanked up his arm, and started aggressively scrubbing away.
"A suitor arrived," Ed told Envy. The circlet groaned loudly.
"I know, Mother told me," he whined, "and another is apparently showing up later." Ed switched to the other arm and rolled his eyes behind Envy's back. The Circlet had been bitching about this marriage for approximately forever.
"How d'you wanna wear your hair tonight?" Ed asked, hoping to divert the conversation before Envy could start on another tirade about the entire situation.
"I want to wear it up. Mother wants me to wear it down. So, we compromised, and I'm wearing it down," Envy replied irritably. Ed nodded, hummed, and started to wash Envy's hair.
"I'll pull the top back," said Ed. They were silent for a few moments.
"Oh, speaking of tonight," Envy started suddenly, "Mother said you're to serve one of these suitors too."
"Are you fuckin' kidding me," Ed blurted out before he could stop himself. He cursed inwardly at his ever-loose tongue. The Xingese suitor flashed through his mind.
"I know, right?" Envy turned to Ed and threw his hands in the air. Small streams of water ran down his arms and dripped off his elbows into the bathwater. Ed stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"I don't share what's mine, especially you, shortstuff," Envy said. Ed stiffened, clenched his teeth, but managed to hold his tongue for once. The 'fuck you, asshole' was still blatantly apparent in his eyes.
The Circlet chuckled mirthfully at the dark look on Ed's face. He pulled himself out of the bath, and Ed tossed a fluffy woolen towel at him. He caught it and wrapped it around himself. Ed grabbed another towel, stood, and went to start brushing and drying the princelet's hair. Once it was no longer dripping, Envy shoved him off.
"Go get me a snack. Some of those apricots. And some damn wine," he demanded. Ed glowered at him for a moment, resolved to yank on his hair as hard as was physically possible while he did it later, then spun on his heel and left the Circlet's rooms.
He was going to change into his other damn leg before he went to the kitchens.
The feast was held in the Highborne's grand reception hall. It was unlike anything Ling had ever attended. The tables were low, carved out of massive slabs of white stone with rosy-dark swirls streaked through it. There were few chairs, but rather massive cushions and stools. Almost everything was eaten by hand after servants (not servants— slaves, Ling reminded himself darkly) spooned it onto the glazed clay platters before the attendees. The wines were sweet and light— apricot and melon and, weirdly enough, cactus. The foods, too, were strange but delicious; there were slices of lamb served with flatbreads covered in a creamy, zesty sauce and cool, spiced salads made with cucumber and melon.
Another suitor had arrived later that afternoon, an Amestrian man named Zolf J. Kimblee. He had a large nose, shifty eyes, and wore a white Western-style suit and hat. His headwear did nothing to hide the fact that his hair was greasy and stringy.
Ling wore a simple yellow silk changshan with black cording along the neck and sleeves. He had planned on wearing his hair down in an effort to ramp up the sex appeal, but Fu had lectured him about formality and first impressions until he gave in and pulled it up into a sleek topknot.
The introduction of the suitors had been a clipped, formal affair before the start of the feast; the ceremonial Presentation of the suitors would occur later during Ling's stay in Xerxes, after the rest of the suitors from surrounding countries and regions arrived. Until that presentation, suitors were not permitted to be in the Circlet's company.
Ling didn't plan on obeying that rule.
The Circlet and their family, the Highborne, sat upon a long, uncomfortable-looking white marble bench atop a dias at the far end of the reception hall. They were all pale, statuesque, and dignified. Their robes were all an identical shade of aubergine, but each individual wore their own differently than the others. The fat, bald one called Gluttony was dressed like a monk, with long sleeves and the flowing cloth fastened over his massive gut with a red rope. Lust, aptly named, with her deep black hair cascading in waves down her shoulders and back, arranged her robe with a plunging neckline and a slit up the side to reveal enough leg to make any man blush. Young Wrath's clothing was cut more simply than the others'; he wore a short-sleeved tunic and black leggings. His feet did not reach the floor from his seat, and he swung them wildly about throughout the introductions.
Close by the Circlet sat their mother, Dante. Her face was angular, the sharp line of her jaw accentuated by blunt, asymmetrically-cut hair. She wore her robe as a simple, long-sleeved floor-length tunic, with a small triangle of fabric cut out at the middle of her collarbone.
All of the Highborne paled in comparison to the Circlet. Their hair was pulled back to expose their face, all sharp angles and creamy skin. The rest tumbled down their back, a silky green-black; their dark eyes were lined with kohl, their eyelids painted a deep purple. They wore robes of a black fabric that seemed to catch the light and shimmer with their every movement.
Upon their head sat a small but exquisite crown of twisted silver, inlaid with a single bloodred stone.
They looked positively miserable.
They didn't speak a single word through the introductions. When their mother's cool voice called out Ling's name, he stepped forward and held their gaze, a small smile dancing upon his lips. He bowed low, arm across his stomach.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty," Ling said, voice low.
The Circlet inclined their head, stony-faced, and said nothing.
On his way back up, Ling's eyes flitted across the rest of the Highborne again, and then behind them. A row of stoic slaves stood against the wall, hands clasped at their fronts and faces blank. Gluttony's was a massive, hulking man with arms the size of tree trunks, dark hair, and a beard. Behind Lust stood a young girl with pink bangs. Dante had a shapely woman with black dreadlocks and a tattoo peeking out from under her tunic. A sickly-looking, dark-skinned teen with a shock of white hair and reddish eyes stood at Wrath's back.
And behind the Circlet, with his face screwed up in a scowl, stood the gorgeous boy that Ling had encountered hours earlier at the public baths.
He was absolutely fucking stunning.
His skin was bronze, his eyes golden, his hair like the sun itself had been spun into its silken strands. When Ling had first seen him across the sparkling water of the public pool, he had sucked in a breath sharply, as if he'd been punched in the gut, struck by a beauty like he'd never seen before— and the hilarity that ensued had done nothing to lessen his beauty in Ling's eyes.
And now that Ling looked upon this man for a second time, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was absolutely fucked.
Ling winked before he could think, with the afterthought of, I hope Envy thought that was for them.
The blonde caught his gaze, flushed a very pretty pink, and dropped his golden eyes to the floor.
Absolutely fucked.
Ed hadn't managed to steal any damn cactuswine, but Al, the charming little bastard, had sweet-talked the wizened old slavewoman carrying the leftovers back to the kitchens to give them a whole unopened bottle and some leftover sweets. It was the thought of that bottle, the thought of going deep into the gardens with his brother, Winry, sweet wine, and even sweeter baklava that helped Ed push through the last of his duties that evening.
Envy had been in an absolutely foul mood after the feast; he'd ripped off his crown so hard that he'd pulled out some hair at the roots and nearly torn his robes in his haste to get out of his formalwear. After Ed managed to get him out of the offending garment, Envy had promptly screamed at him to fuck off and slammed the door so quickly that it whacked his ass on the way out. Ed responded by kicking he door, shouting some choice words, then stalking off down the hallway and through the rest of the palace towards the east wing, where the suitor he was assigned to serve was staying.
He truly couldn't imagine a worse situation; he would either be waiting on that slimy Amestrian motherfucker or that Xingese shithead. Kimblee was fucking creepy and had looked at Envy like he was a piece of meat. The Xingese one— Ed felt his face heat up at the thought of him— well, he just felt like trouble.
When Ed finally arrived at the room, he took a quick breath to steel himself, shook out his shoulders, then rapped on the door. He bowed, bent from his hips to ninety degrees as he'd been taught, and waited. The door opened after a few moments; candlelight flooded the corridor.
"I am Edward, milord. The Highborne have assigned me to serve you as a token of gratitude for your suitorship of our esteemed Circlet. I am honored to present myself to you, and I hope to make your stay in Xerxes as pleasant as possible," he rattled off in his most formal, clipped tone, hoping it wasn't possible for someone to hear him rolling his eyes.
"Oh, I don't doubt that you will," a smooth voice replied.
Ed stood and came face-to-face with the Xingese prince. His eyes glinted in the darkness, his dark hair falling softly to his shoulders, his loose pants slung low on his hips. He was shirtless.
"I'm Ling. It's a pleasure."
The prince smiled gently, cocking his head to the side.
Motherfucking shit.